Reel_Merlin fic: The Prince's Speech Part 1/4
The Prince's Speech Part 1
Masterpost
As he stared at the words on the paper, Arthur went through them again in his head. It wasn't hard to read them mentally, each word came out perfectly timed and perfectly enunciated. In his mind there were no pauses, no awkward moments where the words wouldn't come, they simply flowed. The reality was Arthur knew he could never speak them like that.
The speech was an important one; the closing speech of the Great Albion Exhibition. Thousands had poured into the city to view the displays of the artistic, scientific and engineering achievements of Albion’s last hundred years. Arthur's own father; King Uther himself, had delivered a rousing opening speech. He should have been delivering this one but had taken ill with a mild bout of laryngitis and Arthur, as his son and heir, was the natural choice to speak in his place.
Except Arthur couldn't speak.
Arthur was jolted out of his thoughts by Morgana lightly touching his arm.
“Arthur, it's time,” she said, her face creased with worry. She knew how nervous Arthur was. She'd been at his side since they were children. She'd seen her brother struggle to do what should have been a natural talent.
He smiled at her, a tight smile betraying his nerves no doubt from her sympathetic look.
“It will be all right,” she whispered.
Arthur shook his head. It was never all right but at least he wasn't facing his ordeal alone.
Leaving the VIP room he went up the stairs to where the podium was waiting. As he took each step he ran through the words in his mind imagining them clearly and without fault. At the top of the stairs they were met by Geoffrey, the man who had personally approved the speech Arthur was about to attempt to speak.
“You'll be live in two minutes,” he said.
Arthur gritted his teeth and stepped out into the stand. All around him was a vast crowd of people. The stand was fully packed and there were four more just like it. Even on the ground there were large crowds, bigger than Arthur had seen before. Every person was so small it felt like thousands of pinheads were glaring at him.
Stepping up to the podium, Arthur noticed the dreaded microphone hung in front of him. He'd fought battles, seen wars and yet nothing had scared him as much as this new grey, modern piece of equipment. For it meant that the crowds before him were but a small number of the people who would be listening. It was as if he was looking at a bucketful of sand grains when in fact he had an entire beach.
He carefully arranged the papers on the lectern. He shuffled them about a little. Beside him he could see a small bulb that would shortly light up red, the colour of danger. That would be his cue.
Taking a few gulps of air Arthur glanced up and was relieved that no-one seemed to be staring. To one side he could see Geraint counting down. Then he pointed to Arthur and the red light flickered on.
Arthur cleared his throat, or tried to, the odd grumbling sound echoed harshly around the arena.
Now he could feel all those eyes turning toward him and the light blinked briefly; once, twice, three times and then on the fourth it stayed on. The light drew his attention away from the paper so he glanced up at the microphone, only to see expectant faces looking at him having turned around in their seats.
“People of Albion,” Arthur began, his voice taking on a strange ethereal quality as the loudspeakers delivered his words to the vast crowd. “I am honoured,” he paused, feeling his breathing increase as the echo caught him up. “to be here...” another pause, longer now. Arthur could feel his throat begin to clench, feel his muscles tense up, “today,” he said. He paused for the next sentence. “The k...k...”
Now Arthur really couldn't speak. He could hear the word 'king' in his mind but his body would not speak it. His tongue moved awkwardly in his mouth as he struggled to expel air out to form the word.
“The k...k...k...”
Every stutter, every mistake, was being amplified a thousand times. Arthur stared at the pages and prayed for a miracle. Beside him Morgana looked sympathetic. Geoffrey's head was bowed.
Eventually he made it through the speech. It took over twice as long as had been planned. He finally managed to say the word king and thereafter paused frequently, virtually at every word.
“I can't... I can't do this Morgana!” he practically shouted as they were escorted down the stairs.
“We'll find someone,” Morgana said, quietly.
“Who?” Arthur asked.
As Crown Prince Arthur had seen every doctor who had ever come close to having some kind of honour for their work. There had been Edwin, who had forced Arthur to put glass balls in his mouth and read the work of poets. Arthur had spat out the balls and not read poetry for months after that.
Then there had been Valiant who had thought that the way to get him to speak was to toughen him up. Arthur had endured just ten minutes of Valiant's brutal physical style before firing him. After him there had been Ulfric who had thought near drowning would cure the problem. Arthur still feared taking baths alone.
In short, not one had been able to help him and the court physician, Gaius, was at a loss as to the cause.
“I can't be cured,” Arthur said, matter-of-factly. “I'm the Prince who can't... who can't... speak.”
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The Lady Morgana though, was not one to give up so easily. She had watched her brother struggle through speeches since he was a boy and Uther would shout at him to try harder. There was now a more pressing need to help Arthur. Technology was coming; radio, film and a prince could no longer confine his failing to small crowds. Now his whole nation was listening.
Arthur needed help.
As the car drove along foggy streets, Morgana hoped the man she was about to see could help her brother. Her maid Gwen had spoken highly of him, had said how he helped her brother with his speech. Morgana had been surprised to learn that Elyan had ever really had a speech problem so assured was Gwen's brother whenever they met. It seemed he owed it all to a certain Merlin Emerson of Harley Street and his unconventional techniques that got clear results.
Morgana had asked for the address at once.
Now here she was on a foggy, bleak, and damp morning hoping to find a man who could save her brother from over two decades of speech problems. It was quite a long shot by any means, but Morgana had a good feeling about Mr Emerson, one she'd not had in a long time.
The car pulled up outside and Morgana instructed her driver to wait. Percival was always polite and efficient.
“Very good, ma'am,” he said, as he helped her out.
Emerson's rooms were situated on the uppermost floor of the building and Morgana had to go in a lift to get to them. She was relieved that she'd persuaded Uther to install the modern devices in the palace as they were quite intimidating things. As she reached the right floor the bell dinged and she shifted the screen to step out.
The place was shabby, no doubt about that, and old. The decoration was at least a generation out of date. She stepped up to the door of the room in front and knocked.
When she got no reply she ventured a call. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
There was a voice from behind her. “Just in the toilet, won't be a minute!”
Morgana smiled.
She wasn't kept waiting long, she barely had time to note the dust on the light fitting, before a man about Arthur's age stepped out of a small room and into the hall area. He was dressed a little shabbily compared to the doctors Morgana had met but then it was clear he wasn't a doctor. The sign on his door said 'Mr M. Emerson. Speech Therapist'.
“Oh, sorry, I thought you were Freya,” the man said, offering a hand. “She's due her appointment soon and I thought she was early.”
Morgana warily took the stranger’s hand and shook it. “Are you Mr Emerson?”
He nodded. “Merlin Emerson, yes. Can I help you?”
She smiled. “You can. I have a brother...”
“So you're not here for yourself?”
“No. My brother is... shy about his 'problem.'”
“He can't be shy if he wants to be my patient,” Merlin grinned. “I don’t take referrals from family members.”
“Please,” Morgana said. “It's delicate.”
Merlin frowned a little. “Go on.”
“My brother, as part of his job, is required to speak publicly and, well, he has difficulty.”
“Perhaps he should find a new job.”
“He can't. My brother is the Crown Prince of Albion. Maybe you’ve heard of him? Prince Arthur?”
Merlin's eyes widened and he looked slightly shocked. “So you would be...”
“The Lady Morgana, yes.”
Merlin wandered into his rooms. “I think I need a sit down,” he muttered.
Morgana barely gave the man a chance to collapse in his chair before she spoke again. “Will you help him?”
Now sitting down Merlin seemed a little calmer. “You want me to treat the Crown Prince of Albion?”
“Yes. He's seen everybody but none of them helped.”
Now a smile began to form on Merlin's face “He hasn't seen me.”
“Gwen told me you did wonders with her brother; Elyan.”
“Elyan's problem was minor, he just needed some confidence.”
“Which is what Arthur needs.”
Merlin pursed his lips. “I'll help,” he said, after a moment's pause. “But it has to be his choice. Your brother has to decide to come here and I'll need total trust.”
“I'll bring him here tomorrow,” Morgana promised. “Have you got a free appointment?”
“You royals are all the same,” Merlin smiled. “Always assuming there's an appointment for you.” He stood up. “Luckily I have a space free at half past two.”
“We'll be here,” Morgana promised.
“Merlin?” a young girl appeared from around the door. “Am I disturb...disturb... interrupting?”
Merlin went over and took the young girl by the hand “Not at all, Freya,” he said, smiling at her and guiding her to a chair. “This lady was just asking if I would help her brother.”
Morgana offered the girl a smile.
“Merlin's very good,” Freya said. “Very good.”
“Quite the endorsement,” Morgana said. “I won't keep you from your patient Mr Emerson. I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Until tomorrow,” Merlin replied.
As she went back down in the lift Morgana felt a lot happier. Perhaps she had finally found the right person to cure Arthur.
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“I am not... going to see a bloody... speech therapist!” Arthur yelled after Morgana had told him what she's been up to that afternoon.
“Arthur, please, he's good. You'll like him.”
“I didn't think I was supposed to like sp...sp... those people.”
“Maybe that's the problem. You need a different approach.”
“I can't go through it again, Morgana.”
“One meeting, that's it, Arthur. If you're not happy you don't have to stay but what if he's the one who can cure you?”
“I can't be... cured.”
“How do you know if you don't try and see him?”
Arthur was looking out of the window. Morgana pressed it further.
“If this doesn't work out I won't ask you again.”
Reluctantly Arthur nodded. “One meeting,” he conceded.
“You won't regret it,” Morgana said.
Deep down both of them prayed he wouldn't.
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At two o'clock the next day Merlin waved goodbye to Matthew. The man was coming on in leaps and bounds. Merlin was sure he would be able to get through his wedding vows without any trouble at all.
Glancing at the clock Merlin was relieved he hadn't got another appointment for another half hour, considering who the next appointment was with. He hadn't quite believed it had been the Lady Morgana standing outside his door until he had gone home and stolen a look at Gwaine's newspaper. Sure enough there had been a picture of her on page ten with her brother; Merlin's new patient.
He spent ten minutes trying to rearrange the furniture. There were only a few of chairs, a sofa and a couple of tables, but he was determined each one should be perfect. Ironic really as in these rooms Arthur would simply be just another patient and not the heir to one of the most important thrones in the world. The Crown Prince was going to have something of a culture shock.
The clock read twenty past and Merlin made himself a cup of tea, timing how long the kettle took to boil. He was just sipping at the warm brew when he heard the familiar clack of the lift shutter being opened. Taking a quick gulp of tea he noticed it was twenty five past the hour. Apparently the stories about Royalty always being punctual were true.
Outside the room he could hear strained voices, obviously trying to whisper but failing miserably. Smiling to himself, he opened the door with a flourish. “Hello!” he said.
The talking stopped and the prince stared at him whilst the Lady Morgana seemed amused.
“Come in,” Merlin said, waving a hand to encourage them inside.
“This isn't what I... expected,” Arthur said, quietly.
“What were you expecting?” Merlin asked. “I was wondering about growing a beard.”
“Your rooms,” Arthur said.
Merlin looked around, wondering how they would appear to a prince. “Oh, I've not got around to redecorating yet, but I will. I just need a few more paying patients.”
“Couldn't we do... this... at the palace?” Arthur asked.
Merlin shook his head. “I require trust and equality. If we were in Camelot Palace we wouldn’t have that. We'd have you being the Prince and that wouldn’t work.”
“I'm still the Prince.”
“No, you're my patient,” Merlin corrected. “In here that's who you are.”
He could see Arthur backing away a little, glancing at the door. For someone who looked so confident it was clear he didn't appear to have much inside. Merlin noticed Morgana touching his arm.
“Give him a chance, Arthur,” she whispered. “You said you would.”
“Do we have to be alone?” Arthur asked.
“For the first meeting, yes,” Merlin said. “I need to find out about you and the best way is for us to talk together.”
“I'll be outside,” Morgana whispered, giving her brother’s arm a squeeze. She smiled at Merlin before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.
“So... where do we start?” Arthur asked, standing awkwardly.
“On the sofa,” Merlin replied, indicating the battered blue sofa set against one wall. Arthur shuffled over.
The Prince took a good hard look at the sofa before he gingerly sat down. Merlin pulled up a chair and sat down opposite. He offered his new patient what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“I'm Merlin,” he said, holding out a hand.
“Pleased to meet you... Mr Emerson.”
“No, it's Merlin,” he corrected. “All my patients call me Merlin.”
“You... can call me 'Your Royal Highness' and after that, 'Sir',” Arthur replied, shaking Merlin's hand rather half heartedly.
“I told you in here all men are equal,” Merlin said. “You're my patient not the Prince.”
“Mr P...P...Pendragon then.”
Merlin could sense the stiff formality that had been forced into Arthur, clearly from a young age, reflected in the way he was sat bolt upright on the sofa, his muscles tense. No wonder the man had problems. “Arthur.”
“Only my family... c...call me that.”
“Well, think of me as a long lost relative,” Merlin said. “Shall we start, Arthur?”
Arthur winced at the use of his name but didn't object. “What makes you think you... can cure me? I've seen the best doctors in Albion.”
“Firstly, I'm from Avalon not Albion.”
“That explains the... lack of etiquette. You... colonials are all the same.”
“Secondly they were doctors. I'm a speech therapist.”
“Several of them are well known for their... speech work.”
“They're amateurs. Idiots who think that a degree means you know everything.”
“My f...f...father has given several of them honours.”
“So they're officially honoured idiots.”
“You have no shame.”
“I hope not,” Merlin grinned. Arthur's posture relaxed a little. “So what was your earliest memory?”
“I'm not here to discuss... memories.”
“Then why you you here?” Merlin asked, leaning forward a little.
“Because I stammer! I bloody stammer!” Arthur yelled, causing Merlin to lean back. The Prince had quite the temper.
“But you didn't then,” Merlin said.
“What the hell does it matter?”
“See you're not stammering now. When you're angry you're not thinking about it.”
“Are you saying my problem is... because I think too much?”
“No! Well, yes.” Merlin sighed. “Your problem is partly in the mind. The physiological changes are because of what's going on in your head. I can help you control your reactions; breathing, diaphragm, all of that but if you want a lasting cure...”
“You want to.... be my... psychologist?”
“Not at all. But if we give you confidence the rest should follow.”
“Should,” Arthur snorted.
“Let's start with something different. Tell me a joke.”
“I don’t know any... jokes.”
“Not even 'Knock Knock' jokes?”
“Timing... isn't a strength of mine,” Arthur replied.
Merlin smiled. “Well, we'll have to work on your jokes,” he said. “Now, I want you to read something to me.”
He went over to the table and picked up one of the books he'd left there. He often flicked through them whilst waiting for patients but he also found them useful tools. He opened the book to the page he wanted and handed it to Arthur.
“Read me this.”
Arthur looked startled. “Poetry? You want me to... read you poetry?”
“I have Shakespeare if you prefer?”
Arthur shook his head. He took a few deep breaths as Merlin watched. “If you c...c..can k...k..eep your head... when all about... you. Are losing theirs... and blaming it... on you.” Arthur threw the book down. “I... c...can't.”
Merlin picked the book up and turned back to the right page. “You can,” he said. He could see Arthur sitting stiffly on the chair, looking ready to stand up and leave. Yet his hands were clasped tightly together. No wonder his problem was so acute. His anxiety was exacerbating the problem to a huge degree.
“I can't,” Arthur replied.
“Come over here,” Merlin said, walking over to his equipment. “I want to show you something.”
It took a moment before Arthur got up off the sofa and came over to where Merlin was fiddling with the knobs. The machine he had was very new and, if truth be told, had cost more money than he could really afford. Still, it had been one of the best investments he had ever made. The technique hadn't failed yet.
“I'm going to record you speaking,” Merlin said.
“I think you’ll find the Albion... Broadcasting Corporation have already... done that.”
“Not like this,” Merlin said, picking up the headphones and placing them over Arthur's ears. They were bulky things but they seemed to fit all right. “I'm going to play you some music and I want you to read the poem again.”
Arthur looked down at the book in his hand.
“Just concentrate on the sound of the music,” Merlin said. “I'm going to record you and then we can play it back and listen together.”
He pointed to the poem on the page. He flicked a switch to get the music playing and turned the volume up to make sure that Arthur wouldn’t be able to hear anything but the music. Flicking another switch to begin the recording he encouraged Arthur to start reading by waving his hand.
Arthur began to read out loud.
A few minutes later Merlin flicked the switch again and stopped the recording. He turned the music off and beamed at Arthur. Arthur though, did not seem so pleased. He removed the headphones slowly and handed them to Merlin looking utterly defeated.
“Shall we play it back?” Merlin asked.
“No. I'm sorry. This... this isn't going to work.” Arthur said.
Merlin frowned. “You've not even heard yourself.”
“I know what I sound like!” Arthur yelled, his stammer disappearing again. “I sound like a bloody fool.”
Merlin lifted the record up off the machine. “Take this with you,” he said. “Listen to it. Think of it as a souvenir.” He placed it in a clean sleeve and offered it to Arthur.
Merlin was not going to force the issue. The last thing he wanted was a patient who didn't want to be there. He only hoped that Arthur would have a change of heart. He knew he could really make a difference with him. He could really help him.
Carefully Arthur took the proffered record. “Thank you for your... time,” he said.
With that Arthur Pendragon left Merlin's rooms without ever realising he had spoken the poem with barely a single stutter or pause in speech. Merlin just hoped Arthur would listen to the record to discover that fact for himself. If he did perhaps, he might come back. Merlin found he wanted that very much.
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Arthur had left Merlin's rooms with barely concealed disappointment. Morgana had looked equally disappointed. In the car on the way back Arthur said nothing but cradled the record in his hands. Here he had proof of his failings recorded in black vinyl. When they reached the palace Arthur placed the record on the table in his private rooms and forgot about it.
That evening he had to endure another dinner with his father. Although his health was failing, King Uther still insisted that the regimen of the royal household was maintained. That meant full dinner suits and at least three courses. It also meant interminable silences and awkward conversation.
“We never talked about your speech, Arthur,” Uther said, as he lifted a spoon full of soup to his mouth.
“No... we didn't... F...F...Father.”
“You really need to work on that hesitancy of yours.”
“Yes... Father.” Arthur pushed his spoon in the soup and stirred slightly.
Uther took another spoonful. “It's really quite simple. You just need to try harder.”
“I will... F..Father.”
Morgana, who had been eating her soup, quietly stepped into the conversation. “I think Arthur did an excellent job. He didn't have much time to prepare.”
“A king always needs to be prepared, Morgana,” Uther replied, lifting another spoonful of soup to his lips and slurping it slowly. “He must always be ready when his public duties call him. Arthur knows that. Don't you, Arthur?”
“Yes... Father.”
“Don't pause so much. You don't need to think about every word.”
“Sorry.” As always Arthur kept his answers short, lest his father pick up on his speech impediment.
“Don't apologise either. It's a sign of weakness.”
“Yes... F...F...Father.”
“And eat your soup It's getting cold.”
Arthur didn't answer and simply took a spoonful. The soup had already lost much of its heat and the tepid liquid ran down his throat without much pleasure.
There was a great deal of relief in Arthur's heart when dinner was over. He bid his father a stiff
goodnight and went up to his rooms. Morgana caught him on the stairs.
“Don't let him get to you,” she said.
Arthur gave her a smile. “If only it was that easy.”
As he entered his rooms he pulled his tie and threw it onto the bed. Sighing he sat down and rubbed his eyes before loosening his collar. He looked about his room; the trappings of monarchy all around him in the opulent furniture and Royal headed stationary. Finally his eyes alighted on the record he'd casually thrown onto his desk after his visit with Merlin.
He looked at it and then at the gramophone in the corner of his room. It was barely used as so little of the music dedicated to the new record format was really to Arthur's taste. Still, he thought, perhaps he could get some use of it. Getting up he went over and picked the record up from the desk.
Taking it out of the sleeve he examined the perfect shiny surface. There were no imperfections, no faults with it, unlike the recording. Perhaps listening to it would give him some idea of when he was pausing, perhaps it would give him better understanding of how he sounded. It would probably be absolute torture but after his father's words it couldn’t be much worse. Carefully, Arthur placed the record onto the gramophone, made sure it was on, and lowered the needle.
What he heard had him nearly falling over in shock. For a moment he wondered if Merlin hadn't given him the wrong record, hadn't recorded Arthur at all, but it sounded like him except... except the reading was near-flawless compared to what he had been expecting. There was the odd stutter, pause and mispronunciation, but if Arthur hadn’t been looking for fault he wasn't sure he would have noticed it.
Arthur sat down in his desk chair. As the noise of the record turned to static he decided first thing in the morning he was going to ask Morgana for Merlin's telephone number. If that failed he'd go down to Merlin's rooms in person.
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It had been just a normal day for Merlin. Another day of seeing far too many patients for free and not enough paying ones to subsidise the free treatments. He was glad he only had to pay a third of the rent of his lodgings. At the present time he could barely cover the rent of his consulting rooms and they had been the cheapest in the area he could find. He needed to be in the area if he was to attract the rich clients whose fees would help him provide the services to the poorer folk that were so desperately needed.
There was one rich client Merlin hadn't stopped thinking about: Arthur. Arthur the attractive Crown Prince with no self belief and a voice that, if properly trained, could inspire a nation. At least that was what the poetry-loving side of Merlin liked to think. He had no doubt Arthur had issues but he also had potential.
Still, he had made his choice. Merlin had offered his help but the rest was up to Arthur. What Merlin hadn't expected was that the knocking on his door at five o'clock when he was ready to head for home would reveal that very man.
“Prince Arthur?” Merlin asked, surprised, as Arthur stood there.
“Yes. I'm sorry but I thought... I'd w...wait... until you wouldn't have any other... p...patients.”
Arthur was nervous. He was looking around uncertainly and shuffling his feet around. “I didn't think I'd see you again,” Merlin replied. He had hoped but it had just been that; hope.
“I listened... to the record. You... I...I sounded all right. Can you... could we do that again?”
“Yes. It will take time and effort and I need you to really want to do this.”
“I w...want to.”
Merlin went over to the pile of papers on the desk in the corner. “I hoped you would,” he said, smiling, flicking through the papers. “We can draw up a treatment schedule. You'll need to see me every day for at least a couple of months. You won't see any miraculous improvement straight away.”
“I understand.”
Merlin finally found his diary and turned to the current week. “What time's best for you?”
“I'm the Prince. I... can decide whatever time is best.”
“How about two thirty?”
“Agreed. Starting tomorrow?”
Merlin was already pencilling in the initial AP for two thirty the next day before he thought of something. “Do you want to use a pseudonym?” he asked. “For privacy.”
“I thought you had patient... doctor c...confidentiality.”
“I do, but I can't exactly risk saying your name so someone overhears it.”
“Mr Wartson. Morgana thought of it when I was... little.”
“All right Mr A Wartson.”
“About payment,” Arthur said, quietly. “Would a few hundred be all right? As... an advance?”
Merlin wanted to jump up and down and hug Arthur for all he was worth. A few hundred would cover the rent for far more than two months. It would cover his rooms and lodging costs for more than two months. However, he kept his composure and just stood up a little straighter. “More than all right,” he said.
Arthur wrote the cheque out on the spot. “Thank you,” he said, as he handed it over.
Merlin shook his head. “I haven't helped you yet.”
Arthur smiled. “You already... have. Just by helping me get here.”
“You did that,” Merlin said, as he took the cheque from Arthur.
There was an awkward silence as if neither of them was sure what to say among their compliments. Finally Merlin noticed Arthur shifting awkwardly before he held out his hand.
“Until tomorrow then.”
“Yes,” Merlin replied, shaking Arthur's hand. “I'll see you at two thirty.”
With a nod Arthur exited Merlin's rooms, leaving Merlin to collapse onto the nearest chair. He looked at the cheque and could hardly believe the amount on it. He noticed too it was signed by a Mr Wartson, well the Crown Pince of Albion was hardly likely sign cheques as himself. Carefully putting it in his wallet Merlin got up and went over to his desk.
He went through his papers to find the notes he had written on his first impression of Arthur. His professional notes of course, his personal notes, had he written them down, would have been all together different. Arthur was attractive, handsome and generous. He was also royalty and completely off limits. Merlin was determined to help his patient and that was all Prince Arthur would ever be; his patient.
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Arthur took out his watch and checked it for the fifth time in as many minutes. He'd arrived far too early for his appointment, he knew that, but he was eager to start. He was also eager to see Merlin again if he was being honest. Something about the man intrigued him. Clearly Merlin was unconventional and had no idea about the proper way of things but that piqued Arthur's interest.
He swiped his thumb over the face of his watch and determined that twenty five past the hour was close enough. By the time he’d exited the car and gone up to Merlin's rooms it would be half past. Royalty was always punctual, and Arthur was no exception, but to arrive too early would be impolite, especially when Merlin had a schedule to see his patients.
Exiting the car Arthur wondered for a moment if he shouldn't have let Morgana come with him. She had offered to accompany him for moral support but if Arthur was going to do this he had to make the first steps himself. That wasn't to say his heart wasn't pounding as he took the lift up to Merlin's rooms. He tried to keep his breathing calm and even but he wasn't entirely successful.
Arthur checked his watch a final time as he stepped out of the lift and into the dim hallway. It showed just a minute to go and Arthur could relax a little. He walked up to the door of Merlin’s rooms ready for his appointment. He gave a swift knock on the wooden door and waited.
When the door didn't open immediately, Arthur wondered about checking his watch again, or perhaps knocking again. This was a new situation for him. The only doors he'd previously knocked on were those of his teachers, lecturers, commanding officers or, worst of all, the door to his father's study.
To his immense relief the door opened and a grinning Merlin gestured to him.
“Come in, Mr Wartson,” he said, loudly.
“Merlin, I doubt there's... anyone to over...hear.”
“You never know,” Merlin replied, then he paused. “Come in then, Arthur.”
Arthur stepped inside. He wasn't entirely sure what to expect. He looked around, waiting for instruction.
“You can take your coat off if you'd like,” Merlin said, gesturing to a hat stand.”Unless you're not staying?”
“How long... w...will this... take?” Arthur asked, standing awkwardly as if at attention.
“In a hurry to leave already?”
“No but... I asked the car to wait for me.”
“You're the Prince. I'm sure the car will wait as long as you want.”
Realising he was delaying the inevitable Arthur carefully took his coat off. He placed it on the rather wobbly hat stand and hoped it wouldn't fall off.
“Right,” Merlin said, rubbing his hands. “We can get started then.”
Merlin wandered into the centre of the room. “Stand over here.”
Walking a little stiffly Arthur came to stand in front of Merlin. Merlin promptly put his hands on Arthur’s shoulder before he had a chance to protest and encouraged him to turn to the right a little.
“We just need to make sure you're in the right position,” he said. “There we are.”
Releasing his hold on Arthur, Merlin stepped back.
“Is standing up going to... solve my stammer?” Arthur asked. Merlin was unconventional so it wouldn’t surprise him.
“Oh no. I need to check your diaphragm,” Merlin said, before coming round to stand at Arthur’s back.
Arthur nearly jumped at the feel of Merlin's hand on his stomach. “What are you... doing?”
“I want to see how your breathing is,” Merlin explained, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder.
“Touching your... Prince... could be considered... treason.”
“So lock me in the tower. That won't solve your problem. Trust me, Arthur.”
Despite Merlin's words Arthur couldn't help but tense up a little. Arthur was so rarely touched by another person, apart from his sister. Royalty weren't just casually touched, there was protocol, etiquette and expectation forbidding it. Still, Merlin's hand didn't feel wrong. In fact Arthur could feel a warm feeling in his stomach, close to where Merlin's hands rested.
Willing himself to relax a little, lest he alter the results of whatever the examination would tell Merlin, Arthur nodded and let Merlin continue.
“Just breathe in,” Merlin said. “Deep breaths, slow and steady as you can.”
At first Arthur's breaths weren't slow and steady, clearly thinking about relaxing wasn't helping.
“Easy, Arthur,” Merlin whispered.
Merlin’s voice was soothing and Arthur tried to relax again. He focused on the wall opposite, on a patch of peeling paint that had created an odd pattern. It looked a little like a whale. Staring at it he could feel his breathing evening out. He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. He could feel Merlin pushing down on him a little as he continued to breathe in and out.
Arthur relaxed into the rhythm so much he was surprised when Merlin gently removed his hand. “All right, you can stop now, Arthur.”
Letting out a last breath Arthur stood ready for the verdict. Except it seemed Merlin had other ideas.
“I want to check your larynx,” Merlin said as he placed his hand low down on Arthur's throat. It was cold and Arthur shivered slightly. “Sorry,” Merlin said. “I want you to say 'Ahhhhhhh' hold it as long as you can.”
Feeling a little foolish, and blushing as a result, Arthur duly did as he was told. One thing he was good at. “Ahhhhhhhh.”
“That's it. Keep going.”
Arthur wasn't sure how much longer he could keep going as he was running out of breath. There was a palpable sense of relief when Merlin asked him to stop and Arthur took a gulp of air.
“Right, now I want you to take a deep breath and then let out an 'ahhhhh',” Merlin said, placing one hand on Arthur's stomach and the other on this throat. “As long as you can.”
“This is...”
“Going to help,” Merlin repeated. “You're doing really well, Arthur.”
He wasn't feeling as if he was, but Merlin was the expert, and if he was happy with what Arthur was doing then that was what counted in his opinion. Focusing on the patch of peeling paint on the wall, imagining the whale shape swimming, Arthur took a deep breath and let out his 'ahhhh' trying not to think about how nice Merlin's hands felt.
He ran out of breath eventually and sagged. Merlin removed his hands and smiled reassuringly.
“What's the... verdict?” he asked as he saw Merlin step back.
“You have poor co-ordination between your larynx and diaphragm,” Merlin said, as he turned away from Arthur and headed to his small desk. “We can do exercises to help you with that.”
“We?”
“Well,” Merlin grinned as he picked up a notebook. “You'll be doing the hard bit.” Merlin picked up a pencil and chewed the end briefly before he started scribbling something down.
Feeling a little neglected Arthur looked around the room to occupy himself. It wasn't exactly like his usual surroundings. His polished shoes stood out against the rough floorboards. They creaked as he shifted around and waited. His eye kept being drawn to Merlin though. Merlin, who looked so unassuming, but had apparently diagnosed Arthur's problem where doctor after doctor had failed.
Arthur didn't realise he was staring until Merlin was walking toward him.
“Right, now we'll start with a few simple breathing exercises, just to get you going. We'll do some of them during your sessions here, but then you need to do at least another half hour at home. I'll show you what to do but the key is to practice. The more you practice the easier it will get.”
“C....can't I just do them... here?” Arthur asked. He could hardly imagine what would happen if a servant walked in on him practising.
Merlin pursed his lips. “How about for the first few weeks you do most of them here, at least until we've run through a few more, and then gradually start doing some at home?” he asked. “It is important to practice in a different environment. All my patients have to.”
“I'm sure not all your... patients have people c...come into their room.”
“You're the Prince, lock your door.”
“I'm afraid that... doesn't help with my sister.”
“So get her to help you,” Merlin said. “No excuses, Arthur, I'll know if you’ve been slacking off.” As if to emphasise the point Merlin wagged his finger at Arthur.
“Yes, sir!” Arthur said, immediately regretting his response when he saw Merlin's serious face.
As a child and young man Arthur had lived in fear of his tutors and their anger at his failures, but their fiercesome expressions hadn't affected him the same way as Merlin's disappointed expression.
“Sorry,” Arthur said, quietly.
“This is for you, Arthur,” Merlin said. “You're the one who has to want to work on this. I can do miracles but not the impossible.”
Arthur smiled. “Only miracles?”
Merlin smiled back. “Hey, I have a reputation to keep.”
“I’ll do my best,” Arthur said. “I w...w...wouldn't want to.. .tarnish your reputation.”
“Good, now do you want to start?”
Arthur nodded. “Yes.”
“We'll start with a few breathing exercises,” Merlin said, going over to the window and opening it. “Loosen you up.”
“I don't need to be... loose.”
Merlin seemed to ignore Arthur as he came over and pushed him toward the window. “Fresh air, it's good for you.”
Arthur stood in front of the window and smelt the air. They were in a city and as a result the air wasn't exactly fresh. There was the acrid smell of industry in the air, mixed with some odd cooking smells. It wasn't very pleasant. “You... call this fresh?”
“We're not driving out to the countryside just because the air smells a bit...” Merlin paused, “urban.”
Really, the man was rather odd Arthur thought as he stood in front of the window. “Now what?”
Merlin placed his hands on Arthur's shoulders. “Deep breath and say 'ahhhhh'”
“We've done this... before,”Arthur pointed out.
“But now we're going to keep doing it,” Merlin replied, coming to stand next to Arthur. “Watch.”
There wasn't much to watch but Arthur turned his head to look at Merlin in profile. He'd never really looked at Merlin in such detail before; the line of his jaw, the sight jut of his cheekbones, his full lips. Feeling a little like a voyeur Arthur turned back to look out of the window. Not that the view of the wall of the building next door really compared to Merlin.
“Ahhhhhhh,” Merlin said, breathing in again. “Ahhhhhhhhh.” He sounded slightly higher.
“Are you trying to... sing?”
Merlin stopped 'ahhing' and turned to Arthur, glaring a little. “It's to strengthen the diaphragm,” he said. “You need to start breathing deeply. Breathe up from it.”
“How?” Arthur had no idea how one was supposed 'breathe up'.
Merlin could have made some sarcastic comments but he didn't. He came over and pressed his hand against what Arthur presumed was his diaphragm. “You need to feel it here,” he said. “Breathe out, like you're blowing at something. Take the force from here. Push the sound out from here too.”
“All right,” Arthur said. He took a breath and tried saying 'ahhhh', but before he'd really made a noise Merlin stopped him.
“Feel where my hand is pushing in. When you breathe push out against it.”
Arthur could feel the pressure of Merlin’s hand, it was firm yet it didn't hurt. This time Arthur did as he was told and sure enough he produced a long, deep sounding 'Ahhhhh'.
“Brilliant,” Merlin said. “Now we need to make it higher.”
For the rest of the session Arthur stood in front of an open window and made 'ahhhhhh' noises. At Merlin's direction he held them for a long or short period of time. He was encouraged to alter the pitch, sometimes whilst making the sound. It could have been psychosomatic, but by the end he felt as if he was breathing much more easily. He was disappointed when Merlin called the session to an end.
“I think that's enough for today,” Merlin said. “We'll start on some different exercises tomorrow.”
Arthur wandered over to fetch his coat. Luckily, it had not fallen off the hat stand. However, when Arthur lifted his coat off the stand, the structure did wobble to the point where he feared the hat stand would fall over.
“Now, think about your breathing before you go to sleep,” Merlin said, helping Arthur into his coat even though Arthur hadn't made the request. “Relax and focus.”
“I will. Thank you,” Arthur said. “I'm grateful.”
“You did all the hard work, remember?” Merlin said, patting Arthur on the back.
It was a friendly, familiar gesture that really shouldn't have been allowed but, when it came to Merlin, Arthur found convention was rapidly having no place in their interactions. “Of course I did.”
“I'll you tomorrow,” Merlin said, as he opened the door. “Mr Wartson.” The last part was said quite loudly.
Arthur gave Merlin a last look as he left. Merlin was ridiculous. He was also kind, patient and rather good looking in Arthur's opinion. He shook his head as he got into the lift. Merlin was his therapist. They had had one therapy session, he shouldn't be thinking thoughts like that.
Yet as he was driven back to the palace the only thing he was thinking about was that it would be nearly twenty four hours before he could see Merlin again.
******************************************************************************
As he shut the door after Arthur had left Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. Their first therapy session was complete and it had, in his opinion, gone rather well. Arthur had eventually relaxed, which had been Merlin's main worry. Part of Arthur’s problem was his tensing up. If Merlin couldn’t get him to relax then there was no hope of managing Arthur's condition.
As it was he had high hopes for the Prince. Arthur had a determination about him, facing his fears the way he had. Clearly it had taken a lot of courage to get this far and Merlin admired that. Arthur was the best sort of patient; one who truly wanted to be there. He just needed the odd push in the right direction.
Things had gone so well that Merlin had been surprised when he'd looked at the clock and noticed the time. Never had a session passed by so quickly. Of course it had all been very basic stuff. Next time they'd do some other exercises, vary it.
He wrote up his notes and observations and placed them in Arthur's file. Everything was labelled Mr Wartson in case anyone bothered to look. Merlin trusted all his patients but some of the younger ones did have a tendency to poke their noses into where they didn’t belong.
Speaking of which, he'd just put Arthur's file away when Gilli appeared for his session. Turning his attention from the patient he'd just treated Merlin gave Gilli his full attention as they worked on the poor boy’s tendency to get tongue tied.
After Gilli Merlin saw a couple of other patients before it was time to head home. Luckily he had a car. Albeit an old, battered Austin Seven at least a decade old. It had been the cheapest car Merlin could buy when he'd arrived from Avalon but he liked spending the journey home alone with his private thoughts. As he drove home through the darkened streets he couldn't help but think about Arthur. A dangerous thought he knew.
Arriving home he saw Lancelot's car already parked. There wasn't much parking available given the modest house he shared with Lancelot and Gwaine had been built long before the invention of the motorcar. Merlin managed to squeeze his car into a space not far from his front door and headed inside, there was a slight nip in the air so he didn't linger.
As he entered the kitchen he saw Lancelot taking out some sort of dish from the oven.
“Gwen sent some food over?” Merlin asked. Apparently Lancelot's long standing girlfriend had the opinion that three men living in a house together couldn't cook. She may have had a point.
“Yes, just a shepherd's pie,” Lancelot replied, closing the oven door.
“At least it means we'll be eating something edible,” Gwaine said, leaning back in his chair with his feet on the table as he read the paper.
Merlin pushed Gwaine's feet off. “You could take your shoes off,” he said.
“But they keep my feet warm.”
Lancelot smiled sympathetically at Merlin. “How did things go today?” he asked as he laid out three plates and three sets of cutlery.
“Great,” Merlin replied, sitting down. “Saw a new patient today.”
“Ah, the mysterious rich benefactor,” Gwaine said, putting his paper to one side, clearly in anticipation of food.
“Yes. I think he's got potential.”
“In helping to pay the bills?” Gwaine asked.
Lancelot placed the shepherd's pie in its dish on the table. “I'm sure his money helps.”
“It does but honestly he could be brilliant. I mean really brilliant. He's kind, determined and with a bit of work he'll get the confidence he needs.”
Gwaine smiled. “Sounds like someone's smitten.”
“Is he... you know?” Lancelot asked, as he divided the shepherd’s pie between the three plates.
“Yes, he's good looking but nothing is going to happen. He's my patient.”
“Who is he?” Gwaine asked, taking a forkful of food. “Must be something to have you interested.”
“I can't say,” Merlin replied. “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“Just let us know before you bring him home,” Gwaine winked.
“I won't be bringing him home,” Merlin replied. He could hardly picture Arthur, Crown Prince of Albion, in their humble kitchen, much as he wanted to. “So how's the world of finance?”
“Not looking so great if the rumours are true.”
“What rumours?” Merlin asked.
Lancelot smiled. “Merlin, my friend you need to keep up with the papers. They say Mercia's been making noise about invading the Western Isles.”
“But that would mean war.”
Gwaine shoved his newspaper in Merlin's direction. “You won't get much out of there but the news is all over the treasury.”
Glancing at the headlines Merlin could see something about a possible diplomatic incident. He believed Gwaine and Lancelot more than the paper. Both of them had worked in the treasury for long enough to know details about government business the ordinary public had no idea about. They'd told Merlin about the scandal with the Tiramor affair long before it had hit the newspapers.
It wasn't entirely unexpected that his first thought was what it would mean for Arthur. Especially when his eye caught the paragraph deploring rumours about the king's health. The cynic in Merlin knew that Albion's newspapers liked to keep the full details of the Royals behind closed doors. Which was why Arthur's stammer had so far evaded too much scrutiny, for which Merlin found himself unexpectedly grateful.
With luck Arthur's problem would be managed before too much attention could be drawn to it.
*****************************************************************************
part 2
Masterpost
As he stared at the words on the paper, Arthur went through them again in his head. It wasn't hard to read them mentally, each word came out perfectly timed and perfectly enunciated. In his mind there were no pauses, no awkward moments where the words wouldn't come, they simply flowed. The reality was Arthur knew he could never speak them like that.
The speech was an important one; the closing speech of the Great Albion Exhibition. Thousands had poured into the city to view the displays of the artistic, scientific and engineering achievements of Albion’s last hundred years. Arthur's own father; King Uther himself, had delivered a rousing opening speech. He should have been delivering this one but had taken ill with a mild bout of laryngitis and Arthur, as his son and heir, was the natural choice to speak in his place.
Except Arthur couldn't speak.
Arthur was jolted out of his thoughts by Morgana lightly touching his arm.
“Arthur, it's time,” she said, her face creased with worry. She knew how nervous Arthur was. She'd been at his side since they were children. She'd seen her brother struggle to do what should have been a natural talent.
He smiled at her, a tight smile betraying his nerves no doubt from her sympathetic look.
“It will be all right,” she whispered.
Arthur shook his head. It was never all right but at least he wasn't facing his ordeal alone.
Leaving the VIP room he went up the stairs to where the podium was waiting. As he took each step he ran through the words in his mind imagining them clearly and without fault. At the top of the stairs they were met by Geoffrey, the man who had personally approved the speech Arthur was about to attempt to speak.
“You'll be live in two minutes,” he said.
Arthur gritted his teeth and stepped out into the stand. All around him was a vast crowd of people. The stand was fully packed and there were four more just like it. Even on the ground there were large crowds, bigger than Arthur had seen before. Every person was so small it felt like thousands of pinheads were glaring at him.
Stepping up to the podium, Arthur noticed the dreaded microphone hung in front of him. He'd fought battles, seen wars and yet nothing had scared him as much as this new grey, modern piece of equipment. For it meant that the crowds before him were but a small number of the people who would be listening. It was as if he was looking at a bucketful of sand grains when in fact he had an entire beach.
He carefully arranged the papers on the lectern. He shuffled them about a little. Beside him he could see a small bulb that would shortly light up red, the colour of danger. That would be his cue.
Taking a few gulps of air Arthur glanced up and was relieved that no-one seemed to be staring. To one side he could see Geraint counting down. Then he pointed to Arthur and the red light flickered on.
Arthur cleared his throat, or tried to, the odd grumbling sound echoed harshly around the arena.
Now he could feel all those eyes turning toward him and the light blinked briefly; once, twice, three times and then on the fourth it stayed on. The light drew his attention away from the paper so he glanced up at the microphone, only to see expectant faces looking at him having turned around in their seats.
“People of Albion,” Arthur began, his voice taking on a strange ethereal quality as the loudspeakers delivered his words to the vast crowd. “I am honoured,” he paused, feeling his breathing increase as the echo caught him up. “to be here...” another pause, longer now. Arthur could feel his throat begin to clench, feel his muscles tense up, “today,” he said. He paused for the next sentence. “The k...k...”
Now Arthur really couldn't speak. He could hear the word 'king' in his mind but his body would not speak it. His tongue moved awkwardly in his mouth as he struggled to expel air out to form the word.
“The k...k...k...”
Every stutter, every mistake, was being amplified a thousand times. Arthur stared at the pages and prayed for a miracle. Beside him Morgana looked sympathetic. Geoffrey's head was bowed.
Eventually he made it through the speech. It took over twice as long as had been planned. He finally managed to say the word king and thereafter paused frequently, virtually at every word.
“I can't... I can't do this Morgana!” he practically shouted as they were escorted down the stairs.
“We'll find someone,” Morgana said, quietly.
“Who?” Arthur asked.
As Crown Prince Arthur had seen every doctor who had ever come close to having some kind of honour for their work. There had been Edwin, who had forced Arthur to put glass balls in his mouth and read the work of poets. Arthur had spat out the balls and not read poetry for months after that.
Then there had been Valiant who had thought that the way to get him to speak was to toughen him up. Arthur had endured just ten minutes of Valiant's brutal physical style before firing him. After him there had been Ulfric who had thought near drowning would cure the problem. Arthur still feared taking baths alone.
In short, not one had been able to help him and the court physician, Gaius, was at a loss as to the cause.
“I can't be cured,” Arthur said, matter-of-factly. “I'm the Prince who can't... who can't... speak.”
*****************************************************************************
The Lady Morgana though, was not one to give up so easily. She had watched her brother struggle through speeches since he was a boy and Uther would shout at him to try harder. There was now a more pressing need to help Arthur. Technology was coming; radio, film and a prince could no longer confine his failing to small crowds. Now his whole nation was listening.
Arthur needed help.
As the car drove along foggy streets, Morgana hoped the man she was about to see could help her brother. Her maid Gwen had spoken highly of him, had said how he helped her brother with his speech. Morgana had been surprised to learn that Elyan had ever really had a speech problem so assured was Gwen's brother whenever they met. It seemed he owed it all to a certain Merlin Emerson of Harley Street and his unconventional techniques that got clear results.
Morgana had asked for the address at once.
Now here she was on a foggy, bleak, and damp morning hoping to find a man who could save her brother from over two decades of speech problems. It was quite a long shot by any means, but Morgana had a good feeling about Mr Emerson, one she'd not had in a long time.
The car pulled up outside and Morgana instructed her driver to wait. Percival was always polite and efficient.
“Very good, ma'am,” he said, as he helped her out.
Emerson's rooms were situated on the uppermost floor of the building and Morgana had to go in a lift to get to them. She was relieved that she'd persuaded Uther to install the modern devices in the palace as they were quite intimidating things. As she reached the right floor the bell dinged and she shifted the screen to step out.
The place was shabby, no doubt about that, and old. The decoration was at least a generation out of date. She stepped up to the door of the room in front and knocked.
When she got no reply she ventured a call. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
There was a voice from behind her. “Just in the toilet, won't be a minute!”
Morgana smiled.
She wasn't kept waiting long, she barely had time to note the dust on the light fitting, before a man about Arthur's age stepped out of a small room and into the hall area. He was dressed a little shabbily compared to the doctors Morgana had met but then it was clear he wasn't a doctor. The sign on his door said 'Mr M. Emerson. Speech Therapist'.
“Oh, sorry, I thought you were Freya,” the man said, offering a hand. “She's due her appointment soon and I thought she was early.”
Morgana warily took the stranger’s hand and shook it. “Are you Mr Emerson?”
He nodded. “Merlin Emerson, yes. Can I help you?”
She smiled. “You can. I have a brother...”
“So you're not here for yourself?”
“No. My brother is... shy about his 'problem.'”
“He can't be shy if he wants to be my patient,” Merlin grinned. “I don’t take referrals from family members.”
“Please,” Morgana said. “It's delicate.”
Merlin frowned a little. “Go on.”
“My brother, as part of his job, is required to speak publicly and, well, he has difficulty.”
“Perhaps he should find a new job.”
“He can't. My brother is the Crown Prince of Albion. Maybe you’ve heard of him? Prince Arthur?”
Merlin's eyes widened and he looked slightly shocked. “So you would be...”
“The Lady Morgana, yes.”
Merlin wandered into his rooms. “I think I need a sit down,” he muttered.
Morgana barely gave the man a chance to collapse in his chair before she spoke again. “Will you help him?”
Now sitting down Merlin seemed a little calmer. “You want me to treat the Crown Prince of Albion?”
“Yes. He's seen everybody but none of them helped.”
Now a smile began to form on Merlin's face “He hasn't seen me.”
“Gwen told me you did wonders with her brother; Elyan.”
“Elyan's problem was minor, he just needed some confidence.”
“Which is what Arthur needs.”
Merlin pursed his lips. “I'll help,” he said, after a moment's pause. “But it has to be his choice. Your brother has to decide to come here and I'll need total trust.”
“I'll bring him here tomorrow,” Morgana promised. “Have you got a free appointment?”
“You royals are all the same,” Merlin smiled. “Always assuming there's an appointment for you.” He stood up. “Luckily I have a space free at half past two.”
“We'll be here,” Morgana promised.
“Merlin?” a young girl appeared from around the door. “Am I disturb...disturb... interrupting?”
Merlin went over and took the young girl by the hand “Not at all, Freya,” he said, smiling at her and guiding her to a chair. “This lady was just asking if I would help her brother.”
Morgana offered the girl a smile.
“Merlin's very good,” Freya said. “Very good.”
“Quite the endorsement,” Morgana said. “I won't keep you from your patient Mr Emerson. I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Until tomorrow,” Merlin replied.
As she went back down in the lift Morgana felt a lot happier. Perhaps she had finally found the right person to cure Arthur.
****************************************************************************
“I am not... going to see a bloody... speech therapist!” Arthur yelled after Morgana had told him what she's been up to that afternoon.
“Arthur, please, he's good. You'll like him.”
“I didn't think I was supposed to like sp...sp... those people.”
“Maybe that's the problem. You need a different approach.”
“I can't go through it again, Morgana.”
“One meeting, that's it, Arthur. If you're not happy you don't have to stay but what if he's the one who can cure you?”
“I can't be... cured.”
“How do you know if you don't try and see him?”
Arthur was looking out of the window. Morgana pressed it further.
“If this doesn't work out I won't ask you again.”
Reluctantly Arthur nodded. “One meeting,” he conceded.
“You won't regret it,” Morgana said.
Deep down both of them prayed he wouldn't.
****************************************************************************
At two o'clock the next day Merlin waved goodbye to Matthew. The man was coming on in leaps and bounds. Merlin was sure he would be able to get through his wedding vows without any trouble at all.
Glancing at the clock Merlin was relieved he hadn't got another appointment for another half hour, considering who the next appointment was with. He hadn't quite believed it had been the Lady Morgana standing outside his door until he had gone home and stolen a look at Gwaine's newspaper. Sure enough there had been a picture of her on page ten with her brother; Merlin's new patient.
He spent ten minutes trying to rearrange the furniture. There were only a few of chairs, a sofa and a couple of tables, but he was determined each one should be perfect. Ironic really as in these rooms Arthur would simply be just another patient and not the heir to one of the most important thrones in the world. The Crown Prince was going to have something of a culture shock.
The clock read twenty past and Merlin made himself a cup of tea, timing how long the kettle took to boil. He was just sipping at the warm brew when he heard the familiar clack of the lift shutter being opened. Taking a quick gulp of tea he noticed it was twenty five past the hour. Apparently the stories about Royalty always being punctual were true.
Outside the room he could hear strained voices, obviously trying to whisper but failing miserably. Smiling to himself, he opened the door with a flourish. “Hello!” he said.
The talking stopped and the prince stared at him whilst the Lady Morgana seemed amused.
“Come in,” Merlin said, waving a hand to encourage them inside.
“This isn't what I... expected,” Arthur said, quietly.
“What were you expecting?” Merlin asked. “I was wondering about growing a beard.”
“Your rooms,” Arthur said.
Merlin looked around, wondering how they would appear to a prince. “Oh, I've not got around to redecorating yet, but I will. I just need a few more paying patients.”
“Couldn't we do... this... at the palace?” Arthur asked.
Merlin shook his head. “I require trust and equality. If we were in Camelot Palace we wouldn’t have that. We'd have you being the Prince and that wouldn’t work.”
“I'm still the Prince.”
“No, you're my patient,” Merlin corrected. “In here that's who you are.”
He could see Arthur backing away a little, glancing at the door. For someone who looked so confident it was clear he didn't appear to have much inside. Merlin noticed Morgana touching his arm.
“Give him a chance, Arthur,” she whispered. “You said you would.”
“Do we have to be alone?” Arthur asked.
“For the first meeting, yes,” Merlin said. “I need to find out about you and the best way is for us to talk together.”
“I'll be outside,” Morgana whispered, giving her brother’s arm a squeeze. She smiled at Merlin before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.
“So... where do we start?” Arthur asked, standing awkwardly.
“On the sofa,” Merlin replied, indicating the battered blue sofa set against one wall. Arthur shuffled over.
The Prince took a good hard look at the sofa before he gingerly sat down. Merlin pulled up a chair and sat down opposite. He offered his new patient what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“I'm Merlin,” he said, holding out a hand.
“Pleased to meet you... Mr Emerson.”
“No, it's Merlin,” he corrected. “All my patients call me Merlin.”
“You... can call me 'Your Royal Highness' and after that, 'Sir',” Arthur replied, shaking Merlin's hand rather half heartedly.
“I told you in here all men are equal,” Merlin said. “You're my patient not the Prince.”
“Mr P...P...Pendragon then.”
Merlin could sense the stiff formality that had been forced into Arthur, clearly from a young age, reflected in the way he was sat bolt upright on the sofa, his muscles tense. No wonder the man had problems. “Arthur.”
“Only my family... c...call me that.”
“Well, think of me as a long lost relative,” Merlin said. “Shall we start, Arthur?”
Arthur winced at the use of his name but didn't object. “What makes you think you... can cure me? I've seen the best doctors in Albion.”
“Firstly, I'm from Avalon not Albion.”
“That explains the... lack of etiquette. You... colonials are all the same.”
“Secondly they were doctors. I'm a speech therapist.”
“Several of them are well known for their... speech work.”
“They're amateurs. Idiots who think that a degree means you know everything.”
“My f...f...father has given several of them honours.”
“So they're officially honoured idiots.”
“You have no shame.”
“I hope not,” Merlin grinned. Arthur's posture relaxed a little. “So what was your earliest memory?”
“I'm not here to discuss... memories.”
“Then why you you here?” Merlin asked, leaning forward a little.
“Because I stammer! I bloody stammer!” Arthur yelled, causing Merlin to lean back. The Prince had quite the temper.
“But you didn't then,” Merlin said.
“What the hell does it matter?”
“See you're not stammering now. When you're angry you're not thinking about it.”
“Are you saying my problem is... because I think too much?”
“No! Well, yes.” Merlin sighed. “Your problem is partly in the mind. The physiological changes are because of what's going on in your head. I can help you control your reactions; breathing, diaphragm, all of that but if you want a lasting cure...”
“You want to.... be my... psychologist?”
“Not at all. But if we give you confidence the rest should follow.”
“Should,” Arthur snorted.
“Let's start with something different. Tell me a joke.”
“I don’t know any... jokes.”
“Not even 'Knock Knock' jokes?”
“Timing... isn't a strength of mine,” Arthur replied.
Merlin smiled. “Well, we'll have to work on your jokes,” he said. “Now, I want you to read something to me.”
He went over to the table and picked up one of the books he'd left there. He often flicked through them whilst waiting for patients but he also found them useful tools. He opened the book to the page he wanted and handed it to Arthur.
“Read me this.”
Arthur looked startled. “Poetry? You want me to... read you poetry?”
“I have Shakespeare if you prefer?”
Arthur shook his head. He took a few deep breaths as Merlin watched. “If you c...c..can k...k..eep your head... when all about... you. Are losing theirs... and blaming it... on you.” Arthur threw the book down. “I... c...can't.”
Merlin picked the book up and turned back to the right page. “You can,” he said. He could see Arthur sitting stiffly on the chair, looking ready to stand up and leave. Yet his hands were clasped tightly together. No wonder his problem was so acute. His anxiety was exacerbating the problem to a huge degree.
“I can't,” Arthur replied.
“Come over here,” Merlin said, walking over to his equipment. “I want to show you something.”
It took a moment before Arthur got up off the sofa and came over to where Merlin was fiddling with the knobs. The machine he had was very new and, if truth be told, had cost more money than he could really afford. Still, it had been one of the best investments he had ever made. The technique hadn't failed yet.
“I'm going to record you speaking,” Merlin said.
“I think you’ll find the Albion... Broadcasting Corporation have already... done that.”
“Not like this,” Merlin said, picking up the headphones and placing them over Arthur's ears. They were bulky things but they seemed to fit all right. “I'm going to play you some music and I want you to read the poem again.”
Arthur looked down at the book in his hand.
“Just concentrate on the sound of the music,” Merlin said. “I'm going to record you and then we can play it back and listen together.”
He pointed to the poem on the page. He flicked a switch to get the music playing and turned the volume up to make sure that Arthur wouldn’t be able to hear anything but the music. Flicking another switch to begin the recording he encouraged Arthur to start reading by waving his hand.
Arthur began to read out loud.
A few minutes later Merlin flicked the switch again and stopped the recording. He turned the music off and beamed at Arthur. Arthur though, did not seem so pleased. He removed the headphones slowly and handed them to Merlin looking utterly defeated.
“Shall we play it back?” Merlin asked.
“No. I'm sorry. This... this isn't going to work.” Arthur said.
Merlin frowned. “You've not even heard yourself.”
“I know what I sound like!” Arthur yelled, his stammer disappearing again. “I sound like a bloody fool.”
Merlin lifted the record up off the machine. “Take this with you,” he said. “Listen to it. Think of it as a souvenir.” He placed it in a clean sleeve and offered it to Arthur.
Merlin was not going to force the issue. The last thing he wanted was a patient who didn't want to be there. He only hoped that Arthur would have a change of heart. He knew he could really make a difference with him. He could really help him.
Carefully Arthur took the proffered record. “Thank you for your... time,” he said.
With that Arthur Pendragon left Merlin's rooms without ever realising he had spoken the poem with barely a single stutter or pause in speech. Merlin just hoped Arthur would listen to the record to discover that fact for himself. If he did perhaps, he might come back. Merlin found he wanted that very much.
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Arthur had left Merlin's rooms with barely concealed disappointment. Morgana had looked equally disappointed. In the car on the way back Arthur said nothing but cradled the record in his hands. Here he had proof of his failings recorded in black vinyl. When they reached the palace Arthur placed the record on the table in his private rooms and forgot about it.
That evening he had to endure another dinner with his father. Although his health was failing, King Uther still insisted that the regimen of the royal household was maintained. That meant full dinner suits and at least three courses. It also meant interminable silences and awkward conversation.
“We never talked about your speech, Arthur,” Uther said, as he lifted a spoon full of soup to his mouth.
“No... we didn't... F...F...Father.”
“You really need to work on that hesitancy of yours.”
“Yes... Father.” Arthur pushed his spoon in the soup and stirred slightly.
Uther took another spoonful. “It's really quite simple. You just need to try harder.”
“I will... F..Father.”
Morgana, who had been eating her soup, quietly stepped into the conversation. “I think Arthur did an excellent job. He didn't have much time to prepare.”
“A king always needs to be prepared, Morgana,” Uther replied, lifting another spoonful of soup to his lips and slurping it slowly. “He must always be ready when his public duties call him. Arthur knows that. Don't you, Arthur?”
“Yes... Father.”
“Don't pause so much. You don't need to think about every word.”
“Sorry.” As always Arthur kept his answers short, lest his father pick up on his speech impediment.
“Don't apologise either. It's a sign of weakness.”
“Yes... F...F...Father.”
“And eat your soup It's getting cold.”
Arthur didn't answer and simply took a spoonful. The soup had already lost much of its heat and the tepid liquid ran down his throat without much pleasure.
There was a great deal of relief in Arthur's heart when dinner was over. He bid his father a stiff
goodnight and went up to his rooms. Morgana caught him on the stairs.
“Don't let him get to you,” she said.
Arthur gave her a smile. “If only it was that easy.”
As he entered his rooms he pulled his tie and threw it onto the bed. Sighing he sat down and rubbed his eyes before loosening his collar. He looked about his room; the trappings of monarchy all around him in the opulent furniture and Royal headed stationary. Finally his eyes alighted on the record he'd casually thrown onto his desk after his visit with Merlin.
He looked at it and then at the gramophone in the corner of his room. It was barely used as so little of the music dedicated to the new record format was really to Arthur's taste. Still, he thought, perhaps he could get some use of it. Getting up he went over and picked the record up from the desk.
Taking it out of the sleeve he examined the perfect shiny surface. There were no imperfections, no faults with it, unlike the recording. Perhaps listening to it would give him some idea of when he was pausing, perhaps it would give him better understanding of how he sounded. It would probably be absolute torture but after his father's words it couldn’t be much worse. Carefully, Arthur placed the record onto the gramophone, made sure it was on, and lowered the needle.
What he heard had him nearly falling over in shock. For a moment he wondered if Merlin hadn't given him the wrong record, hadn't recorded Arthur at all, but it sounded like him except... except the reading was near-flawless compared to what he had been expecting. There was the odd stutter, pause and mispronunciation, but if Arthur hadn’t been looking for fault he wasn't sure he would have noticed it.
Arthur sat down in his desk chair. As the noise of the record turned to static he decided first thing in the morning he was going to ask Morgana for Merlin's telephone number. If that failed he'd go down to Merlin's rooms in person.
****************************************************************************
It had been just a normal day for Merlin. Another day of seeing far too many patients for free and not enough paying ones to subsidise the free treatments. He was glad he only had to pay a third of the rent of his lodgings. At the present time he could barely cover the rent of his consulting rooms and they had been the cheapest in the area he could find. He needed to be in the area if he was to attract the rich clients whose fees would help him provide the services to the poorer folk that were so desperately needed.
There was one rich client Merlin hadn't stopped thinking about: Arthur. Arthur the attractive Crown Prince with no self belief and a voice that, if properly trained, could inspire a nation. At least that was what the poetry-loving side of Merlin liked to think. He had no doubt Arthur had issues but he also had potential.
Still, he had made his choice. Merlin had offered his help but the rest was up to Arthur. What Merlin hadn't expected was that the knocking on his door at five o'clock when he was ready to head for home would reveal that very man.
“Prince Arthur?” Merlin asked, surprised, as Arthur stood there.
“Yes. I'm sorry but I thought... I'd w...wait... until you wouldn't have any other... p...patients.”
Arthur was nervous. He was looking around uncertainly and shuffling his feet around. “I didn't think I'd see you again,” Merlin replied. He had hoped but it had just been that; hope.
“I listened... to the record. You... I...I sounded all right. Can you... could we do that again?”
“Yes. It will take time and effort and I need you to really want to do this.”
“I w...want to.”
Merlin went over to the pile of papers on the desk in the corner. “I hoped you would,” he said, smiling, flicking through the papers. “We can draw up a treatment schedule. You'll need to see me every day for at least a couple of months. You won't see any miraculous improvement straight away.”
“I understand.”
Merlin finally found his diary and turned to the current week. “What time's best for you?”
“I'm the Prince. I... can decide whatever time is best.”
“How about two thirty?”
“Agreed. Starting tomorrow?”
Merlin was already pencilling in the initial AP for two thirty the next day before he thought of something. “Do you want to use a pseudonym?” he asked. “For privacy.”
“I thought you had patient... doctor c...confidentiality.”
“I do, but I can't exactly risk saying your name so someone overhears it.”
“Mr Wartson. Morgana thought of it when I was... little.”
“All right Mr A Wartson.”
“About payment,” Arthur said, quietly. “Would a few hundred be all right? As... an advance?”
Merlin wanted to jump up and down and hug Arthur for all he was worth. A few hundred would cover the rent for far more than two months. It would cover his rooms and lodging costs for more than two months. However, he kept his composure and just stood up a little straighter. “More than all right,” he said.
Arthur wrote the cheque out on the spot. “Thank you,” he said, as he handed it over.
Merlin shook his head. “I haven't helped you yet.”
Arthur smiled. “You already... have. Just by helping me get here.”
“You did that,” Merlin said, as he took the cheque from Arthur.
There was an awkward silence as if neither of them was sure what to say among their compliments. Finally Merlin noticed Arthur shifting awkwardly before he held out his hand.
“Until tomorrow then.”
“Yes,” Merlin replied, shaking Arthur's hand. “I'll see you at two thirty.”
With a nod Arthur exited Merlin's rooms, leaving Merlin to collapse onto the nearest chair. He looked at the cheque and could hardly believe the amount on it. He noticed too it was signed by a Mr Wartson, well the Crown Pince of Albion was hardly likely sign cheques as himself. Carefully putting it in his wallet Merlin got up and went over to his desk.
He went through his papers to find the notes he had written on his first impression of Arthur. His professional notes of course, his personal notes, had he written them down, would have been all together different. Arthur was attractive, handsome and generous. He was also royalty and completely off limits. Merlin was determined to help his patient and that was all Prince Arthur would ever be; his patient.
******************************************************************************
Arthur took out his watch and checked it for the fifth time in as many minutes. He'd arrived far too early for his appointment, he knew that, but he was eager to start. He was also eager to see Merlin again if he was being honest. Something about the man intrigued him. Clearly Merlin was unconventional and had no idea about the proper way of things but that piqued Arthur's interest.
He swiped his thumb over the face of his watch and determined that twenty five past the hour was close enough. By the time he’d exited the car and gone up to Merlin's rooms it would be half past. Royalty was always punctual, and Arthur was no exception, but to arrive too early would be impolite, especially when Merlin had a schedule to see his patients.
Exiting the car Arthur wondered for a moment if he shouldn't have let Morgana come with him. She had offered to accompany him for moral support but if Arthur was going to do this he had to make the first steps himself. That wasn't to say his heart wasn't pounding as he took the lift up to Merlin's rooms. He tried to keep his breathing calm and even but he wasn't entirely successful.
Arthur checked his watch a final time as he stepped out of the lift and into the dim hallway. It showed just a minute to go and Arthur could relax a little. He walked up to the door of Merlin’s rooms ready for his appointment. He gave a swift knock on the wooden door and waited.
When the door didn't open immediately, Arthur wondered about checking his watch again, or perhaps knocking again. This was a new situation for him. The only doors he'd previously knocked on were those of his teachers, lecturers, commanding officers or, worst of all, the door to his father's study.
To his immense relief the door opened and a grinning Merlin gestured to him.
“Come in, Mr Wartson,” he said, loudly.
“Merlin, I doubt there's... anyone to over...hear.”
“You never know,” Merlin replied, then he paused. “Come in then, Arthur.”
Arthur stepped inside. He wasn't entirely sure what to expect. He looked around, waiting for instruction.
“You can take your coat off if you'd like,” Merlin said, gesturing to a hat stand.”Unless you're not staying?”
“How long... w...will this... take?” Arthur asked, standing awkwardly as if at attention.
“In a hurry to leave already?”
“No but... I asked the car to wait for me.”
“You're the Prince. I'm sure the car will wait as long as you want.”
Realising he was delaying the inevitable Arthur carefully took his coat off. He placed it on the rather wobbly hat stand and hoped it wouldn't fall off.
“Right,” Merlin said, rubbing his hands. “We can get started then.”
Merlin wandered into the centre of the room. “Stand over here.”
Walking a little stiffly Arthur came to stand in front of Merlin. Merlin promptly put his hands on Arthur’s shoulder before he had a chance to protest and encouraged him to turn to the right a little.
“We just need to make sure you're in the right position,” he said. “There we are.”
Releasing his hold on Arthur, Merlin stepped back.
“Is standing up going to... solve my stammer?” Arthur asked. Merlin was unconventional so it wouldn’t surprise him.
“Oh no. I need to check your diaphragm,” Merlin said, before coming round to stand at Arthur’s back.
Arthur nearly jumped at the feel of Merlin's hand on his stomach. “What are you... doing?”
“I want to see how your breathing is,” Merlin explained, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder.
“Touching your... Prince... could be considered... treason.”
“So lock me in the tower. That won't solve your problem. Trust me, Arthur.”
Despite Merlin's words Arthur couldn't help but tense up a little. Arthur was so rarely touched by another person, apart from his sister. Royalty weren't just casually touched, there was protocol, etiquette and expectation forbidding it. Still, Merlin's hand didn't feel wrong. In fact Arthur could feel a warm feeling in his stomach, close to where Merlin's hands rested.
Willing himself to relax a little, lest he alter the results of whatever the examination would tell Merlin, Arthur nodded and let Merlin continue.
“Just breathe in,” Merlin said. “Deep breaths, slow and steady as you can.”
At first Arthur's breaths weren't slow and steady, clearly thinking about relaxing wasn't helping.
“Easy, Arthur,” Merlin whispered.
Merlin’s voice was soothing and Arthur tried to relax again. He focused on the wall opposite, on a patch of peeling paint that had created an odd pattern. It looked a little like a whale. Staring at it he could feel his breathing evening out. He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. He could feel Merlin pushing down on him a little as he continued to breathe in and out.
Arthur relaxed into the rhythm so much he was surprised when Merlin gently removed his hand. “All right, you can stop now, Arthur.”
Letting out a last breath Arthur stood ready for the verdict. Except it seemed Merlin had other ideas.
“I want to check your larynx,” Merlin said as he placed his hand low down on Arthur's throat. It was cold and Arthur shivered slightly. “Sorry,” Merlin said. “I want you to say 'Ahhhhhhh' hold it as long as you can.”
Feeling a little foolish, and blushing as a result, Arthur duly did as he was told. One thing he was good at. “Ahhhhhhhh.”
“That's it. Keep going.”
Arthur wasn't sure how much longer he could keep going as he was running out of breath. There was a palpable sense of relief when Merlin asked him to stop and Arthur took a gulp of air.
“Right, now I want you to take a deep breath and then let out an 'ahhhhh',” Merlin said, placing one hand on Arthur's stomach and the other on this throat. “As long as you can.”
“This is...”
“Going to help,” Merlin repeated. “You're doing really well, Arthur.”
He wasn't feeling as if he was, but Merlin was the expert, and if he was happy with what Arthur was doing then that was what counted in his opinion. Focusing on the patch of peeling paint on the wall, imagining the whale shape swimming, Arthur took a deep breath and let out his 'ahhhh' trying not to think about how nice Merlin's hands felt.
He ran out of breath eventually and sagged. Merlin removed his hands and smiled reassuringly.
“What's the... verdict?” he asked as he saw Merlin step back.
“You have poor co-ordination between your larynx and diaphragm,” Merlin said, as he turned away from Arthur and headed to his small desk. “We can do exercises to help you with that.”
“We?”
“Well,” Merlin grinned as he picked up a notebook. “You'll be doing the hard bit.” Merlin picked up a pencil and chewed the end briefly before he started scribbling something down.
Feeling a little neglected Arthur looked around the room to occupy himself. It wasn't exactly like his usual surroundings. His polished shoes stood out against the rough floorboards. They creaked as he shifted around and waited. His eye kept being drawn to Merlin though. Merlin, who looked so unassuming, but had apparently diagnosed Arthur's problem where doctor after doctor had failed.
Arthur didn't realise he was staring until Merlin was walking toward him.
“Right, now we'll start with a few simple breathing exercises, just to get you going. We'll do some of them during your sessions here, but then you need to do at least another half hour at home. I'll show you what to do but the key is to practice. The more you practice the easier it will get.”
“C....can't I just do them... here?” Arthur asked. He could hardly imagine what would happen if a servant walked in on him practising.
Merlin pursed his lips. “How about for the first few weeks you do most of them here, at least until we've run through a few more, and then gradually start doing some at home?” he asked. “It is important to practice in a different environment. All my patients have to.”
“I'm sure not all your... patients have people c...come into their room.”
“You're the Prince, lock your door.”
“I'm afraid that... doesn't help with my sister.”
“So get her to help you,” Merlin said. “No excuses, Arthur, I'll know if you’ve been slacking off.” As if to emphasise the point Merlin wagged his finger at Arthur.
“Yes, sir!” Arthur said, immediately regretting his response when he saw Merlin's serious face.
As a child and young man Arthur had lived in fear of his tutors and their anger at his failures, but their fiercesome expressions hadn't affected him the same way as Merlin's disappointed expression.
“Sorry,” Arthur said, quietly.
“This is for you, Arthur,” Merlin said. “You're the one who has to want to work on this. I can do miracles but not the impossible.”
Arthur smiled. “Only miracles?”
Merlin smiled back. “Hey, I have a reputation to keep.”
“I’ll do my best,” Arthur said. “I w...w...wouldn't want to.. .tarnish your reputation.”
“Good, now do you want to start?”
Arthur nodded. “Yes.”
“We'll start with a few breathing exercises,” Merlin said, going over to the window and opening it. “Loosen you up.”
“I don't need to be... loose.”
Merlin seemed to ignore Arthur as he came over and pushed him toward the window. “Fresh air, it's good for you.”
Arthur stood in front of the window and smelt the air. They were in a city and as a result the air wasn't exactly fresh. There was the acrid smell of industry in the air, mixed with some odd cooking smells. It wasn't very pleasant. “You... call this fresh?”
“We're not driving out to the countryside just because the air smells a bit...” Merlin paused, “urban.”
Really, the man was rather odd Arthur thought as he stood in front of the window. “Now what?”
Merlin placed his hands on Arthur's shoulders. “Deep breath and say 'ahhhhh'”
“We've done this... before,”Arthur pointed out.
“But now we're going to keep doing it,” Merlin replied, coming to stand next to Arthur. “Watch.”
There wasn't much to watch but Arthur turned his head to look at Merlin in profile. He'd never really looked at Merlin in such detail before; the line of his jaw, the sight jut of his cheekbones, his full lips. Feeling a little like a voyeur Arthur turned back to look out of the window. Not that the view of the wall of the building next door really compared to Merlin.
“Ahhhhhhh,” Merlin said, breathing in again. “Ahhhhhhhhh.” He sounded slightly higher.
“Are you trying to... sing?”
Merlin stopped 'ahhing' and turned to Arthur, glaring a little. “It's to strengthen the diaphragm,” he said. “You need to start breathing deeply. Breathe up from it.”
“How?” Arthur had no idea how one was supposed 'breathe up'.
Merlin could have made some sarcastic comments but he didn't. He came over and pressed his hand against what Arthur presumed was his diaphragm. “You need to feel it here,” he said. “Breathe out, like you're blowing at something. Take the force from here. Push the sound out from here too.”
“All right,” Arthur said. He took a breath and tried saying 'ahhhh', but before he'd really made a noise Merlin stopped him.
“Feel where my hand is pushing in. When you breathe push out against it.”
Arthur could feel the pressure of Merlin’s hand, it was firm yet it didn't hurt. This time Arthur did as he was told and sure enough he produced a long, deep sounding 'Ahhhhh'.
“Brilliant,” Merlin said. “Now we need to make it higher.”
For the rest of the session Arthur stood in front of an open window and made 'ahhhhhh' noises. At Merlin's direction he held them for a long or short period of time. He was encouraged to alter the pitch, sometimes whilst making the sound. It could have been psychosomatic, but by the end he felt as if he was breathing much more easily. He was disappointed when Merlin called the session to an end.
“I think that's enough for today,” Merlin said. “We'll start on some different exercises tomorrow.”
Arthur wandered over to fetch his coat. Luckily, it had not fallen off the hat stand. However, when Arthur lifted his coat off the stand, the structure did wobble to the point where he feared the hat stand would fall over.
“Now, think about your breathing before you go to sleep,” Merlin said, helping Arthur into his coat even though Arthur hadn't made the request. “Relax and focus.”
“I will. Thank you,” Arthur said. “I'm grateful.”
“You did all the hard work, remember?” Merlin said, patting Arthur on the back.
It was a friendly, familiar gesture that really shouldn't have been allowed but, when it came to Merlin, Arthur found convention was rapidly having no place in their interactions. “Of course I did.”
“I'll you tomorrow,” Merlin said, as he opened the door. “Mr Wartson.” The last part was said quite loudly.
Arthur gave Merlin a last look as he left. Merlin was ridiculous. He was also kind, patient and rather good looking in Arthur's opinion. He shook his head as he got into the lift. Merlin was his therapist. They had had one therapy session, he shouldn't be thinking thoughts like that.
Yet as he was driven back to the palace the only thing he was thinking about was that it would be nearly twenty four hours before he could see Merlin again.
******************************************************************************
As he shut the door after Arthur had left Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. Their first therapy session was complete and it had, in his opinion, gone rather well. Arthur had eventually relaxed, which had been Merlin's main worry. Part of Arthur’s problem was his tensing up. If Merlin couldn’t get him to relax then there was no hope of managing Arthur's condition.
As it was he had high hopes for the Prince. Arthur had a determination about him, facing his fears the way he had. Clearly it had taken a lot of courage to get this far and Merlin admired that. Arthur was the best sort of patient; one who truly wanted to be there. He just needed the odd push in the right direction.
Things had gone so well that Merlin had been surprised when he'd looked at the clock and noticed the time. Never had a session passed by so quickly. Of course it had all been very basic stuff. Next time they'd do some other exercises, vary it.
He wrote up his notes and observations and placed them in Arthur's file. Everything was labelled Mr Wartson in case anyone bothered to look. Merlin trusted all his patients but some of the younger ones did have a tendency to poke their noses into where they didn’t belong.
Speaking of which, he'd just put Arthur's file away when Gilli appeared for his session. Turning his attention from the patient he'd just treated Merlin gave Gilli his full attention as they worked on the poor boy’s tendency to get tongue tied.
After Gilli Merlin saw a couple of other patients before it was time to head home. Luckily he had a car. Albeit an old, battered Austin Seven at least a decade old. It had been the cheapest car Merlin could buy when he'd arrived from Avalon but he liked spending the journey home alone with his private thoughts. As he drove home through the darkened streets he couldn't help but think about Arthur. A dangerous thought he knew.
Arriving home he saw Lancelot's car already parked. There wasn't much parking available given the modest house he shared with Lancelot and Gwaine had been built long before the invention of the motorcar. Merlin managed to squeeze his car into a space not far from his front door and headed inside, there was a slight nip in the air so he didn't linger.
As he entered the kitchen he saw Lancelot taking out some sort of dish from the oven.
“Gwen sent some food over?” Merlin asked. Apparently Lancelot's long standing girlfriend had the opinion that three men living in a house together couldn't cook. She may have had a point.
“Yes, just a shepherd's pie,” Lancelot replied, closing the oven door.
“At least it means we'll be eating something edible,” Gwaine said, leaning back in his chair with his feet on the table as he read the paper.
Merlin pushed Gwaine's feet off. “You could take your shoes off,” he said.
“But they keep my feet warm.”
Lancelot smiled sympathetically at Merlin. “How did things go today?” he asked as he laid out three plates and three sets of cutlery.
“Great,” Merlin replied, sitting down. “Saw a new patient today.”
“Ah, the mysterious rich benefactor,” Gwaine said, putting his paper to one side, clearly in anticipation of food.
“Yes. I think he's got potential.”
“In helping to pay the bills?” Gwaine asked.
Lancelot placed the shepherd's pie in its dish on the table. “I'm sure his money helps.”
“It does but honestly he could be brilliant. I mean really brilliant. He's kind, determined and with a bit of work he'll get the confidence he needs.”
Gwaine smiled. “Sounds like someone's smitten.”
“Is he... you know?” Lancelot asked, as he divided the shepherd’s pie between the three plates.
“Yes, he's good looking but nothing is going to happen. He's my patient.”
“Who is he?” Gwaine asked, taking a forkful of food. “Must be something to have you interested.”
“I can't say,” Merlin replied. “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“Just let us know before you bring him home,” Gwaine winked.
“I won't be bringing him home,” Merlin replied. He could hardly picture Arthur, Crown Prince of Albion, in their humble kitchen, much as he wanted to. “So how's the world of finance?”
“Not looking so great if the rumours are true.”
“What rumours?” Merlin asked.
Lancelot smiled. “Merlin, my friend you need to keep up with the papers. They say Mercia's been making noise about invading the Western Isles.”
“But that would mean war.”
Gwaine shoved his newspaper in Merlin's direction. “You won't get much out of there but the news is all over the treasury.”
Glancing at the headlines Merlin could see something about a possible diplomatic incident. He believed Gwaine and Lancelot more than the paper. Both of them had worked in the treasury for long enough to know details about government business the ordinary public had no idea about. They'd told Merlin about the scandal with the Tiramor affair long before it had hit the newspapers.
It wasn't entirely unexpected that his first thought was what it would mean for Arthur. Especially when his eye caught the paragraph deploring rumours about the king's health. The cynic in Merlin knew that Albion's newspapers liked to keep the full details of the Royals behind closed doors. Which was why Arthur's stammer had so far evaded too much scrutiny, for which Merlin found himself unexpectedly grateful.
With luck Arthur's problem would be managed before too much attention could be drawn to it.
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part 2