No one else to find (3/6)
Part Three
Although Uther's secretary assures him that his father will most definitely be out of the country for the next few days, Arthur's still a bit jumpy about it. He trusts Morgana, despite how she is with him sometimes, but, even so, she could have got the message wrong. After all, the detail of when, exactly, Uther was coming back wouldn't have mattered to her.
A shudder of excitement runs through him as he paces up and down the hallway, waiting for the housekeeper to finish up and leave for the night. Even though he has plenty of friends, he never has people over. It's just easier to see them without the prospect of Uther's disapproving scrutiny and with Merlin, there's the added risk that the second Uther so much as sees them together, Arthur has himself convinced that his secret desires will be laid out under the force of his father's merciless, penetrating gaze.
He pulls Merlin into the house seconds after the doorbell rings. 'Does anyone know you're here?' he says, wishing he didn't have to ask.
'I told Gaius I was seeing friends,' Merlin says, and gives out a low whistle as he wheels around to take in the sheer scale of the hallway. 'You're the last person he'll think I'm with.'
'Okay,' says Arthur. He's still a little on edge, but there's something about Merlin walking around his house that warms him, and makes him wonder what it would be like if, one day, they could have something a bit like this for themselves, only probably with fewer chandeliers. He reaches for Merlin's hands partly to steady his own, and partly to bring him to a standstill and kiss him lightly on the lips. 'Let's go inside. We can, you know, sit.'
'Sit?' Merlin says, reaching up to brush Arthur's hair out of his eyes before kissing him back. 'I suppose that might work.'
Arthur sort of has it in his mind to show Merlin around the house because he supposes that's what people do, but they've barely made it into the living room - one of them anyway - before Merlin grabs his arm and pulls him down onto the sofa.
'Fuck the guided tour,' he laughs, his breath warm against Arthur's neck. 'I want you right here for as long as I've got you.'
Arthur wants to protest, a lingering sense of propriety dictating that they should, at least, take this to the bedroom, but as ever, Merlin makes a good case, and he doesn't want to waste a second of time either.
'Er, Arthur,' Merlin says, an hour or so later. He pushes himself off of Arthur's lap so they're sitting side by side, his eyes a little hazy and his mouth swollen dark red. 'We should probably talk.'
Arthur grimaces and sits up. Merlin has been trying to get a word in for some time now, but Arthur has, so far, managed to shut him up one way or the other because he knows what's coming: the talk about what happens next. The thing is, he knows the answer, and he wants to put it off for as long as he can.
'After I go ...' Merlin starts, and then trails off, looking away from him. He takes a deep breath and tries again. 'After I go ... I know you might not want to stay in touch. We're not even, you know, together properly or anything. But ... I'd like to, and ...'
Arthur catches one of his hands and covers it with his own. 'Hey,' he says. 'Whatever gave you that idea?'
Merlin gives him a slow, searching look, and Arthur realises that his light, carefree exterior has, to some extent, been as much of a sham as Arthur's own that evening, both of them trying to ignore the huge, ticking clock that marks the hours and minutes they have left. Merlin bites his lip. 'Well, you've avoided the subject every time I've tried to bring it up. I mean, no one's forcing you or anything. But. Well, I thought ...'
'Merlin,' Arthur says, 'of course I want to keep seeing you. I just can't see a way to do it; that's why I haven't wanted to talk about it. My father doesn't even know we're friends, and if he did he wouldn't like it. I can't see him agreeing to trips to the south coast every few weeks. '
Merlin rolls his eyes. 'I know that,' he says, looking at Arthur as if he's stupid. 'But nothing's stopping me from coming here.'
'What?' Arthur says.
'Well,' Merlin says, with the delighted smile he reserves usually for the - few in Arthur's opinion - times he manages to get one over on him, 'I'm sure no one's going to raise any objections if I visit Gaius a little more often. I could come on Sundays, meet up with you and the others.'
'Sounds like you've got it all worked out,' Arthur says, and even though he can already think of twenty ways it won't work, it still feels good that Merlin wants this - wants him - enough not to let little things like reality get in the way.
'I know what you're thinking,' Merlin says, taking his hand, 'I can almost bloody hear it, and it wouldn't have to be forever. You finish school this year, and you'll have more freedom at Uni. You could start to, you know, think about the life you want.'
Arthur studies the earnest face looking back at him. It's obvious that Merlin believes that it's possible, but the sorts of choices he's talking about seem so abstract and so distant that his imagination has trouble stretching that far. He opens his mouth, ready to let Merlin down gently, but before he gets a word out, his mind flits back to the moment when Merlin walked into his house, when he started to imagine what it would be like if they were truly together. The thought alone sends a bolt of something hot and cold and almost breathtaking through him, and he wonders if, maybe, they could do this.
'But why? Why would you go to all this trouble?' Arthur asks. 'You're going home. You can find someone who's around all the time, not just for a few hours every month or so.'
Merlin frowns a little, like he thinks the answer's obvious. 'Because you're you,' he says, bringing a hand up to cup Arthur's cheek. Arthur doesn't really understand, but he leans into the contact anyway. 'You're a good person, and you're going to be a great person.'
Arthur laughs. 'I think you've got me wrong,' he says.
'I haven't,' Merlin says, softly. 'You can't see it.'
I'm a coward and a liar and a terrible son, Arthur thinks. 'Whoever you think I am, I'm not,' he says.
Merlin shakes his head and then lowers eyes, like he always does when he's about to say something uncomplimentary about Uther. 'People listen to you, Arthur. People like you. You might think that you're just an extension of your father, but you're not. You care about people in ways that he doesn't. That a lot of people don't. I could tell that from the moment I met you.'
Arthur shuts his eyes. Even though he doesn't quite know how or why Merlin thinks all these things - if anything, it's him that should be getting all the compliments - but it's just so fucking welcome having someone know him, and believe in him, that for a second he feels like he could do anything he wanted to.
'I hope you're right,' he says.
'I know I'm right,' Merlin says, smiling widely. 'I've got a feeling, and I'm not often wrong about this sort of thing.' He draws Arthur back onto the sofa with him and then they're kissing again, but soon that isn't nearly enough for either of them, and Merlin wriggles out of his t-shirt and helps Arthur work on his, before turning his attention to his jeans.
Mesmerised, Arthur needs a few seconds to take Merlin in.
Up until now, he hasn't really seen him. Not like this. He's felt inch after inch of his skin, with Merlin backed up and trembling against the wall of a deserted classroom; he's caught flashes of his pale, warm flesh as they've lain, side by side, in the grass by the river, hands drifting in and out of layers of clothes when no one was looking. But it's always been stolen, incomplete moments, and now Merlin is completely there, in front of him, he can hardly force the breath in and out of his lungs as he leans forward, almost shyly, to touch him.
Afterwards, when they're leaning into one another, still breathing rapidly, Arthur looks at Merlin and smiles, and wishes he knew how to stretch this moment out indefinitely.
Merlin smiles back at him, genuine but cautious. It's the smile he uses when he thinks that Arthur might have pushed himself too far in one direction and he's worried that he might be freaking out about it. When Arthur looks down at his hands, sticky, and goes cold as he remembers that they've both just come all over his father's sofa, he realises that Merlin probably has a point.
'Good thing this is leather,' he says with a giggle that's bordering on hysterical. For a few seconds, Merlin looks at him as if he's mad, until he finally gets what he's talking about and starts to laugh too, and then, suddenly everything's all right again.
'I know it won't be the same,' Merlin says, after they've used Arthur's t-shirt to clean up. 'It won't be like school, but it'd be something. If you wanted it, that is.'
'Of course I want it,' Arthur says, his voice choked. Then: 'You will come back, won't you?' Because even though he trusts Merlin, he still needs to ask that question, just in case the answer is no, and somehow, he's got it all wrong.
Merlin swallows, and pulls Arthur into a hug, his face brushing against the stubble of Arthur's cheek. 'Of course I will. Every chance I get,' he says, his breath a warm whisper against Arthur's collarbone. 'Will you be okay here?' he says. This time, his voice really is a whisper, his head buried in Arthur's shoulder like he doesn't really want to ask that question, because he might not like the answer.
Arthur's kisses to top of Merlin's head. 'Yes,' he says, then: 'No. I don't know. God, I honestly don't know.'
Merlin pulls back. 'I wish you could come with me,' he says. 'Arthur, I -'
But Arthur cuts him off with a kiss, and even there's so much more to be said, suddenly, he doesn't want there to be anything more important than press of skin against skin, and the warm, reassuring weight of Merlin alongside him.
'Arthur,' says Merlin, apparently still after an answer, but the way he groans and pushes his hips back against Arthur's makes it clear that this is a half-hearted protest at best.
'Upstairs,' Arthur says.
They don't mean to drift off to sleep, particularly since Arthur's got his trousers by his ankles, and Merlin's stomach is sticky and uncomfortable, but it happens anyway.
The first thing that wakes him is the unmistakeable sound of Uther's footsteps over the tiled corridor outside his room, just before he hears his bedroom door open with a quiet click.
'Father,' Arthur says, pulling a sheet over them. 'Father, I can explain.'
Uther ignores him and turns to Merlin, who is frantically pulling on his shirt and jeans.
'Get out,' he says, his eyes murderous. 'And pray that I never see you again.'
Merlin looks like he's going to say something, but Arthur's seen that look on Uther's face before, and gestures frantically for him to stop.
'Arthur,' Merlin mouths, and gives him a pleading look, but Arthur shakes his head, willing him to go before things start to get really ugly.
Reluctantly, Merlin falls silent. As reaches the door he pauses and hesitates for a second, as if he's going to say something, but it's forgotten as Uther turns and starts to walk towards him, and in the next instant Merlin is gone.
As soon as the front door slams shut, Uther turns his full attention back to Arthur.
He tries to talk to Uther, to make him understand what there is between them. He hopes, with the stupid, ill-fated optimism that comes with the territory, that alone will be enough. At the back of his mind, he knows it's pointless trying to explain or negotiate, but even panic stricken and desperate, he has to give it a try.
Uther waits until Arthur's finished before he looks at him, indifferent and disinterested, as if he's glancing at a stranger. He picks Arthur's phone up from the bedside table, tells him to get dressed, and leaves the room, locking the door behind him.
The next day, Uther is back in his room at dawn, and though he might not have slept a wink himself, Arthur's chest tightens at the sight of him. His father looks terrible, his eyes bloodshot and haunted, as if he hasn't slept for days.
Uther gives him a choice: he can either attend an intensive counselling programme that will help him make, as he puts it, the right choices, or he can stay, and he'll make sure that Merlin and his mother are evicted from their house, and Gaius is never allowed to practice medicine again.
'I'll leave you to think it over,' he says. 'Don't think I can't make it happen.'
Arthur packs slowly, wondering how, in such a short space of time, everything could have changed so much again.
'This isn't the way you were meant to be,' Uther says, as they sit in the taxi on the way to the airport. 'It's not you. All you need is a push in the right direction. That boy,' he says, wrinkling his nose in disgust, 'was just a bad decision. You're not like that.'
Arthur clears his throat to tell him that, actually, he is very much like that, but Uther gets there first, saying: 'No son of mine would conduct themselves in that way. Do you understand, Arthur?'
When Arthur nods, Uther turns away and looks out of the window, signalling the end of the conversation. Arthur looks out the other side and passes the time staring at the drizzle that's collecting on the glass. At the check-in desk, he issues Arthur with a curt goodbye, and hands him over to one of his church cronies to chaperone him on his flight. He doesn't need to say anything else; the expression on his face says it all: Come back as the son I want, or not at all.
The next few weeks pass in a blur.
Arthur knows Uther donates heavily to organisations who claim to be able to change ones sexual orientation, but he's only ever had a vague notion of what that might entail, a well-meaning chat with an earnest individual at most. Where he ends up is stuck in a compound in the middle of a desert, sitting through group after seminar after one-to-one session on how he can change who he is, if he truly wants to.
In the first week, his shock at the loss of Merlin turns from numbness to anger at the people around him. It's short lived; Arthur may be an unwilling participant, but he just doesn't have it in him to stay angry with them if they genuinely believe in what they are doing.
Still, the strength of their convictions doesn't match their efficacy, and by the second week he realises that to ever get out of there, he going to have to do a better job of convincing them otherwise. The majority of his peers are in the same boat. Most have been sent by worried parents, horrified that their children are going against the teachings of their church. The only difference is that he suspects that some of them genuinely have a choice.
By the third week he's angry again, at Uther - finally at Uther - this time, but by then the isolation, from everything he knows and wants and cares for, weighs so heavily on him that his anger has nowhere to go except to collapse in on itself. Separation from Merlin is like a deep, open wound, and he's so homesick and kind of hollow with it that he starts to feel unsure of who he is and what he wants.
By the final week, he gives in. He tells them what he wants to hear. They buy it, believing that he'll return to England changed and happy. The worst thing about it is that even though he wants to believe he was the one in control, the truth of the matter is that he worries that it might have changed him, after all.
'Have I got my boy back?' Uther asks, tears in his eyes, when he meets Arthur off the plane. 'Have you beaten this thing?'
Arthur nods. He tries a watery smile. He even thanks Uther for helping him. The words come easily. There's no reason they shouldn't, because now, regardless of what his preferences might be, it doesn't matter because Merlin isn't there.
From then on, Uther watches Arthur even more intently. He checks his phone, his browsing history, every letter or postcard. Friends are screened though, ironically, girls are actively encouraged. I'm eighteen years old, Arthur thinks, as Uther tips out the contents of his backpack after school, looking to see if the books he's checked out of the library meet his strict, undisclosed criteria.
Arthur spends more time in his bedroom, even though it's been relocated and rearranged while he's been away. It's Uther's way of eradicating any traces of Merlin from the house, he supposes. Arthur's in the room right next to Uther's now; his old room is full of junk, impossible, even, to get the door open. It's lucky he doesn't know about the sofa downstairs, Arthur reflects, unable to raise the faintest smile. He sits there a lot now. Sometimes, he stretches out over it when no one else is there, running his hands over the dips and imagining they weren't just made by him.
The only freedom Arthur has, really, is inside his own head, but it's getting harder and harder, now the few memories he has of being truly himself have been overshadowed by the power Uther has over him. Merlin is long gone and, apart from a few stupid, hopeful moments after church, when he half-expects him to appear, Arthur knows that he won't be back.
In fact, the only good thing to come out of this is that finally, Morgana seems to be thawing towards him. Uther's started to take more of an interest in her, stopping to greet her more often, sometimes even chatting for a few minutes at a time. She still retains some of her usual coldness towards Arthur when it's just the two of them, but sometimes, she seems genuinely interested in what he thinks and what he wants.
There has been another change while he's been away. Gaius has gone.
Arthur can barely contain his anger when he finds out. Uther had given his word he'd leave him out of this.
'Did you force Gaius out?' he asks Uther, the evening he finds out. 'You told me, you promised -'
'Of course not,' Uther cuts across him smoothly. 'The old man had been planning to retire for months. After that nephew of his left, he didn't see the point of staying on himself. '
Arthur stares back at him, disbelieving.
'That's all I know,' Uther says, his cold, watchful eyes challenging Arthur to contradict him. 'Unless there's anything else I can help you with.'
Arthur shakes his head. This might have Uther's fingerprints all over it, but he's caught between fighting for something he has no proof for, and wanting, desperately, to believe that his father wouldn't manipulate him into something he didn't want, and then betray his trust anyway.
He lets it go, uncomfortable and ashamed that this action is tainted with a lack of integrity, but with just enough grey area that he can still look at himself in the mirror in the mornings.
But his anger needs to go somewhere. When Percival mentions that he's talked to Merlin recently, Arthur can feel something ugly rising inside of him. He's jealous and angry and disappointed all at once, that his friends can take this for granted, and scowls into his lunch as they talk. When Gwaine butts into the conversation and asks why Arthur hasn't bothered to keep in touch, practically accusing him of being a shitty friend, Arthur doesn't realise what he's doing until he's got Gwaine's pinned and struggling, up against the nearest wall.
'Easy,' Gwaine says, hands up, backing away carefully when Arthur releases him. 'Easy. It's not my business.'
'Damn fucking right,' Arthur snarls. Percival ushers Gwaine away, and Arthur lets Elena pull him in the other direction until they find somewhere to sit. They stay there, not saying anything, until Arthur feels the world slot back into place again.
A few days later, Uther sends him on an errand to the Godwyn's stables. He walks into the office and sees Elena sitting behind the desk, tapping away on an ancient computer.
'Is your father here?' he asks. 'Uther's got something for him.'
Elena shakes her head, looks up at him and smiles. 'Let me guess,' she said. 'Something Mr Pendragon could have quite easily delivered himself?'
'Except that he knows you'll be here,' says Arthur.
'And that Dad's playing golf, I'll bet. They're ridiculous,' she laughs, and Arthur does too, in what feels like the first time in forever.
'No offence ' Elena says, batting her eyelashes at him so contrivedly that it makes him laugh again, 'but I don't think it's going to work out with us two.'
'None taken,' Arthur says, sitting down. 'Shame our fathers don't see it that way.'
Elena smiles at him and takes his hand. 'I'm worried about you, Arthur. What's happened? After Merlin went back home ...'
'It,' Arthur says through gritted teeth, snatching his hand away, ' has nothing to do with him.'
But Elena, who has known him forever, just takes his hand again. 'It's okay to miss him. I do too,' she says.
Arthur shrugs. There's no point to this conversation, but he knows better than to pull away from her a second time.
'Do you want his address? I've got his address,' Elena blurts out, like she's been waiting to tell him this. Before he can say no, she reels it off, and now it's there, committed to memory and he kind of hates her for it.
Now, he knows, that the next time he's allowed to go to a bookshop, he'll drift from the academic textbooks to the streetmaps for a minute or two. Maybe the time after that, he'll pick up the map of Merlin's home town for a few seconds and then put it back again, as if nothing's happened. Maybe, the third or fourth time, he'll flip to the index at the back to check that his road is really there. Maybe a time or two after, he'll go straight to the right page and trace his finger along the road and try to work out where on the curving line he lives.
He laughs quietly to himself when he thinks that by the time he gets to do any of this Merlin will most likely have moved on with his life, and the ritual that isn't even a ritual yet will become pointless without him even knowing about it.
'Well, do you want me to give him a message then?' Elena asks. 'He's the bloody same as you. Won't say why either, but every email he finds a way to ask if you're alright. And Arthur,' she says, biting her lip, 'I honestly don't know what to tell him.'
'Tell him what you like,' Arthur mumbles.
Elena is silent for a minute and Arthur starts to believe that she might drop it until she raises her eyes to meet his again.
'You liked him, didn’t you?' she says, her fingers tightening around his. 'He was different from the rest of us.'
He wants to say no, to shout at her like he did Gwaine, but he doesn't because she's Elena, and even though he doubts she knows exactly what she's talking about, he also knows that she would never think any less of him for who he loved and who he didn't. So he nods, slowly, and it feels good to admit even that much.
'Yeah, he was different,' he says, and for once Elena does the right thing and lets it go.
Even though there's no way he can take up Elena's offer for fear of what might happen if Uther were to find out, things feel a little better after that. Realistically, he can't see how he'll ever see Merlin again, but the scattering of second and third hand connections they still share through their friends cease, slowly, to be painful reminders, and he starts to look forward to news of Merlin, with each brief mention of his name.
The villagers don't warm to the GP who replaces Dr Gaius. Arthur's asked around, trying to find out more about the circumstances of Gaius' leaving, but no one seems to know any more than what Uther has already told him and, after a while, Arthur begins to believe that his father had nothing to do with it. It's a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless, that despite everything he has done, Uther hasn't lied to him.
It all changes when he overhears a late night conversation. He's already in bed, but he wakes in the small hours of the morning and gets up for a glass of water. As he walks out onto the landing, he stops at the top of the stairs and hears his father's voice drift up.
'The doctor you recommended is working out very well,' he hears his father say.
'Unfortunately, he has yet to gain all the villagers' trust,' comes the reply. It's Reverend Aredian. 'Though he information he has given us has been useful. Some of the younger ones will need closer watching. Perhaps Arthur could be persuaded to befriend a few of them; it's about time he showed a little more commitment to your plans for him.'
Uther mutters something about it not being the right time and, knowing exactly what he's talking about, Arthur forces back a bitter smile.
'It's a good thing we managed to get rid of Gaius when we did,' Aredian continues, with a chuckle. 'The perfect opportunity. The circumstances were far from ideal of course ...'
There's silence, and then the sound of a glass slamming down onto a table.
'Arthur won't be any more trouble, believe me,' Uther growls. 'He'll do what he's told.'
Arthur stands, frozen, at the top of the stairs, trying to control his rapid breathing in the face of what he's just heard. It takes a few minutes, but finally he turns and walks back to his room. When he sits down on the bed, he realises his hands are shaking. He doesn't sleep for the rest of the night.
After that, it feels like a connection between Arthur and his father has been severed. Not completely; he's been conditioned from birth to want to please Uther, to make him proud of him, to be the son he wants and needs. It would be impossible to sweep all of that away with one act of betrayal. But Uther's lost his trust and that, Arthur realises belatedly, was the foundation of their relationship. Now it's starting to crumble.
Part Four
Although Uther's secretary assures him that his father will most definitely be out of the country for the next few days, Arthur's still a bit jumpy about it. He trusts Morgana, despite how she is with him sometimes, but, even so, she could have got the message wrong. After all, the detail of when, exactly, Uther was coming back wouldn't have mattered to her.
A shudder of excitement runs through him as he paces up and down the hallway, waiting for the housekeeper to finish up and leave for the night. Even though he has plenty of friends, he never has people over. It's just easier to see them without the prospect of Uther's disapproving scrutiny and with Merlin, there's the added risk that the second Uther so much as sees them together, Arthur has himself convinced that his secret desires will be laid out under the force of his father's merciless, penetrating gaze.
He pulls Merlin into the house seconds after the doorbell rings. 'Does anyone know you're here?' he says, wishing he didn't have to ask.
'I told Gaius I was seeing friends,' Merlin says, and gives out a low whistle as he wheels around to take in the sheer scale of the hallway. 'You're the last person he'll think I'm with.'
'Okay,' says Arthur. He's still a little on edge, but there's something about Merlin walking around his house that warms him, and makes him wonder what it would be like if, one day, they could have something a bit like this for themselves, only probably with fewer chandeliers. He reaches for Merlin's hands partly to steady his own, and partly to bring him to a standstill and kiss him lightly on the lips. 'Let's go inside. We can, you know, sit.'
'Sit?' Merlin says, reaching up to brush Arthur's hair out of his eyes before kissing him back. 'I suppose that might work.'
Arthur sort of has it in his mind to show Merlin around the house because he supposes that's what people do, but they've barely made it into the living room - one of them anyway - before Merlin grabs his arm and pulls him down onto the sofa.
'Fuck the guided tour,' he laughs, his breath warm against Arthur's neck. 'I want you right here for as long as I've got you.'
Arthur wants to protest, a lingering sense of propriety dictating that they should, at least, take this to the bedroom, but as ever, Merlin makes a good case, and he doesn't want to waste a second of time either.
'Er, Arthur,' Merlin says, an hour or so later. He pushes himself off of Arthur's lap so they're sitting side by side, his eyes a little hazy and his mouth swollen dark red. 'We should probably talk.'
Arthur grimaces and sits up. Merlin has been trying to get a word in for some time now, but Arthur has, so far, managed to shut him up one way or the other because he knows what's coming: the talk about what happens next. The thing is, he knows the answer, and he wants to put it off for as long as he can.
'After I go ...' Merlin starts, and then trails off, looking away from him. He takes a deep breath and tries again. 'After I go ... I know you might not want to stay in touch. We're not even, you know, together properly or anything. But ... I'd like to, and ...'
Arthur catches one of his hands and covers it with his own. 'Hey,' he says. 'Whatever gave you that idea?'
Merlin gives him a slow, searching look, and Arthur realises that his light, carefree exterior has, to some extent, been as much of a sham as Arthur's own that evening, both of them trying to ignore the huge, ticking clock that marks the hours and minutes they have left. Merlin bites his lip. 'Well, you've avoided the subject every time I've tried to bring it up. I mean, no one's forcing you or anything. But. Well, I thought ...'
'Merlin,' Arthur says, 'of course I want to keep seeing you. I just can't see a way to do it; that's why I haven't wanted to talk about it. My father doesn't even know we're friends, and if he did he wouldn't like it. I can't see him agreeing to trips to the south coast every few weeks. '
Merlin rolls his eyes. 'I know that,' he says, looking at Arthur as if he's stupid. 'But nothing's stopping me from coming here.'
'What?' Arthur says.
'Well,' Merlin says, with the delighted smile he reserves usually for the - few in Arthur's opinion - times he manages to get one over on him, 'I'm sure no one's going to raise any objections if I visit Gaius a little more often. I could come on Sundays, meet up with you and the others.'
'Sounds like you've got it all worked out,' Arthur says, and even though he can already think of twenty ways it won't work, it still feels good that Merlin wants this - wants him - enough not to let little things like reality get in the way.
'I know what you're thinking,' Merlin says, taking his hand, 'I can almost bloody hear it, and it wouldn't have to be forever. You finish school this year, and you'll have more freedom at Uni. You could start to, you know, think about the life you want.'
Arthur studies the earnest face looking back at him. It's obvious that Merlin believes that it's possible, but the sorts of choices he's talking about seem so abstract and so distant that his imagination has trouble stretching that far. He opens his mouth, ready to let Merlin down gently, but before he gets a word out, his mind flits back to the moment when Merlin walked into his house, when he started to imagine what it would be like if they were truly together. The thought alone sends a bolt of something hot and cold and almost breathtaking through him, and he wonders if, maybe, they could do this.
'But why? Why would you go to all this trouble?' Arthur asks. 'You're going home. You can find someone who's around all the time, not just for a few hours every month or so.'
Merlin frowns a little, like he thinks the answer's obvious. 'Because you're you,' he says, bringing a hand up to cup Arthur's cheek. Arthur doesn't really understand, but he leans into the contact anyway. 'You're a good person, and you're going to be a great person.'
Arthur laughs. 'I think you've got me wrong,' he says.
'I haven't,' Merlin says, softly. 'You can't see it.'
I'm a coward and a liar and a terrible son, Arthur thinks. 'Whoever you think I am, I'm not,' he says.
Merlin shakes his head and then lowers eyes, like he always does when he's about to say something uncomplimentary about Uther. 'People listen to you, Arthur. People like you. You might think that you're just an extension of your father, but you're not. You care about people in ways that he doesn't. That a lot of people don't. I could tell that from the moment I met you.'
Arthur shuts his eyes. Even though he doesn't quite know how or why Merlin thinks all these things - if anything, it's him that should be getting all the compliments - but it's just so fucking welcome having someone know him, and believe in him, that for a second he feels like he could do anything he wanted to.
'I hope you're right,' he says.
'I know I'm right,' Merlin says, smiling widely. 'I've got a feeling, and I'm not often wrong about this sort of thing.' He draws Arthur back onto the sofa with him and then they're kissing again, but soon that isn't nearly enough for either of them, and Merlin wriggles out of his t-shirt and helps Arthur work on his, before turning his attention to his jeans.
Mesmerised, Arthur needs a few seconds to take Merlin in.
Up until now, he hasn't really seen him. Not like this. He's felt inch after inch of his skin, with Merlin backed up and trembling against the wall of a deserted classroom; he's caught flashes of his pale, warm flesh as they've lain, side by side, in the grass by the river, hands drifting in and out of layers of clothes when no one was looking. But it's always been stolen, incomplete moments, and now Merlin is completely there, in front of him, he can hardly force the breath in and out of his lungs as he leans forward, almost shyly, to touch him.
Afterwards, when they're leaning into one another, still breathing rapidly, Arthur looks at Merlin and smiles, and wishes he knew how to stretch this moment out indefinitely.
Merlin smiles back at him, genuine but cautious. It's the smile he uses when he thinks that Arthur might have pushed himself too far in one direction and he's worried that he might be freaking out about it. When Arthur looks down at his hands, sticky, and goes cold as he remembers that they've both just come all over his father's sofa, he realises that Merlin probably has a point.
'Good thing this is leather,' he says with a giggle that's bordering on hysterical. For a few seconds, Merlin looks at him as if he's mad, until he finally gets what he's talking about and starts to laugh too, and then, suddenly everything's all right again.
'I know it won't be the same,' Merlin says, after they've used Arthur's t-shirt to clean up. 'It won't be like school, but it'd be something. If you wanted it, that is.'
'Of course I want it,' Arthur says, his voice choked. Then: 'You will come back, won't you?' Because even though he trusts Merlin, he still needs to ask that question, just in case the answer is no, and somehow, he's got it all wrong.
Merlin swallows, and pulls Arthur into a hug, his face brushing against the stubble of Arthur's cheek. 'Of course I will. Every chance I get,' he says, his breath a warm whisper against Arthur's collarbone. 'Will you be okay here?' he says. This time, his voice really is a whisper, his head buried in Arthur's shoulder like he doesn't really want to ask that question, because he might not like the answer.
Arthur's kisses to top of Merlin's head. 'Yes,' he says, then: 'No. I don't know. God, I honestly don't know.'
Merlin pulls back. 'I wish you could come with me,' he says. 'Arthur, I -'
But Arthur cuts him off with a kiss, and even there's so much more to be said, suddenly, he doesn't want there to be anything more important than press of skin against skin, and the warm, reassuring weight of Merlin alongside him.
'Arthur,' says Merlin, apparently still after an answer, but the way he groans and pushes his hips back against Arthur's makes it clear that this is a half-hearted protest at best.
'Upstairs,' Arthur says.
They don't mean to drift off to sleep, particularly since Arthur's got his trousers by his ankles, and Merlin's stomach is sticky and uncomfortable, but it happens anyway.
The first thing that wakes him is the unmistakeable sound of Uther's footsteps over the tiled corridor outside his room, just before he hears his bedroom door open with a quiet click.
'Father,' Arthur says, pulling a sheet over them. 'Father, I can explain.'
Uther ignores him and turns to Merlin, who is frantically pulling on his shirt and jeans.
'Get out,' he says, his eyes murderous. 'And pray that I never see you again.'
Merlin looks like he's going to say something, but Arthur's seen that look on Uther's face before, and gestures frantically for him to stop.
'Arthur,' Merlin mouths, and gives him a pleading look, but Arthur shakes his head, willing him to go before things start to get really ugly.
Reluctantly, Merlin falls silent. As reaches the door he pauses and hesitates for a second, as if he's going to say something, but it's forgotten as Uther turns and starts to walk towards him, and in the next instant Merlin is gone.
As soon as the front door slams shut, Uther turns his full attention back to Arthur.
He tries to talk to Uther, to make him understand what there is between them. He hopes, with the stupid, ill-fated optimism that comes with the territory, that alone will be enough. At the back of his mind, he knows it's pointless trying to explain or negotiate, but even panic stricken and desperate, he has to give it a try.
Uther waits until Arthur's finished before he looks at him, indifferent and disinterested, as if he's glancing at a stranger. He picks Arthur's phone up from the bedside table, tells him to get dressed, and leaves the room, locking the door behind him.
The next day, Uther is back in his room at dawn, and though he might not have slept a wink himself, Arthur's chest tightens at the sight of him. His father looks terrible, his eyes bloodshot and haunted, as if he hasn't slept for days.
Uther gives him a choice: he can either attend an intensive counselling programme that will help him make, as he puts it, the right choices, or he can stay, and he'll make sure that Merlin and his mother are evicted from their house, and Gaius is never allowed to practice medicine again.
'I'll leave you to think it over,' he says. 'Don't think I can't make it happen.'
Arthur packs slowly, wondering how, in such a short space of time, everything could have changed so much again.
'This isn't the way you were meant to be,' Uther says, as they sit in the taxi on the way to the airport. 'It's not you. All you need is a push in the right direction. That boy,' he says, wrinkling his nose in disgust, 'was just a bad decision. You're not like that.'
Arthur clears his throat to tell him that, actually, he is very much like that, but Uther gets there first, saying: 'No son of mine would conduct themselves in that way. Do you understand, Arthur?'
When Arthur nods, Uther turns away and looks out of the window, signalling the end of the conversation. Arthur looks out the other side and passes the time staring at the drizzle that's collecting on the glass. At the check-in desk, he issues Arthur with a curt goodbye, and hands him over to one of his church cronies to chaperone him on his flight. He doesn't need to say anything else; the expression on his face says it all: Come back as the son I want, or not at all.
The next few weeks pass in a blur.
Arthur knows Uther donates heavily to organisations who claim to be able to change ones sexual orientation, but he's only ever had a vague notion of what that might entail, a well-meaning chat with an earnest individual at most. Where he ends up is stuck in a compound in the middle of a desert, sitting through group after seminar after one-to-one session on how he can change who he is, if he truly wants to.
In the first week, his shock at the loss of Merlin turns from numbness to anger at the people around him. It's short lived; Arthur may be an unwilling participant, but he just doesn't have it in him to stay angry with them if they genuinely believe in what they are doing.
Still, the strength of their convictions doesn't match their efficacy, and by the second week he realises that to ever get out of there, he going to have to do a better job of convincing them otherwise. The majority of his peers are in the same boat. Most have been sent by worried parents, horrified that their children are going against the teachings of their church. The only difference is that he suspects that some of them genuinely have a choice.
By the third week he's angry again, at Uther - finally at Uther - this time, but by then the isolation, from everything he knows and wants and cares for, weighs so heavily on him that his anger has nowhere to go except to collapse in on itself. Separation from Merlin is like a deep, open wound, and he's so homesick and kind of hollow with it that he starts to feel unsure of who he is and what he wants.
By the final week, he gives in. He tells them what he wants to hear. They buy it, believing that he'll return to England changed and happy. The worst thing about it is that even though he wants to believe he was the one in control, the truth of the matter is that he worries that it might have changed him, after all.
'Have I got my boy back?' Uther asks, tears in his eyes, when he meets Arthur off the plane. 'Have you beaten this thing?'
Arthur nods. He tries a watery smile. He even thanks Uther for helping him. The words come easily. There's no reason they shouldn't, because now, regardless of what his preferences might be, it doesn't matter because Merlin isn't there.
From then on, Uther watches Arthur even more intently. He checks his phone, his browsing history, every letter or postcard. Friends are screened though, ironically, girls are actively encouraged. I'm eighteen years old, Arthur thinks, as Uther tips out the contents of his backpack after school, looking to see if the books he's checked out of the library meet his strict, undisclosed criteria.
Arthur spends more time in his bedroom, even though it's been relocated and rearranged while he's been away. It's Uther's way of eradicating any traces of Merlin from the house, he supposes. Arthur's in the room right next to Uther's now; his old room is full of junk, impossible, even, to get the door open. It's lucky he doesn't know about the sofa downstairs, Arthur reflects, unable to raise the faintest smile. He sits there a lot now. Sometimes, he stretches out over it when no one else is there, running his hands over the dips and imagining they weren't just made by him.
The only freedom Arthur has, really, is inside his own head, but it's getting harder and harder, now the few memories he has of being truly himself have been overshadowed by the power Uther has over him. Merlin is long gone and, apart from a few stupid, hopeful moments after church, when he half-expects him to appear, Arthur knows that he won't be back.
In fact, the only good thing to come out of this is that finally, Morgana seems to be thawing towards him. Uther's started to take more of an interest in her, stopping to greet her more often, sometimes even chatting for a few minutes at a time. She still retains some of her usual coldness towards Arthur when it's just the two of them, but sometimes, she seems genuinely interested in what he thinks and what he wants.
There has been another change while he's been away. Gaius has gone.
Arthur can barely contain his anger when he finds out. Uther had given his word he'd leave him out of this.
'Did you force Gaius out?' he asks Uther, the evening he finds out. 'You told me, you promised -'
'Of course not,' Uther cuts across him smoothly. 'The old man had been planning to retire for months. After that nephew of his left, he didn't see the point of staying on himself. '
Arthur stares back at him, disbelieving.
'That's all I know,' Uther says, his cold, watchful eyes challenging Arthur to contradict him. 'Unless there's anything else I can help you with.'
Arthur shakes his head. This might have Uther's fingerprints all over it, but he's caught between fighting for something he has no proof for, and wanting, desperately, to believe that his father wouldn't manipulate him into something he didn't want, and then betray his trust anyway.
He lets it go, uncomfortable and ashamed that this action is tainted with a lack of integrity, but with just enough grey area that he can still look at himself in the mirror in the mornings.
But his anger needs to go somewhere. When Percival mentions that he's talked to Merlin recently, Arthur can feel something ugly rising inside of him. He's jealous and angry and disappointed all at once, that his friends can take this for granted, and scowls into his lunch as they talk. When Gwaine butts into the conversation and asks why Arthur hasn't bothered to keep in touch, practically accusing him of being a shitty friend, Arthur doesn't realise what he's doing until he's got Gwaine's pinned and struggling, up against the nearest wall.
'Easy,' Gwaine says, hands up, backing away carefully when Arthur releases him. 'Easy. It's not my business.'
'Damn fucking right,' Arthur snarls. Percival ushers Gwaine away, and Arthur lets Elena pull him in the other direction until they find somewhere to sit. They stay there, not saying anything, until Arthur feels the world slot back into place again.
A few days later, Uther sends him on an errand to the Godwyn's stables. He walks into the office and sees Elena sitting behind the desk, tapping away on an ancient computer.
'Is your father here?' he asks. 'Uther's got something for him.'
Elena shakes her head, looks up at him and smiles. 'Let me guess,' she said. 'Something Mr Pendragon could have quite easily delivered himself?'
'Except that he knows you'll be here,' says Arthur.
'And that Dad's playing golf, I'll bet. They're ridiculous,' she laughs, and Arthur does too, in what feels like the first time in forever.
'No offence ' Elena says, batting her eyelashes at him so contrivedly that it makes him laugh again, 'but I don't think it's going to work out with us two.'
'None taken,' Arthur says, sitting down. 'Shame our fathers don't see it that way.'
Elena smiles at him and takes his hand. 'I'm worried about you, Arthur. What's happened? After Merlin went back home ...'
'It,' Arthur says through gritted teeth, snatching his hand away, ' has nothing to do with him.'
But Elena, who has known him forever, just takes his hand again. 'It's okay to miss him. I do too,' she says.
Arthur shrugs. There's no point to this conversation, but he knows better than to pull away from her a second time.
'Do you want his address? I've got his address,' Elena blurts out, like she's been waiting to tell him this. Before he can say no, she reels it off, and now it's there, committed to memory and he kind of hates her for it.
Now, he knows, that the next time he's allowed to go to a bookshop, he'll drift from the academic textbooks to the streetmaps for a minute or two. Maybe the time after that, he'll pick up the map of Merlin's home town for a few seconds and then put it back again, as if nothing's happened. Maybe, the third or fourth time, he'll flip to the index at the back to check that his road is really there. Maybe a time or two after, he'll go straight to the right page and trace his finger along the road and try to work out where on the curving line he lives.
He laughs quietly to himself when he thinks that by the time he gets to do any of this Merlin will most likely have moved on with his life, and the ritual that isn't even a ritual yet will become pointless without him even knowing about it.
'Well, do you want me to give him a message then?' Elena asks. 'He's the bloody same as you. Won't say why either, but every email he finds a way to ask if you're alright. And Arthur,' she says, biting her lip, 'I honestly don't know what to tell him.'
'Tell him what you like,' Arthur mumbles.
Elena is silent for a minute and Arthur starts to believe that she might drop it until she raises her eyes to meet his again.
'You liked him, didn’t you?' she says, her fingers tightening around his. 'He was different from the rest of us.'
He wants to say no, to shout at her like he did Gwaine, but he doesn't because she's Elena, and even though he doubts she knows exactly what she's talking about, he also knows that she would never think any less of him for who he loved and who he didn't. So he nods, slowly, and it feels good to admit even that much.
'Yeah, he was different,' he says, and for once Elena does the right thing and lets it go.
Even though there's no way he can take up Elena's offer for fear of what might happen if Uther were to find out, things feel a little better after that. Realistically, he can't see how he'll ever see Merlin again, but the scattering of second and third hand connections they still share through their friends cease, slowly, to be painful reminders, and he starts to look forward to news of Merlin, with each brief mention of his name.
The villagers don't warm to the GP who replaces Dr Gaius. Arthur's asked around, trying to find out more about the circumstances of Gaius' leaving, but no one seems to know any more than what Uther has already told him and, after a while, Arthur begins to believe that his father had nothing to do with it. It's a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless, that despite everything he has done, Uther hasn't lied to him.
It all changes when he overhears a late night conversation. He's already in bed, but he wakes in the small hours of the morning and gets up for a glass of water. As he walks out onto the landing, he stops at the top of the stairs and hears his father's voice drift up.
'The doctor you recommended is working out very well,' he hears his father say.
'Unfortunately, he has yet to gain all the villagers' trust,' comes the reply. It's Reverend Aredian. 'Though he information he has given us has been useful. Some of the younger ones will need closer watching. Perhaps Arthur could be persuaded to befriend a few of them; it's about time he showed a little more commitment to your plans for him.'
Uther mutters something about it not being the right time and, knowing exactly what he's talking about, Arthur forces back a bitter smile.
'It's a good thing we managed to get rid of Gaius when we did,' Aredian continues, with a chuckle. 'The perfect opportunity. The circumstances were far from ideal of course ...'
There's silence, and then the sound of a glass slamming down onto a table.
'Arthur won't be any more trouble, believe me,' Uther growls. 'He'll do what he's told.'
Arthur stands, frozen, at the top of the stairs, trying to control his rapid breathing in the face of what he's just heard. It takes a few minutes, but finally he turns and walks back to his room. When he sits down on the bed, he realises his hands are shaking. He doesn't sleep for the rest of the night.
After that, it feels like a connection between Arthur and his father has been severed. Not completely; he's been conditioned from birth to want to please Uther, to make him proud of him, to be the son he wants and needs. It would be impossible to sweep all of that away with one act of betrayal. But Uther's lost his trust and that, Arthur realises belatedly, was the foundation of their relationship. Now it's starting to crumble.
Part Four