The Only People Who Have Clients (are prostitutes and lawyers) 1/3
Summary: from kinkme_merlin prompt found here, Merlin is being trialed in court for murder. Arthur is his lawyer and falls for BAMF!Merlin while fighting Merlin's case.
Word Count: ~16,000
Notes: Hopefully I did the prompt justice. It was written for the meme's Spring Fever and reposted here just to I can keep my masterlist nice and tidy.
Warnings: Mentions of intoxication (drugs&alcohol), mentions of murder (plus descriptions), mentions of character death, violence, brief mention of prostitution, brief mention of rape, a thoroughly warped/corrupt justice/legal system, stillbirth. I also know nothing about law, so everything's just a fantasy in my mind.
The Only People Who Have Clients
(are prostitutes and lawyers)
Part One
.
There was a warm dip in the bed beside Arthur when he woke up, sheets half pushed back over his chest, skin pimpled as it hit the cool morning air. His flat was silent, a sure sign that the previous night's transgression had left already, slipping out the door before he had woken. It was something that happened more often than Arthur would like to admit, but he didn't have time for anything more than casual (and slightly drunken) one night stands.
The alarm sitting on the wooden desk beside him sounded, trilling in his ear as it informed him of the time. Time to go, get up, eat, start work. Time to sign away his life to a job he couldn't say he loved, but one that he'd never leave. The life of a law worker was hard, but Arthur had learnt from an early age about the principles of justice and how important it was that it was delivered correctly. Or as correctly as it could be in this world.
When thinking about it, Arthur wondered if he'd ever really been given a chance to choose his career. He often mulled such things over his morning tea, sipping through the steam until he felt the burn in the back of his throat. He delivered justice because it ran through his veins, imparted the right punishment to those who had broken the law. It wasn't glamorous and he worked unsociable hours, but it was right. Arthur, unlike so many other people in the world, had a purpose and a right to help people.
And, he had to say, he was damned good at his job.
Arthur left the house with his tie knotted perfectly, suit immaculate and no sign of last night's drinking on his face. They'd been celebrating (which was all they seemed to do at the company these days) something or other, hitting the town until one of the secretaries had thrown up over the pavement, moving out of that club and onto the next. It was a typical night for the high-earning workers at Camelot Legal Group, after a long day of unrelenting work.
It was a stupid habit, Arthur knew, but it was easier to continue the cycle rather than break away from his colleagues. He was known for being a great lawyer and a great person to go out with, and why should he change a great thing? His own feelings had little consideration when the only alternative was to go home and deal with the stress, most likely ending up like his father with a glass of cognac on his own.
In a car that was worth more money that Arthur liked to disclose, he drove to work, parking in the first space he could find at Camelot Legal Group's employees-only car park before entering the building. There were no signs of alcohol-induced pain anywhere, a sure mark of the professionals they were, and Arthur walked to the lift, going up until he hit the fifth floor - his floor.
"Good morning Arthur," a woman's voice greeted and he bowed his head slightly to Guinevere. She was a fierce woman when placed on a case, but outside she was one of the nicest people possible.
"Morning Gwen," he replied, following her as she moved to her office, opposite from Arthur's. Their offices were spacious, comfortable even some might say, but it wasn't for the comfort of the workers.
"Your morning client's already in your office," Gwen said, raising an eyebrow. Arthur hummed in acknowledgement; while it wasn't odd for someone to be early for their appointment, it was barely seven thirty in the morning. Whatever this client wanted, they wanted it badly.
"Right, best get back to it then," he muttered, flashing Gwen a brief smile. She was already buried away under papers for her own case, one that had stretched on for months now. Arthur only knew the basics (multiple homicide that the police were accused of fiddling with the evidence), but he knew it was a hard case.
Gwen loved it though. She loved immersing herself in something deeply, battling through until her justice had been wrought. Arthur loved it too, but there was always something missing. Sure he could condemn criminals and lock them up, but they rarely ever got the sentencing they deserved (he'd seen men who had killed children walk free years short of their already reduced sentence, women who ran prostitution brothels run free with a few months only under their belts).
Despite all they did, here at Camelot and over at Mercia, even over in Caerleon, it wasn't enough. The justice system was flawed, corrupted, and hardly anyone kept their heads above it anymore. Arthur would love to say that he had followed the path of righteous justice his whole life, but there were moments, tiny moments, that he'd slipped, as with everyone. He'd paid policemen to fabricate evidence, to convict a man they knew was guilty, but who was too slippery.
Even so, even in the name of justice, Arthur knew what he'd done was wrong. He knew it, but he didn't regret it. And it was easy to say that everyone else did it (corruption was tightly belted up against the media, but more and more people were coming to places like Camelot because they could let you win, regardless of innocence or not), but Arthur didn't use that as a fall back excuse.
They lived in a pathetic world, one that was miserable half of the time and pitiful the other. There wasn't a single court case that went without some kind of fiddling behind the backs of lawyers and judges. Innocent until proven guilty was a mockery now; innocence belonged to the highest bidder.
His office door was closed, the silhouette of a person seated in the spare chair opposite Arthur's own visible through the frosted glass pane. The figure started when he opened the door, turning her head sharply.
"My apologies," Arthur slipped into a formal tone, "I did not realise you'd be here so soon."
The woman stood, brushing invisible dirt from a smart, black skirt, straightening her suit jacket and offering Arthur a hand. He could see she was a sharp woman, but there was something around her eyes, a certain softness.
"No, it's my fault," she said hurriedly, sitting back down as Arthur moved around the desk, shrugging his coat off and placing his briefcase on the desk, untouched for the moment.
"It's just…" she looked down at her lap, to where her hands were. "I was told that you're the best and, quite frankly, I need the best."
It was a line Arthur had heard a thousand times over, in different words sometimes, but no less of the same meaning. It was true - he was the best Camelot had to offer, but it also meant that this woman was prepared to pay a high price for his services. And the people always willing to pay the most were the ones who needed to be proved innocent, regardless of if they were or not.
"My son is to be trialled as a murderer. They say he killed a man and that there was a witness. I need you to defend him, to show them that he's not the beast they think he is." Her voice was edging on desperate and Arthur sat back in his chair.
"Forgive me Ms…" he trailed off, suddenly realising that he hadn't had time to look at his client list for the day and that the woman hadn't introduced herself.
"Emrys. Hunith Emrys," she supplied, face stern as she waited for whatever it was Arthur was going to say.
"Ms Emrys," he nodded, silently thanking her. "It goes against my ethics," hah, that was laughable, what ethics did anyone have these days? "To represent a guilty man. The fact that you're here on his behalf doesn't suggest that he's innocent."
He'd seen it before, time and time again. An upset mother would come in to beg and plead, to throw themselves at Arthur's feet (or any of the other lawyers on the fifth floor for that matter), begging them to free their son or daughter. That was how it went, they said, the highest bidder got their freedom and case won.
"My son is not guilty," Hunith said, her lips thinning as she pressed them together. "He's a good man with a good heart, no matter what anyone else says."
During these typical instances, Arthur tried not to look at the client. Looking at her would mean that Arthur would see her pain, that he'd be compelled to help - because that was human nature, was it not? But he looked at Hunith then, and was intrigued by what he found.
There were no tears in this mother's eyes. She wholly believed her son to be a good man, perhaps even to be innocent of the crimes against him, and such belief (that was so rare these days) struck something in Arthur.
"I can't agree until I talk to your son," he began. "So if you can bring him in perhaps later today?"
Hunith searched his eyes for something and nodded when she'd found whatever it was she'd been looking for.
"I'll bring him back," she said, standing again and gathering her bag. "I can see that you're a good man too, that you're a rare man where all else stand corrupted."
Arthur didn't know how to respond and he simply looked at Hunith as she walked from the room, back straight and outfit immaculate. She was a woman who knew business, one of old money most likely too, and Arthur slunk low in his chair, the horrifying feeling that he was going to accept the Emrys' case regardless of what the son was like growing in his head.
The day passed in a flurry, Arthur speaking to three more prospective clients, declining two of them and picking up the man who wanted to charge his neighbour for assault (with the Emrys case on the back of his mind, Arthur found himself mentally freeing up space, even though he technically hadn't accepted yet).
It was late afternoon when the floor's receptionist buzzed through on the phone, asking if he'd authorised one Hunith Emrys and son to come up. He asked for her to send them through, straightening his tie and standing from his chair just as the office door opened.
Hunith was still the same as the morning, smartly dressed with her hair pinned back, a woman of class and money. Behind her trailed a tall, thin man, dressed almost completely opposite to Hunith in scruffy jeans and an old hoodie, scuffing his feet on the plush carpet with obvious distaste.
He didn't look like a killer, that much was for sure.
(But you couldn't judge a man by what he looked like these days, too many times had a 'good' man been let free simply because he didn't look the part."
"Mr Pendragon," Hunith greeted, holding her hand out again. "I'd like you to meet my son, Merlin."
She turned round, looking to Merlin with a pointed stare. The scruffy man gave Arthur a once over before shrugging, crossing his arms over his chest and standing over at the wall, closer to the door than the rest of them.
"It's good to see you," Arthur ventured, looking to Merlin as if he could judge him on a single reaction. There was no reaction as the man looked pointedly down at the floor, not even attempting to play nicely.
Arthur took a breath in, unsure exactly how this would play out now. Most people who came to Arthur were innocent - or at least pledged their innocence over and over again until Arthur was sick of hearing their pleas - and made sure that Arthur knew as much. This man though, standing by the door and looking for all the world as if this was the last place he wanted to be, was different to anyone Arthur had met before. Even the guilty ones had pleaded to innocence, as if that would change Arthur's mind when he'd read them easily as soon as they'd stepped over the threshold.
"So, how exactly can I help you Mr Emrys?" Arthur tried again, looking to Merlin. Their eyes met in an icy stare.
"We need you to defend him," Hunith said, half-turning to look back at her son. "Whatever the crimes against him are, I know he's-"
"And it's as I keep telling you," a low, angry voice burst in, "That I killed the bastard. I did it, I'm guilty, and I'd do it again."
Well, Arthur thought, that had never happened in his office before.
"Merlin!" Hunith admonished, half-rising from her chair, "How could you say that now? You promised me-"
"What?" Merlin cut in again, and Arthur had the feeling they'd had this argument time and time again. "I've already told you, I'm not going to say I'm innocent when I'm not." He tilted his chin up, defiantly, to Arthur. "I don't care if he's the best lawyer in town or whatever, I did it."
Arthur obligingly looked away as Hunith rose, walking over to her son.
"I've already told you, you don't get to choose this." She was barely talking, hissing now, but Arthur could just make out the words. "You're not going to prison, you're all I have and if our money is useful for something it'll damn well be this."
There was no room for arguments in Hunith's words and Merlin simply turned his gaze from his mother to look at Arthur again, distain clear in his curled lip.
"Now," she said, straightening up and smiling slightly to Arthur. He noticed the tight pull on her face and wondered how exactly she felt, for her son (and possible only family member, judging from her reaction) and how much she was willing to push until Arthur was on the case. "I believe we have business to discuss."
It would be easy for Arthur to turn them away, what with Merlin convinced of his guilt. It was amazing the man wasn't locked up already, what with his blasé attitude concerning hiding what he'd done, so different to any other criminal (guilty or otherwise) that Arthur had ever met.
Merlin finally left his post at the wall, scuffing his shoes again until he sat in the chair next to Hunith, looking at odds with his mother.
"So," Hunith broke the silence, "We'd like for you to represent Merlin and prove his innocence."
Merlin shifted, muttering something and both Arthur and Hunith looked to him, the latter with a stern look.
"Prove?" he parroted, shaking his head with a smile. "There's nothing to prove. If anything you're going to have to find someone to pay off to fabricate evidence that I'm not guilty."
Merlin sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. There was a smugness about him and, despite his stance against malpractice and the oaths he'd sworn by when taking the job, Arthur found himself wanting to take on the case. He wanted to know why Hunith was so sure of Merlin's innocence when the son himself claimed he'd done it.
Something was wrong here, and whether it was because Hunith had too much faith in her son (though she didn't seem that type of person) or whether it was because Merlin was hiding something, Arthur wanted to know.
How long had it been since he'd felt the pull of interest, something tugging at him. He hadn't chosen to be a lawyer, not really, when his father had simply directed his learning and interests with the assumption that, one day, Arthur would follow in his footsteps, but he had, from time to time, enjoyed it, really enjoyed it that is. And here was the pull again, on an impossible case it seemed.
This was something that Gwaine would take on, a case that was doomed from the start. But here he was, Arthur Pendragon, number one lawyer at Camelot Legal Group and he was going to take on a case that would most likely end up with his client behind bars or with Arthur faking evidence one way or another. Neither sat well on his morals, but…
Merlin shifted in his chair and Hunith tilted her head up a little, unafraid to look him in the eye. How could he turn them away when they came as they were? These people were honest, despite whatever crime had been committed and whatever went on outside this room.
Which was why, thirteen minutes later, Arthur was calling the fourth floor, asking them to draw a contract up for him, a client-lawyer contract between Emrys and Pendragon. Hunith and Merlin left, arranging a meeting to sign the documents, and a meeting after that for just Merlin and Arthur, to begin the long process of what was to come.
Arthur left the office that day, same time as usual, but turned down the offers to go out. He was boo-ed at and called names (all in good jest), but Arthur had work to do now; starting with tearing down Merlin Emrys' walls until the truth was revealed.
Hunith came alone to sign the documents, with an official slip of paper that held Merlin's own signature and a note that said she was legalised to sign on his behalf. She looked uncomfortable doing so and mentioned that Merlin wasn't exactly keen to go through with this.
"He's only doing it because of me," she said, suddenly, just before she was about to leave. "I know he says he's guilty and sticking to it, but I know him better than anyone, a mother always does."
Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"He's a good man. I know I keep saying it," she looked down, eyes raking over his desk. "He's all I have left now and… I can't bear to watch if he…" She broke off, inhaling deeply and standing from the chair.
"Merlin will be difficult," she added, "And for that I'm sorry. If he gives you any undue hassle, just let me know and I'll be able to compensate you."
Arthur made to protest, but Hunith shook her head. "I've inherited a lot of money and if I don't use it on my only son then what good is it?"
Arthur didn't know. Hunith left then, leaving his office door open for Gwen to wander in, watching his client's mother leave.
"You've taken on a case then?" she asked, closing Arthur's door softly. She sat in the chair that Hunith had vacated, looking at Arthur curiously. He knew why she was so curious; Arthur was selective in his cases. Any case he chose, at least big case, had to have some kind of pull and everyone in the office was always interested when he took on another big case.
"Yeah, a murder one." He straightened his tie, shuffling through the contract papers Hunith had signed. "It looks like it'll be difficult, the man's not exactly a willing participant." He filed the papers away. "That was the client's mother, the one paying for it all."
Gwen wrinkled her nose at that. She was one of the very few who believed in a fair justice system, but fair in the way of payment. She didn't like that a lawyer's talents could be bought by the wrong side while the real innocent one was left in the gutter.
"Well, at least you won't get bored," she said, a knowing look on her face.
There was one thing that Arthur disliked about Gwen. She knew him too well, far too well. While he doubted she knew the exact kind of person who filtered through his bedroom (she knew they were men, yes, but she'd never understand how someone could have so many unattached flings), she knew that he had hardly had a committed relationship in some time. And so, because of that, she thought that something was lacking in his life and that he made up for a lack of 'companionship' (she'd stuttered over the word during one night out, cheeks pink with alcohol) by fuelling it into his job, picking things that demanded attention.
She was worried about him, was what she meant. Arthur had told her time and time again that he didn't need anything, wasn't lacking in his life, but Gwen had the odd notion in her head that she could save everyone, that she could save a man who didn't need saving.
She left his office a few minutes later and Arthur was left to browse through his appointments for the day, preparing himself to meet Merlin, alone.
Merlin Emrys didn't show up to their first meeting. 9AM rolled by and there was no lanky man standing at his door. That wasn't a worry though, sometimes people were late, and Merlin seemed the sort to purposefully turn out late. Ten o'clock rolled by and Arthur began to grow irritated, and so when three PM ticked by, he picked up his phone and dialled Hunith's contact number.
There was no answer and so he left a curt message, asking for Merlin to reschedule the appointment.
Three days later and there was still no reply. Arthur knew he had to take this into his own hands.
It appeared that the Emrys' hadn't only inherited their money, judging from the large, gated mansion the cab let him out at. Arthur nodded to the cabbie, paying the fare, before strolling up to the wrought iron gate, pressing a buzzer at the side of the wall.
"Arthur Pendragon, here to represent Merlin Emrys," he introduced himself when a gruff voice sounded over the intercom. There was a moment of silence, before the gate lock clicked and Arthur was ordered inside the property.
The house itself wasn't set too far back from the gate, and it was a short walk up the drive until he reached the open door. A man stood there, introduced himself as the housekeeper - Matthew - and explained that Mr Emrys was upstairs and Arthur should wait in the parlour room (an actual parlour room!) while he fetched him.
So that was how Arthur found himself drowning in a Victorian-esque parlour room, seated on the edge of a velvet-lined chair. The house was eerily silent, as houses with so many rooms and so little people generally are, and there was nothing to do but sit and wait patiently.
He didn't have to wait long. The door slammed open and Merlin strode in, jeans and t-shirt combination still, looking furious.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed, standing by Arthur's chair. Arthur rose slowly, looking Merlin straight in the eye.
"You failed to keep your appointment or reschedule it, so I thought I'd come over here to see if there was a problem. Your mother's money won't go to waste," he added, hoping that he could stir Merlin into some form of conversation.
Arthur watched as Merlin's jaw clenched, but he moved to sit down on the chair opposite Arthur's, crossing his legs and placing his hands on the arm of the chair.
"I've already told you I'm guilty," he said after a minute's silence. "So why even bother?"
He was determined, that much Arthur could see. And with determination came a challenge, and with a challenge came Arthur Pendragon.
"Why don't we start by you telling me your story?" Arthur asked, drawing Merlin to him.
"You mean you haven't even looked at that in the case file?" Merlin moved forwards in his chair, eyebrow raised curiously.
"I have," was Arthur's reply, because he had, multiple times. "But I'd like to hear your retelling of the events."
Sometimes the client repeated a story to themselves so many times that it became true in their head, sometimes they outright lied, and sometimes they told the truth. Either way, Arthur needed to hear the story from Merlin's lips, to judge him on his words first rather than reading them off paper.
Merlin inspected Arthur for a moment before he drew back, resting against his chair once more and fixing Arthur with a humourless stare.
"Fine," Merlin retorted, "I'll tell you."
It was nearing to 1am on Friday. It was cold, but the alleys leading off of Ealdor Square were fairly sheltered and while it wasn't exactly a place to linger, it was comfortable enough to walk home. Merlin shrugged his coat higher up against his ears as he left the pub, nodding to a few patrons outside.
That was when he noticed a figure walking into one of the alleys, stepping through a dim beam of light left by a half-broken lamppost. Merlin's lip curled as he realised who the man was and, while he'd never met Mordred before, Will had often warned Merlin and the rest of them to look out for him.
Mordred was a slippery character, got into drugs a few years ago and owed a few people some money. Nothing too serious - everyone in drugs owed someone something - but with Mordred, it was different. He was violent at times, capable of great rages, and it made him dangerous. There were rumours (and no, Merlin would not tell Arthur what these rumours were) about him, hushed and whispered behind hands.
Regardless of the rumours, Merlin knew that the world would be a better place without Mordred and so followed him, entering the alleyway and reaching behind him where, concealed by his jacket, a gun lay tucked into his trouser waist.
And then that was that. Mordred turned, Merlin fired the gun and he was dead.
"The police said they found two other prints on the gun," Arthur said as Merlin finished. There was silence for a moment, before Merlin shifted in his chair.
"Fine then, I don't suppose anything gets past you then. It wasn't so easy then, alright?" Merlin rolled his eyes, returning to the story.
He entered the alleyway and Mordred, almost towards the end of the pavement now, turned as he heard footsteps.
"Emrys," he said, stepping back into the darkness of the alley and walking back up to join Merlin. "I've heard so much about you."
Merlin didn't fall for the bait. He didn't know how Mordred knew his name, but it was probably through Will or someone else in the group. It wasn't a hidden fact that his friends were dealers or caught up in some form of crime (who wasn't these days) and so Merlin wasn't too bothered by the fact Mordred knew him.
Instead, he drew his gun, squaring up to Mordred.
"Playing with the men now are we Emrys?" Mordred taunted, stepping up to Merlin. They were next to each other now and Mordred slipped his hand over the gun.
"I don't think you have the guts, do you?" Mordred whispered, and Merlin proved him wrong. There was satisfaction as the bullet went through his head and a shocked look appeared on Mordred's face before he fell back, dead.
"I just waited there after that until a friend of mine came running out of the pub and found me." Merlin shrugged again, "She took the gun from me and was there when the police arrived."
"So then the police arrived on the scene and arrested you until your mother paid the bail and you were set up for a trial, given time to find a lawyer and… well we're here." Merlin nodded to Arthur's words, obliging as Arthur looked him over.
There was no trace of a lie, but something was strange with what Merlin had said. It matched the police report perfectly and was an exact telling of what had happened from witnesses (those who had seen the victim and Merlin leave the pub and then the woman - Freya - who had arrived on the scene shortly after). There was something though, something that Arthur couldn't put his finger on.
"It wasn't a proper motive though, was it?" Arthur pushed, not believing that this man, in his scruffy clothing, would kill off the bat as he'd suggested he did.
"What, wanting to get rid of a prick like Mordred isn't enough of a motive?" Merlin gave a half-laugh, half-snort. "He didn't pay his way, he's harassed my friends enough times and he acted as if he was some kind of king. Not even the criminals deserve him and, through killing him, I'm known by everyone."
Merlin threw his hands wide as he finished, smiling with a hint of smugness. For some reason, Arthur knew it was wrong. He didn't know Merlin, and technically this was their first proper meeting, but something cried out to Arthur that seeing that look on Merlin's face, hearing him say he wanted to be known… it was wrong.
"How much had you had to drink?" Arthur asked instead. Even if Merlin wasn't revealing everything, it was unlikely he was going to admit to it. Arthur still had a job to do, still had to defend Merlin in court, and he'd do it. They just had to find a way where Merlin could get his 'fame' or whatever it was and yet still be allowed to walk free at the end.
There were mitigating circumstances to a murder charge. If Merlin had been drunk, for example, Arthur could spin a story of how he'd just been trying to get home and that Mordred had aggravated him. It wouldn't get him off, of course (unless the right connections were made and the money passed to the right hands), but it could waive his sentence, narrow it down rather than the stamp of life.
Oh. Arthur was becoming one of 'them' now, wasn't he? Before he'd held onto his morals, trying only to use his influence when he had to, when there was a just cause. But now… now here he was defending a man who refused to even think he was innocent, openly admitting he'd killed someone.
There were no get-out clauses on the contract, no way that Arthur could back out now. And even so, even if there had been a way to get out, he doubted that he would. Looking at Merlin, sitting with a guarded look, he knew there was something off about his recount of events, something there, something more. Even if Merlin was guilty, Arthur had only lost a handful of cases before and Hunith had been right when she'd said he was the best. He'd figure Merlin out even if he had to swing the law (and really, everyone had done it, so why shouldn't Arthur?), and if he knew before the case was closed? Then Merlin could go behind bars, where he believed he belonged.
"I hadn't drunk enough if that's what you're wondering. They did a test on me too, it should be in my file," Merlin said. He seemed to like making it seem as though Arthur was substandard, that he wasn't doing his job right. And, maybe if Arthur was in his position, he'd agree, but for now it was bloody annoying.
"If you know who to pay, they can write whatever they want in your file," Arthur said tiredly, rubbing a hand over his forehead. One thing Merlin Emrys was not; relaxing.
"There are certain points in the law in which we can manipulate around. There might be a way to swing our defence if we claim that you were threatened and acting in self-defence. You mentioned that he held the gun while you did, we could say he tried to take it from you and you felt you had no choice." The words tasted bitter in his mouth, but he had to say them. Whatever Merlin had done, they were in this together now.
Merlin fixed him with a stare, leaning forwards and shaking his head.
"You don't get it do you? I'm guilty. I don't care what happens to me, I killed the prick and I'm not sorry in the slightest." He tilted his chin before standing. "And I'd like you to leave now, our meeting's over and I have places to be."
Arthur rose, but he was unwilling to let Merlin think he'd won. He collected his coat and briefcase, shrugging the former on as Matthew joined them, opening the parlour door and walking them down the hall. Merlin stopped at the grand staircase in the entrance hall and Arthur followed suit.
"You know, your reputation would do better if you could get a shortened sentence. Who wants to follow a guy who murdered someone and then was locked up? It's the ones who walk free that become the stuff of legends." With that said, Arthur nodded to Matthew as he passed him, walking back down the drive with a little beat of satisfaction in his chest.
Curiosity drew a lot of people in, and Arthur knew Merlin was one such person. If he didn't call before the week was up, Arthur swore to eat his hat.
.
| Part One | Part Two | Part Three |
Word Count: ~16,000
Notes: Hopefully I did the prompt justice. It was written for the meme's Spring Fever and reposted here just to I can keep my masterlist nice and tidy.
Warnings: Mentions of intoxication (drugs&alcohol), mentions of murder (plus descriptions), mentions of character death, violence, brief mention of prostitution, brief mention of rape, a thoroughly warped/corrupt justice/legal system, stillbirth. I also know nothing about law, so everything's just a fantasy in my mind.
The Only People Who Have Clients
(are prostitutes and lawyers)
Part One
.
There was a warm dip in the bed beside Arthur when he woke up, sheets half pushed back over his chest, skin pimpled as it hit the cool morning air. His flat was silent, a sure sign that the previous night's transgression had left already, slipping out the door before he had woken. It was something that happened more often than Arthur would like to admit, but he didn't have time for anything more than casual (and slightly drunken) one night stands.
The alarm sitting on the wooden desk beside him sounded, trilling in his ear as it informed him of the time. Time to go, get up, eat, start work. Time to sign away his life to a job he couldn't say he loved, but one that he'd never leave. The life of a law worker was hard, but Arthur had learnt from an early age about the principles of justice and how important it was that it was delivered correctly. Or as correctly as it could be in this world.
When thinking about it, Arthur wondered if he'd ever really been given a chance to choose his career. He often mulled such things over his morning tea, sipping through the steam until he felt the burn in the back of his throat. He delivered justice because it ran through his veins, imparted the right punishment to those who had broken the law. It wasn't glamorous and he worked unsociable hours, but it was right. Arthur, unlike so many other people in the world, had a purpose and a right to help people.
And, he had to say, he was damned good at his job.
Arthur left the house with his tie knotted perfectly, suit immaculate and no sign of last night's drinking on his face. They'd been celebrating (which was all they seemed to do at the company these days) something or other, hitting the town until one of the secretaries had thrown up over the pavement, moving out of that club and onto the next. It was a typical night for the high-earning workers at Camelot Legal Group, after a long day of unrelenting work.
It was a stupid habit, Arthur knew, but it was easier to continue the cycle rather than break away from his colleagues. He was known for being a great lawyer and a great person to go out with, and why should he change a great thing? His own feelings had little consideration when the only alternative was to go home and deal with the stress, most likely ending up like his father with a glass of cognac on his own.
In a car that was worth more money that Arthur liked to disclose, he drove to work, parking in the first space he could find at Camelot Legal Group's employees-only car park before entering the building. There were no signs of alcohol-induced pain anywhere, a sure mark of the professionals they were, and Arthur walked to the lift, going up until he hit the fifth floor - his floor.
"Good morning Arthur," a woman's voice greeted and he bowed his head slightly to Guinevere. She was a fierce woman when placed on a case, but outside she was one of the nicest people possible.
"Morning Gwen," he replied, following her as she moved to her office, opposite from Arthur's. Their offices were spacious, comfortable even some might say, but it wasn't for the comfort of the workers.
"Your morning client's already in your office," Gwen said, raising an eyebrow. Arthur hummed in acknowledgement; while it wasn't odd for someone to be early for their appointment, it was barely seven thirty in the morning. Whatever this client wanted, they wanted it badly.
"Right, best get back to it then," he muttered, flashing Gwen a brief smile. She was already buried away under papers for her own case, one that had stretched on for months now. Arthur only knew the basics (multiple homicide that the police were accused of fiddling with the evidence), but he knew it was a hard case.
Gwen loved it though. She loved immersing herself in something deeply, battling through until her justice had been wrought. Arthur loved it too, but there was always something missing. Sure he could condemn criminals and lock them up, but they rarely ever got the sentencing they deserved (he'd seen men who had killed children walk free years short of their already reduced sentence, women who ran prostitution brothels run free with a few months only under their belts).
Despite all they did, here at Camelot and over at Mercia, even over in Caerleon, it wasn't enough. The justice system was flawed, corrupted, and hardly anyone kept their heads above it anymore. Arthur would love to say that he had followed the path of righteous justice his whole life, but there were moments, tiny moments, that he'd slipped, as with everyone. He'd paid policemen to fabricate evidence, to convict a man they knew was guilty, but who was too slippery.
Even so, even in the name of justice, Arthur knew what he'd done was wrong. He knew it, but he didn't regret it. And it was easy to say that everyone else did it (corruption was tightly belted up against the media, but more and more people were coming to places like Camelot because they could let you win, regardless of innocence or not), but Arthur didn't use that as a fall back excuse.
They lived in a pathetic world, one that was miserable half of the time and pitiful the other. There wasn't a single court case that went without some kind of fiddling behind the backs of lawyers and judges. Innocent until proven guilty was a mockery now; innocence belonged to the highest bidder.
His office door was closed, the silhouette of a person seated in the spare chair opposite Arthur's own visible through the frosted glass pane. The figure started when he opened the door, turning her head sharply.
"My apologies," Arthur slipped into a formal tone, "I did not realise you'd be here so soon."
The woman stood, brushing invisible dirt from a smart, black skirt, straightening her suit jacket and offering Arthur a hand. He could see she was a sharp woman, but there was something around her eyes, a certain softness.
"No, it's my fault," she said hurriedly, sitting back down as Arthur moved around the desk, shrugging his coat off and placing his briefcase on the desk, untouched for the moment.
"It's just…" she looked down at her lap, to where her hands were. "I was told that you're the best and, quite frankly, I need the best."
It was a line Arthur had heard a thousand times over, in different words sometimes, but no less of the same meaning. It was true - he was the best Camelot had to offer, but it also meant that this woman was prepared to pay a high price for his services. And the people always willing to pay the most were the ones who needed to be proved innocent, regardless of if they were or not.
"My son is to be trialled as a murderer. They say he killed a man and that there was a witness. I need you to defend him, to show them that he's not the beast they think he is." Her voice was edging on desperate and Arthur sat back in his chair.
"Forgive me Ms…" he trailed off, suddenly realising that he hadn't had time to look at his client list for the day and that the woman hadn't introduced herself.
"Emrys. Hunith Emrys," she supplied, face stern as she waited for whatever it was Arthur was going to say.
"Ms Emrys," he nodded, silently thanking her. "It goes against my ethics," hah, that was laughable, what ethics did anyone have these days? "To represent a guilty man. The fact that you're here on his behalf doesn't suggest that he's innocent."
He'd seen it before, time and time again. An upset mother would come in to beg and plead, to throw themselves at Arthur's feet (or any of the other lawyers on the fifth floor for that matter), begging them to free their son or daughter. That was how it went, they said, the highest bidder got their freedom and case won.
"My son is not guilty," Hunith said, her lips thinning as she pressed them together. "He's a good man with a good heart, no matter what anyone else says."
During these typical instances, Arthur tried not to look at the client. Looking at her would mean that Arthur would see her pain, that he'd be compelled to help - because that was human nature, was it not? But he looked at Hunith then, and was intrigued by what he found.
There were no tears in this mother's eyes. She wholly believed her son to be a good man, perhaps even to be innocent of the crimes against him, and such belief (that was so rare these days) struck something in Arthur.
"I can't agree until I talk to your son," he began. "So if you can bring him in perhaps later today?"
Hunith searched his eyes for something and nodded when she'd found whatever it was she'd been looking for.
"I'll bring him back," she said, standing again and gathering her bag. "I can see that you're a good man too, that you're a rare man where all else stand corrupted."
Arthur didn't know how to respond and he simply looked at Hunith as she walked from the room, back straight and outfit immaculate. She was a woman who knew business, one of old money most likely too, and Arthur slunk low in his chair, the horrifying feeling that he was going to accept the Emrys' case regardless of what the son was like growing in his head.
The day passed in a flurry, Arthur speaking to three more prospective clients, declining two of them and picking up the man who wanted to charge his neighbour for assault (with the Emrys case on the back of his mind, Arthur found himself mentally freeing up space, even though he technically hadn't accepted yet).
It was late afternoon when the floor's receptionist buzzed through on the phone, asking if he'd authorised one Hunith Emrys and son to come up. He asked for her to send them through, straightening his tie and standing from his chair just as the office door opened.
Hunith was still the same as the morning, smartly dressed with her hair pinned back, a woman of class and money. Behind her trailed a tall, thin man, dressed almost completely opposite to Hunith in scruffy jeans and an old hoodie, scuffing his feet on the plush carpet with obvious distaste.
He didn't look like a killer, that much was for sure.
(But you couldn't judge a man by what he looked like these days, too many times had a 'good' man been let free simply because he didn't look the part."
"Mr Pendragon," Hunith greeted, holding her hand out again. "I'd like you to meet my son, Merlin."
She turned round, looking to Merlin with a pointed stare. The scruffy man gave Arthur a once over before shrugging, crossing his arms over his chest and standing over at the wall, closer to the door than the rest of them.
"It's good to see you," Arthur ventured, looking to Merlin as if he could judge him on a single reaction. There was no reaction as the man looked pointedly down at the floor, not even attempting to play nicely.
Arthur took a breath in, unsure exactly how this would play out now. Most people who came to Arthur were innocent - or at least pledged their innocence over and over again until Arthur was sick of hearing their pleas - and made sure that Arthur knew as much. This man though, standing by the door and looking for all the world as if this was the last place he wanted to be, was different to anyone Arthur had met before. Even the guilty ones had pleaded to innocence, as if that would change Arthur's mind when he'd read them easily as soon as they'd stepped over the threshold.
"So, how exactly can I help you Mr Emrys?" Arthur tried again, looking to Merlin. Their eyes met in an icy stare.
"We need you to defend him," Hunith said, half-turning to look back at her son. "Whatever the crimes against him are, I know he's-"
"And it's as I keep telling you," a low, angry voice burst in, "That I killed the bastard. I did it, I'm guilty, and I'd do it again."
Well, Arthur thought, that had never happened in his office before.
"Merlin!" Hunith admonished, half-rising from her chair, "How could you say that now? You promised me-"
"What?" Merlin cut in again, and Arthur had the feeling they'd had this argument time and time again. "I've already told you, I'm not going to say I'm innocent when I'm not." He tilted his chin up, defiantly, to Arthur. "I don't care if he's the best lawyer in town or whatever, I did it."
Arthur obligingly looked away as Hunith rose, walking over to her son.
"I've already told you, you don't get to choose this." She was barely talking, hissing now, but Arthur could just make out the words. "You're not going to prison, you're all I have and if our money is useful for something it'll damn well be this."
There was no room for arguments in Hunith's words and Merlin simply turned his gaze from his mother to look at Arthur again, distain clear in his curled lip.
"Now," she said, straightening up and smiling slightly to Arthur. He noticed the tight pull on her face and wondered how exactly she felt, for her son (and possible only family member, judging from her reaction) and how much she was willing to push until Arthur was on the case. "I believe we have business to discuss."
It would be easy for Arthur to turn them away, what with Merlin convinced of his guilt. It was amazing the man wasn't locked up already, what with his blasé attitude concerning hiding what he'd done, so different to any other criminal (guilty or otherwise) that Arthur had ever met.
Merlin finally left his post at the wall, scuffing his shoes again until he sat in the chair next to Hunith, looking at odds with his mother.
"So," Hunith broke the silence, "We'd like for you to represent Merlin and prove his innocence."
Merlin shifted, muttering something and both Arthur and Hunith looked to him, the latter with a stern look.
"Prove?" he parroted, shaking his head with a smile. "There's nothing to prove. If anything you're going to have to find someone to pay off to fabricate evidence that I'm not guilty."
Merlin sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. There was a smugness about him and, despite his stance against malpractice and the oaths he'd sworn by when taking the job, Arthur found himself wanting to take on the case. He wanted to know why Hunith was so sure of Merlin's innocence when the son himself claimed he'd done it.
Something was wrong here, and whether it was because Hunith had too much faith in her son (though she didn't seem that type of person) or whether it was because Merlin was hiding something, Arthur wanted to know.
How long had it been since he'd felt the pull of interest, something tugging at him. He hadn't chosen to be a lawyer, not really, when his father had simply directed his learning and interests with the assumption that, one day, Arthur would follow in his footsteps, but he had, from time to time, enjoyed it, really enjoyed it that is. And here was the pull again, on an impossible case it seemed.
This was something that Gwaine would take on, a case that was doomed from the start. But here he was, Arthur Pendragon, number one lawyer at Camelot Legal Group and he was going to take on a case that would most likely end up with his client behind bars or with Arthur faking evidence one way or another. Neither sat well on his morals, but…
Merlin shifted in his chair and Hunith tilted her head up a little, unafraid to look him in the eye. How could he turn them away when they came as they were? These people were honest, despite whatever crime had been committed and whatever went on outside this room.
Which was why, thirteen minutes later, Arthur was calling the fourth floor, asking them to draw a contract up for him, a client-lawyer contract between Emrys and Pendragon. Hunith and Merlin left, arranging a meeting to sign the documents, and a meeting after that for just Merlin and Arthur, to begin the long process of what was to come.
Arthur left the office that day, same time as usual, but turned down the offers to go out. He was boo-ed at and called names (all in good jest), but Arthur had work to do now; starting with tearing down Merlin Emrys' walls until the truth was revealed.
Hunith came alone to sign the documents, with an official slip of paper that held Merlin's own signature and a note that said she was legalised to sign on his behalf. She looked uncomfortable doing so and mentioned that Merlin wasn't exactly keen to go through with this.
"He's only doing it because of me," she said, suddenly, just before she was about to leave. "I know he says he's guilty and sticking to it, but I know him better than anyone, a mother always does."
Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"He's a good man. I know I keep saying it," she looked down, eyes raking over his desk. "He's all I have left now and… I can't bear to watch if he…" She broke off, inhaling deeply and standing from the chair.
"Merlin will be difficult," she added, "And for that I'm sorry. If he gives you any undue hassle, just let me know and I'll be able to compensate you."
Arthur made to protest, but Hunith shook her head. "I've inherited a lot of money and if I don't use it on my only son then what good is it?"
Arthur didn't know. Hunith left then, leaving his office door open for Gwen to wander in, watching his client's mother leave.
"You've taken on a case then?" she asked, closing Arthur's door softly. She sat in the chair that Hunith had vacated, looking at Arthur curiously. He knew why she was so curious; Arthur was selective in his cases. Any case he chose, at least big case, had to have some kind of pull and everyone in the office was always interested when he took on another big case.
"Yeah, a murder one." He straightened his tie, shuffling through the contract papers Hunith had signed. "It looks like it'll be difficult, the man's not exactly a willing participant." He filed the papers away. "That was the client's mother, the one paying for it all."
Gwen wrinkled her nose at that. She was one of the very few who believed in a fair justice system, but fair in the way of payment. She didn't like that a lawyer's talents could be bought by the wrong side while the real innocent one was left in the gutter.
"Well, at least you won't get bored," she said, a knowing look on her face.
There was one thing that Arthur disliked about Gwen. She knew him too well, far too well. While he doubted she knew the exact kind of person who filtered through his bedroom (she knew they were men, yes, but she'd never understand how someone could have so many unattached flings), she knew that he had hardly had a committed relationship in some time. And so, because of that, she thought that something was lacking in his life and that he made up for a lack of 'companionship' (she'd stuttered over the word during one night out, cheeks pink with alcohol) by fuelling it into his job, picking things that demanded attention.
She was worried about him, was what she meant. Arthur had told her time and time again that he didn't need anything, wasn't lacking in his life, but Gwen had the odd notion in her head that she could save everyone, that she could save a man who didn't need saving.
She left his office a few minutes later and Arthur was left to browse through his appointments for the day, preparing himself to meet Merlin, alone.
Merlin Emrys didn't show up to their first meeting. 9AM rolled by and there was no lanky man standing at his door. That wasn't a worry though, sometimes people were late, and Merlin seemed the sort to purposefully turn out late. Ten o'clock rolled by and Arthur began to grow irritated, and so when three PM ticked by, he picked up his phone and dialled Hunith's contact number.
There was no answer and so he left a curt message, asking for Merlin to reschedule the appointment.
Three days later and there was still no reply. Arthur knew he had to take this into his own hands.
It appeared that the Emrys' hadn't only inherited their money, judging from the large, gated mansion the cab let him out at. Arthur nodded to the cabbie, paying the fare, before strolling up to the wrought iron gate, pressing a buzzer at the side of the wall.
"Arthur Pendragon, here to represent Merlin Emrys," he introduced himself when a gruff voice sounded over the intercom. There was a moment of silence, before the gate lock clicked and Arthur was ordered inside the property.
The house itself wasn't set too far back from the gate, and it was a short walk up the drive until he reached the open door. A man stood there, introduced himself as the housekeeper - Matthew - and explained that Mr Emrys was upstairs and Arthur should wait in the parlour room (an actual parlour room!) while he fetched him.
So that was how Arthur found himself drowning in a Victorian-esque parlour room, seated on the edge of a velvet-lined chair. The house was eerily silent, as houses with so many rooms and so little people generally are, and there was nothing to do but sit and wait patiently.
He didn't have to wait long. The door slammed open and Merlin strode in, jeans and t-shirt combination still, looking furious.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed, standing by Arthur's chair. Arthur rose slowly, looking Merlin straight in the eye.
"You failed to keep your appointment or reschedule it, so I thought I'd come over here to see if there was a problem. Your mother's money won't go to waste," he added, hoping that he could stir Merlin into some form of conversation.
Arthur watched as Merlin's jaw clenched, but he moved to sit down on the chair opposite Arthur's, crossing his legs and placing his hands on the arm of the chair.
"I've already told you I'm guilty," he said after a minute's silence. "So why even bother?"
He was determined, that much Arthur could see. And with determination came a challenge, and with a challenge came Arthur Pendragon.
"Why don't we start by you telling me your story?" Arthur asked, drawing Merlin to him.
"You mean you haven't even looked at that in the case file?" Merlin moved forwards in his chair, eyebrow raised curiously.
"I have," was Arthur's reply, because he had, multiple times. "But I'd like to hear your retelling of the events."
Sometimes the client repeated a story to themselves so many times that it became true in their head, sometimes they outright lied, and sometimes they told the truth. Either way, Arthur needed to hear the story from Merlin's lips, to judge him on his words first rather than reading them off paper.
Merlin inspected Arthur for a moment before he drew back, resting against his chair once more and fixing Arthur with a humourless stare.
"Fine," Merlin retorted, "I'll tell you."
It was nearing to 1am on Friday. It was cold, but the alleys leading off of Ealdor Square were fairly sheltered and while it wasn't exactly a place to linger, it was comfortable enough to walk home. Merlin shrugged his coat higher up against his ears as he left the pub, nodding to a few patrons outside.
That was when he noticed a figure walking into one of the alleys, stepping through a dim beam of light left by a half-broken lamppost. Merlin's lip curled as he realised who the man was and, while he'd never met Mordred before, Will had often warned Merlin and the rest of them to look out for him.
Mordred was a slippery character, got into drugs a few years ago and owed a few people some money. Nothing too serious - everyone in drugs owed someone something - but with Mordred, it was different. He was violent at times, capable of great rages, and it made him dangerous. There were rumours (and no, Merlin would not tell Arthur what these rumours were) about him, hushed and whispered behind hands.
Regardless of the rumours, Merlin knew that the world would be a better place without Mordred and so followed him, entering the alleyway and reaching behind him where, concealed by his jacket, a gun lay tucked into his trouser waist.
And then that was that. Mordred turned, Merlin fired the gun and he was dead.
"The police said they found two other prints on the gun," Arthur said as Merlin finished. There was silence for a moment, before Merlin shifted in his chair.
"Fine then, I don't suppose anything gets past you then. It wasn't so easy then, alright?" Merlin rolled his eyes, returning to the story.
He entered the alleyway and Mordred, almost towards the end of the pavement now, turned as he heard footsteps.
"Emrys," he said, stepping back into the darkness of the alley and walking back up to join Merlin. "I've heard so much about you."
Merlin didn't fall for the bait. He didn't know how Mordred knew his name, but it was probably through Will or someone else in the group. It wasn't a hidden fact that his friends were dealers or caught up in some form of crime (who wasn't these days) and so Merlin wasn't too bothered by the fact Mordred knew him.
Instead, he drew his gun, squaring up to Mordred.
"Playing with the men now are we Emrys?" Mordred taunted, stepping up to Merlin. They were next to each other now and Mordred slipped his hand over the gun.
"I don't think you have the guts, do you?" Mordred whispered, and Merlin proved him wrong. There was satisfaction as the bullet went through his head and a shocked look appeared on Mordred's face before he fell back, dead.
"I just waited there after that until a friend of mine came running out of the pub and found me." Merlin shrugged again, "She took the gun from me and was there when the police arrived."
"So then the police arrived on the scene and arrested you until your mother paid the bail and you were set up for a trial, given time to find a lawyer and… well we're here." Merlin nodded to Arthur's words, obliging as Arthur looked him over.
There was no trace of a lie, but something was strange with what Merlin had said. It matched the police report perfectly and was an exact telling of what had happened from witnesses (those who had seen the victim and Merlin leave the pub and then the woman - Freya - who had arrived on the scene shortly after). There was something though, something that Arthur couldn't put his finger on.
"It wasn't a proper motive though, was it?" Arthur pushed, not believing that this man, in his scruffy clothing, would kill off the bat as he'd suggested he did.
"What, wanting to get rid of a prick like Mordred isn't enough of a motive?" Merlin gave a half-laugh, half-snort. "He didn't pay his way, he's harassed my friends enough times and he acted as if he was some kind of king. Not even the criminals deserve him and, through killing him, I'm known by everyone."
Merlin threw his hands wide as he finished, smiling with a hint of smugness. For some reason, Arthur knew it was wrong. He didn't know Merlin, and technically this was their first proper meeting, but something cried out to Arthur that seeing that look on Merlin's face, hearing him say he wanted to be known… it was wrong.
"How much had you had to drink?" Arthur asked instead. Even if Merlin wasn't revealing everything, it was unlikely he was going to admit to it. Arthur still had a job to do, still had to defend Merlin in court, and he'd do it. They just had to find a way where Merlin could get his 'fame' or whatever it was and yet still be allowed to walk free at the end.
There were mitigating circumstances to a murder charge. If Merlin had been drunk, for example, Arthur could spin a story of how he'd just been trying to get home and that Mordred had aggravated him. It wouldn't get him off, of course (unless the right connections were made and the money passed to the right hands), but it could waive his sentence, narrow it down rather than the stamp of life.
Oh. Arthur was becoming one of 'them' now, wasn't he? Before he'd held onto his morals, trying only to use his influence when he had to, when there was a just cause. But now… now here he was defending a man who refused to even think he was innocent, openly admitting he'd killed someone.
There were no get-out clauses on the contract, no way that Arthur could back out now. And even so, even if there had been a way to get out, he doubted that he would. Looking at Merlin, sitting with a guarded look, he knew there was something off about his recount of events, something there, something more. Even if Merlin was guilty, Arthur had only lost a handful of cases before and Hunith had been right when she'd said he was the best. He'd figure Merlin out even if he had to swing the law (and really, everyone had done it, so why shouldn't Arthur?), and if he knew before the case was closed? Then Merlin could go behind bars, where he believed he belonged.
"I hadn't drunk enough if that's what you're wondering. They did a test on me too, it should be in my file," Merlin said. He seemed to like making it seem as though Arthur was substandard, that he wasn't doing his job right. And, maybe if Arthur was in his position, he'd agree, but for now it was bloody annoying.
"If you know who to pay, they can write whatever they want in your file," Arthur said tiredly, rubbing a hand over his forehead. One thing Merlin Emrys was not; relaxing.
"There are certain points in the law in which we can manipulate around. There might be a way to swing our defence if we claim that you were threatened and acting in self-defence. You mentioned that he held the gun while you did, we could say he tried to take it from you and you felt you had no choice." The words tasted bitter in his mouth, but he had to say them. Whatever Merlin had done, they were in this together now.
Merlin fixed him with a stare, leaning forwards and shaking his head.
"You don't get it do you? I'm guilty. I don't care what happens to me, I killed the prick and I'm not sorry in the slightest." He tilted his chin before standing. "And I'd like you to leave now, our meeting's over and I have places to be."
Arthur rose, but he was unwilling to let Merlin think he'd won. He collected his coat and briefcase, shrugging the former on as Matthew joined them, opening the parlour door and walking them down the hall. Merlin stopped at the grand staircase in the entrance hall and Arthur followed suit.
"You know, your reputation would do better if you could get a shortened sentence. Who wants to follow a guy who murdered someone and then was locked up? It's the ones who walk free that become the stuff of legends." With that said, Arthur nodded to Matthew as he passed him, walking back down the drive with a little beat of satisfaction in his chest.
Curiosity drew a lot of people in, and Arthur knew Merlin was one such person. If he didn't call before the week was up, Arthur swore to eat his hat.
.
| Part One | Part Two | Part Three |