Ubi Sunt (Part II)
Title: Ubi Sunt
Art link: On LJ
Rating: R
Word Count: ~41,000
There was a black car. The squeal of breaks. Flying dust.
There was the sound of a horse in pain.
Then there was silence of the blackest kind.
He struggled to find his way out, clawing at the blackness. He screamed for help, but no one came.
The morning Merlin and Morgana agreed to meet on started the same way it always did. Arthur Pendragon woke up screaming,
The first month or so after the accident, Morgana used to come in and sit with him. She would hold his hand or pet his hair in a way that was so matronly, Arthur began to suspect she was causing all the nightmares.
He told her about them, too. At first. After a while she grew tired (she didn’t say, but he could tell) of running in and touching him. When she knew the dream almost as well as he did, she stopped coming. He didn’t blame her. He didn’t ask.
She was his sister, for the most part. She was a famous actress. She won awards for her performances. He, Arthur, the golden boy, was an invalid. He didn’t do anything anymore. He was holding her back.
Arthur’s mornings started like that every single day. First the dream, with the inexplicable car and dust (nothing like that had happened on the day of The Accident, at least not that he could remember). Next, the thought of Morgana and how much he missed her presence in the morning. Finally, the realization that he was hurting his sister with every moment he didn’t get better.
His nutritious morning helping of self loathing was interrupted, however, when Morgana poked her head in the room. She didn’t say anything about the screaming, it was a topic they both avoided, but her eyes were sad and older than they’d been Before, with a capital B, because--well, in Arthur’s mind, After could not be anything but capitalized.
“Don’t forget I’m taking you out today,” Morgana said. “Wear jeans. And a shirt you don’t mind getting dirty.”
“Morgana, if this is another one of those ‘Arthur come help me build a house so they can take pictures!’ moments, I’m going to have to insist you let me stay in bed.”
“It isn’t, and those are fun. Besides, I think everyone would like to see Uther Pendragon’s children out and about again.”
It was a pointed comment, and one that made Arthur look down at his hands. His father-that was a bridge no one dared to cross anymore-was Important. He was Important for Various Reasons, but mostly for being rich. Arthur had grown up in the spotlight, and his absence of late had been noticed.
Not that anyone thought he had a stupid reason for staying locked away. For the most part, people seemed to understand. Well, they had at first. Now he saw his name in the headlines on slow news days. Speculation as to where he’d gone to hide. He hadn’t actually gone anywhere; he’d been hiding in his London flat for ages. It was the least obvious place to be. The Cardiff home and cottage in Ireland were considered private, so press that hoped to see the missing Arthur Pendragon often scoured both those locations. He never saw anyone with cameras waiting outside his door in London, though.
He rolled out of bed and glanced in the mirror. His hair had grown back, covering the ugly patch of skin that had been shaved away when they operated. His side though was still--“Grotesque,” he said softly. The scar was truly ugly, starting just below the waistline of his pajama pants to the left of his left hipbone and continuing up his side, finally wrapping around his chest and stopping several inches above his belly button. He swallowed hard as he stared at it.
That would never go away, the doctors had told him. Arcturus’s hoof had done that as the horse flailed his last few moments in pain. Arthur hadn’t been awake for it, but that’s what the doctors had told him. His horse.
Arthur pulled a shirt on hurriedly, the soft fabric drew him away from the memory of sand and choking dust that wasn’t even a memory so much as a hallucination-an idea of what might have happened those moments. All he remembered of The Accident was the jump and then blue, so much blue sky-then nothing.
“Where are we going that I might be getting dirty?” he asked Morgana.
She covered her eyes when he pulled off his pajama bottoms and tugged on a pair of jeans. He stuck his tongue out at her, because he knew she couldn’t see it. “We’re going someplace new,” was all she’d tell him. “Come on, hurry up. We’ll be late. And don’t stick your tongue out at me, Arthur. It’s so childish.”
“I still don’t know what I’ll be late for,” he pointed out, but Morgana was flouncing out of the room and he had no real choice but to follow her.
~~~
“No.”
“Arthur we aren’t even there yet.”
“Turn the bloody car around Morgana.”
“Arthur.”
“Morgana, I said no!” he almost yelled it, his hands balled tightly in his lap. He’d gone pale, and he could hear his harsh, ragged breaths as though he was someone else, watching himself. “I want to go home,” he sounded like a child.
She didn’t listen and the car kept moving forward, much to Arthur’s horror. The barn in the distance--he knew it was a barn--only got larger. He could see horses now, cantering in the fields around the old building, eating grass, living. “How dare you,” he said, his voice low and more desperate than angry, despite what he was going for. “Morgana, how could you. You know I can’t-I’m not able-I wouldn’t---”
“You can ride, Arthur,” Morgana said, her voice patient but tired. “We’ve been over this a thousand times with your doctors, there isn’t anything wrong with you.”
“I can’t,” he repeated, still looking at the barn. He could see people now, two of them standing there. One a girl, definitely, the other maybe a girl, but also possibly a guy. Taller than the one with curly hair, although she?-no, definitely he-was leaning against a fence. Soon, Arthur could see their faces, one of them--the guy--was familiar.
The sign above the door proclaimed the stable to be Camelot Therapeutic Riding Center. Arthur threatened to walk home as Morgana maneuvered into a parking spot. “No,” she said seriously. “Gwen is my friend and I won’t have you being rude.”
“There are a thousand places like this begging to get me to visit, Morgana, I’ve said no every time. I can’t ride horses, I don’t want to try.”
“Get out of the car, Arthur,” she snapped.
Arthur listened.
That was how he found himself standing in front of the two people. “Gwen,” Morgana said, giving the girl a hug. She pressed a fond hand to the guy’s shoulder. “Good to see you both.” She sounded so sincere that Arthur was almost caught off guard. “This is my brother, well, half brother, Arthur.”
“I’m Guinevere,” the girl held out her hand, “Call me Gwen. Lovely to meet you, really. I’ve always admired your riding.”
Arthur’s smile was tight as he took her hand and shook it. “Pleasure is mine,” he said stiffly.
The guy shifted and finally held out his hand. “I’ll be your-” he hesitated, “Instructor, I guess. I’m Merlin.”
Arthur’s jaw dropped, despite his best efforts to retain his composure. That was--unexpected. “Merlin Emrys?” he demanded.
The guy just nodded.
“Arthur won’t admit it, but he’s a huge fan. He’s seen your competition videos at least a million times,” Morgana chimed in. Arthur glared at her.
“I’ve always admired your fluidity with your horse. Not many riders can accomplish that. You two make a great show team.”
“Made a great show team,” Merlin corrected him. Arthur flinched.
“Right, sorry. I didn’t mean-”
“S’fine,” Merlin said. He turned away.
Gwen smiled apologetically, Morgana frowned disapprovingly, and Arthur looked longingly back at the safety of his car.
Through some small mercy, Gwen guided Morgana away from the barn as Arthur followed Merlin into it. He could be relieved, at least, that she wasn’t going to have to watch him fail. He was disappointing his family, Arthur knew, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about it. His days as a rider were long since over, and standing here, even with Merlin Emrys, wouldn’t change that.
“You’re wasting your time,” Arthur said as they walked down the long aisle. “I’m not going to get on a horse again.”
Merlin just shrugged and said nothing.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Arthur added, “When I was talking about you and The Fisher King. I wasn’t thinking.”
Again, Merlin shrugged.
Arthur fell silent. The conversation wasn’t coming easily, and he was too tired--or maybe he just didn’t care enough--to try and make one. They turned left, and finally, Merlin stopped outside a stall.
“This is your horse,” Merlin told him, pointing at the door in front of them. The horse was a young gelding, happily swaying its head back and forth. A beautiful palomino, soft and light in color. Arthur was almost tempted to touch him, but he kept his hands firmly at his side.
“My horse is dead.”
Merlin shifted uncomfortably. “Well, this is the horse you’ll be riding, then.”
“I’m not riding. Thank you for making the trouble to arrange this.”
Arthur had on his pleasing smile. His good company smile. The smile his father trained him to wear before he could even sit up on his own. Merlin didn’t smile back, he just looked at Arthur with tired eyes.
“That’s your choice, mate,” he said quietly.
Arthur watched as Merlin let himself into the stall and then brought the horse out on crossties. He watched, silent and disbelieving as Merlin groomed him. He stared, his fingers curled against his side--in anger or restraint, he wasn't sure. The urge to reach out and touch Gwaine battled with the urge to punch Merlin in his infuriatingly calm face. Merlin brushed past Arthur and grabbed Gwaine' tack. Finally, Arthur had to speak.
“I’m sorry, did you misunderstand me? I’m not riding.”
“Like I said, mate, that’s your choice. I’ll ride him then,” Merlin stroked the horse’s smooth neck. “Gwaine needs attention, his rider isn’t coming in today anyway. I just thought he’d be a good mount for you.”
“Well he won’t,” Arthur said stubbornly, crossing his arms.
Infuriatingly, Merlin just shrugged again. He finished fiddling with the horse’s bridle and led him out of the barn. Arthur followed a few steps behind, watching the way Merlin moved. He was confident next to a horse, that was obvious, but Arthur had already known about Merlin-so of course he’d known he was good. There was something in the way he carried himself, an easy pride. A comfortableness in his own skin that Arthur envied. It was a sort of grace.
Merlin touched his back, his hand pressing against the small of it like it was a familiar action. He rubbed slowly, and Arthur realized that Merlin’s pace had slowed a little. There was the faintest hint of a limp in his step. Merlin’s easy grace wasn’t grace, it was adjustment. He moved confidently, but it was fake. Arthur watched Merlin slow down and swing what must have been his good leg forward, compensating. Merlin’s shoulders tensed and he turned, just a little, catching Arthur staring. Arthur looked away.
For a few moments, neither of them moved.
Merlin was the first to shift. He slowed to a stop and swung up onto the horse, an easy near-fluid movement. There was a hitch at the top as Merlin went to swing his leg over Gwaine’s back. He held still once he was sat, breathing slowly. Arthur could see that he was paler.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Fine.” Merlin’s reply was terse and harsh. His cheeks flushed red. He nudged Gwaine to a trot, leaving Arthur behind him in the dust. Arthur watched Merlin ride for a long time. He watched the slow circles around the ring, the comfortable trot. He watched Merlin canter for a little while. Merlin took a few jumps-but only two, and right after he slowed to a walk, leaning heavily on his horse. Arthur’s eyes followed him, the slump in Merlin’s frame and the rapid jerks of his shoulders as he caught his breath.
“Merlin?” someone called from behind him. Arthur turned and saw Gwen hurrying out. She moved quickly over to Merlin, blocking Arthur’s view for a moment as Merlin finally swung down from the horse. Merlin gripped Gwen’s arm, looking pained.
“What happened?” Arthur heard Gwen say. Merlin just shook his head, his lips tight. When he walked by Arthur his limp was more pronounced. Gwen, who Merlin was leaning against, dropped Gwaine’s reigns into Arthur’s hand. The pair disappeared into the barn, leaving Arthur with a horse that needed a cool down and a good grooming.
He sighed. “Come on then,” he said quietly, clucking his tongue. The gelding ambled next to him as they walked around the ring. When enough time had passed that Arthur no longer felt like he was going to interrupt something if he went up to the barn, he lead Gwaine up to his stall, grabbed his grooming bucket, and spent a few minutes taking deep breaths before he finally got started. He had to untack Gwaine first, and he spent a few moments quietly apologizing to the horse for leaving him in his saddle while he had a minor identity crisis in the aisle.
Had anyone asked Arthur how he felt as he groomed the lithe palomino, he would have looked at them like they were stupid. “Like I do every day,” he would have said, rolling his eyes. He would have been lying, though. As Arthur groomed that stupid horse, he felt at peace for the first time in a long time.
~~~
Merlin doubled over in the tack room, sagging half against Gwen and half against the wall. He was going to be sick. God, he was going to be sick.
Gwen helped lower him on to one of the benches, her hand rubbing soothing circles into his back. “Merlin?” she was saying, her voice a little frantic under the forced calm. “Merl, what's wrong? Hey, hey what’s wrong?”
“My back,” he said quietly, his voice hitching a little as he pushed his hands through his hair. He could tell they were trembling. Seconds passed, then minutes before his breathing and shaking finally slowed, until the pain in his back abetted enough for him to straighten.
“Merlin, what the bloody hell was that?” Gwen hissed, “Have you been having attacks again?”
Merlin shook his head and swallowed hard. “No,” he said. “I haven’t, Gwen I swear. I haven’t had an attack like that in months.”
His last one had been three months ago. He’d ridden too hard too soon and had been laid up in bed for almost a week. That had been about six or seven months after the first time he’d gotten on a horse. They were halfway through October now, almost a year since the Christmas Day Gwen had convinced him he needed to start riding again.
Stress could bring them on though, that’s what Gaius had told him. The attacks-what Merlin called them, they had some medical name he’d never cared to remember-had been explained to him as a real possibility almost immediately upon waking. “You may never ride again,” a nurse had said, patting his shoulder like she cared, “But if you do, riding too much won’t end well for you.”
“Well then what caused that?” Gwen snapped. There was a real bite in her words, a frosty sort of intensity that Merlin knew was just worry, but it still stung.
“I’ve been riding a lot,” he admitted. “Maybe more than I should.”
“How much?” Gwen asked, looking suddenly tired. She dropped down onto a bench, leaving Merlin standing there, framed between the lesson saddles and his old show saddles.
“Four or five hours a day since I got back from New York,” he admitted.
Her gaze was sharp, but she didn’t say anything. There was a long, tense moment where Merlin thought he was going to get yelled at, but Gwen just stood and hugged him. Gwen was warm and familiar, all soft curves and curly hair, and Merlin let himself be held.
Ever since the accident, Merlin had felt like he was drowning. He was underwater and everything was blurred, and looking--trying to focus--just stung his eyes and made his lungs burn. He wanted to leave, to breathe, but the waves had distorted his senses, and he didn’t know which way was up.
Merlin didn’t like feeling so helpless, so after a while he pushed Gwen away. He toyed with being angry, maybe storming off up to the house and refusing to come out until Arthur left, but Merlin didn’t have it in him.
The door to the tack room shut softly behind him, and he walked away. His boots clicked against the wood of the aisle, but Gwen didn't follow him. Merlin ran a hand through his hair and sighed. The horses were all looking at him curiously. He could just see Kilgharrah’s stall, and the big horse’s green tinted ears. He looked away. His gaze fell on Gwaine’s stall, which Arthur was letting himself out of.
Arthur wasn’t limping. Arthur wasn’t falling over in fits of pain. He was walking. Golden and glowing like the horse he’d refused to ride. Merlin felt a swell of anger rise up in him because it wasn’t fair. After a year, though, people start to think you’re crazy for still being angry. You should get over it, they whispered, shooting glances at him. Local shows wondered why he didn’t come to judge. Sportscasters bantered about his absence on the circuit, even as a spectator or trainer. Arthur could go back to a life where that wasn't the case. He just wouldn't.
Merlin opened his mouth to snap at the stupid git walking down the hall. A childish insult hung on the tip of his tongue.
Arthur looked concerned. “Are you all-”
“Fine.”
“Right, just checking. I was wondering…” Arthur trailed off, looking almost uncomfortable-or the Arthur version of it, anyway. He still looked irritatingly composed to Merlin. “I’d like to meet the Fisher King, if I could?”
No. Merlin thought angrily, you can’t. He’s my horse. But his mouth said, “Sure. Follow me.”
~~~
The hardest part of the accident had been learning how to be broken.
No part of Merlin had ever been broken before. He lived an average life, with an above average mum, in an average part of Ireland. He lived tucked away amongst the hills and red built barns and his days had been routine. He’d had an ordinary best friend and he’d gotten a wonderful horse.
Fish had been a present from Gaius when both Merlin and the horse had seemed impossibly young. Merlin used to joke in interviews that they’d done the worst of their growing together, and now they had the right to be on top of the world. It didn’t matter, now, but Merlin still thought about it sometimes.
The smile that spread over his face when Fish poked an elegant head out over the door was the easiest thing that Merlin had done all day. Merlin moved in close and the horse snuffled at his shoulder, then bumped his warm nose against Merlin’s back. “Yes,” he said softly to the horse, “I’m hurting today. I hope you’re faring better.”
Arthur had stood back, Merlin noticed, a respectable distance away. He was just watching. Merlin could still tell him to leave and Arthur would, But Merlin didn’t tell him to leave, because he knew that expression on Arthur’s face. He’d seen it in the mirror of his own horrible hospital room. Merlin looked back at Fish and tried to imagine going through everything without him. He tried to imagine surviving the accident without his horse. He couldn’t. Merlin opened the stall door and slipped inside, curling his arm over Fish’s withers. “He won’t bite. Well. He hasn’t in a while,” Merlin said, looking up.
Arthur moved haltingly, like he was in a dream.
“Arcturus was the only colt my mother’s horse had,” Arthur said as he moved in front of Fish. “I had a huge fight with my sister over who would get to train him. I was lucky. Arcturus and I hit it off from the start,” he fell quiet. “My mother died before she saw me ride him,” Arthur added. “She died before she saw me ride at all, but it would’ve been special for her. Seeing me ride her horse’s son.”
Merlin nodded his head and leaned against the wall of Fish’s stall. His back still ached and he knew he’d be limping for the next day, at least, but there was something pleasantly quiet about watching someone else with his horse. Fish was looking at him, as if to say ‘this okay?’ and Merlin could only smile. Hurting sucked. Breaking sucked. But not everything was bad.
In the back of his mind, Merlin could hear the little voice he attributed to Gwen doing a victory dance.
“I should go,” Arthur said before Merlin could say anything else. Again, Merlin only nodded. He didn’t necessarily want Arthur here. The day hadn’t exactly been fun. Merlin planted a kiss on Fish’s muzzle and moved away from the horse. He let Arthur out of the stall in front of him, then shut and locked the door tightly behind him. They’d learned early on that Fish was very good with latches.
“Arthur!” Morgana called, her voice sweet as sugar. Arthur visibly tensed. “Did you ride today?” she asked. Arthur looked uncomfortable, but Merlin noticed the genuine affection in the hand Morgana laid on her brother’s shoulder and looked away.
Morgana lead Arthur away then, out of the barn and out of Merlin’s line of sight. He sank down against the wall and listened to the sound of their voices as the pair moved away.
“Merlin?”
He looked up and smiled at Gwen, tipping his head to the side. “I’m fine,” he said quietly, “Just tired, you know. It’s been a long day.”
Gwen nodded and dropped down next to him, bumping her shoulder against Merlin’s. “We can’t sit for a while,” she answered, “And then let’s head up to Gaius’s for tea. Then we’ll go home.”
“I think I want to sl-”
“You’re not sleeping at the barn again. For God’s sake Merlin, you’re going to make yourself sick! You’ve been limping since you got back from America. Did you think I hadn’t noticed?” her sigh could knock mountains over, and Merlin looked down at his feet.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be sorry! You haven’t got anything to be sorry for, just,” she groaned and stood up, holding out a hand to pull him to his feet as well. “Just be smarter, Merlin. It isn’t just you anymore.”
“What?”
“It’s all right to beat yourself up when it’s just you and me and Will,” Gwen answered, “Well it’s not all right, but Will and I, we can help you through your bad days. Arthur needs you.”
“That’s rubbish Gwen, and you know it. He doesn’t want to ride! Morgana shouldn’t make him.”
“You didn’t want to ride either,” Gwen answered, “I made you. Do you regret that?”
“No. Never, but it’s different-”
“Yes! It is different! You know it is, Merlin. Arthur has a chance! He can still be a champion. You know that. Help him!”
“I don’t know how to help him! I’m so fucked up that I can’t even bring myself to leave the barn on my bad days! I’m destroying my body just to get a few hours of riding in, to feel like I have possibility again!”
They’ve had this fight so many times. Merlin lost count too long ago for it to matter, but it still stung every time.
Gwen ran a hand through her hair, “Merlin,” she said quietly. “Merlin you aren’t going to compete again. Ever. You know that. We’ve been over it, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have possibility! You’re a fantastic rider! A good teacher. Your accident destroyed your dreams and that’s horrible. It’s bollocks and it’s unfair but it’s what happened. I’m not telling you to move on, I don’t expect you to. What I expect is for you to look at Arthur and think about if you were him! If you still had that chance, wouldn’t you want someone to help you realize that?”
Merlin pushed past her, “I’ll be in the car,” he snapped. He slammed the tack room door behind him.
~~~
The ride home was almost deathly quiet. He could hear Gwen’s harsh breaths, and knew that meant she was mad at him. Really mad. Not just grumpy or amusingly frustrated. She didn’t say anything to him at all when they got back to the flat, just stormed up the hall and slammed her door shut. He’d been horrible to her, and he knew it, but Gwen had never pried so deeply into that part of Merlin’s conscious. If he didn’t want to leave the flat and help Arthur then that was his prerogative! Wasn’t it?
Still, that night he curled up in bed and stared at the shadows the window threw onto the wall, and he thought about what Gwen had said. Potential. Possibility. People used to say that about him, but they didn’t any more. His back ached and his leg throbbed, and Merlin knew that pain would be a part of his life from now on, because he’d ruined his body.
But he hadn’t ruined his body. An accident had. A freak accident that nobody understood. One of those one-in-a-million chances that had to happen to somebody. It had happened to him. If it hadn’t though, or if he could have recovered, he would have wanted someone to smack him and say “Look what you still have!”
Merlin rolled onto his stomach and closed his eyes. He still had Fish, at least. Arthur’s horse was dead. Arthur though, he wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t broken.
If Merlin could help him, he realized that he would. That he wanted to know that someone could come out of this mess whole.
(The next morning he made Gwen breakfast, and they laughed the whole way to the barn).
>>>
Art link: On LJ
Rating: R
Word Count: ~41,000
There was a black car. The squeal of breaks. Flying dust.
There was the sound of a horse in pain.
Then there was silence of the blackest kind.
He struggled to find his way out, clawing at the blackness. He screamed for help, but no one came.
The morning Merlin and Morgana agreed to meet on started the same way it always did. Arthur Pendragon woke up screaming,
The first month or so after the accident, Morgana used to come in and sit with him. She would hold his hand or pet his hair in a way that was so matronly, Arthur began to suspect she was causing all the nightmares.
He told her about them, too. At first. After a while she grew tired (she didn’t say, but he could tell) of running in and touching him. When she knew the dream almost as well as he did, she stopped coming. He didn’t blame her. He didn’t ask.
She was his sister, for the most part. She was a famous actress. She won awards for her performances. He, Arthur, the golden boy, was an invalid. He didn’t do anything anymore. He was holding her back.
Arthur’s mornings started like that every single day. First the dream, with the inexplicable car and dust (nothing like that had happened on the day of The Accident, at least not that he could remember). Next, the thought of Morgana and how much he missed her presence in the morning. Finally, the realization that he was hurting his sister with every moment he didn’t get better.
His nutritious morning helping of self loathing was interrupted, however, when Morgana poked her head in the room. She didn’t say anything about the screaming, it was a topic they both avoided, but her eyes were sad and older than they’d been Before, with a capital B, because--well, in Arthur’s mind, After could not be anything but capitalized.
“Don’t forget I’m taking you out today,” Morgana said. “Wear jeans. And a shirt you don’t mind getting dirty.”
“Morgana, if this is another one of those ‘Arthur come help me build a house so they can take pictures!’ moments, I’m going to have to insist you let me stay in bed.”
“It isn’t, and those are fun. Besides, I think everyone would like to see Uther Pendragon’s children out and about again.”
It was a pointed comment, and one that made Arthur look down at his hands. His father-that was a bridge no one dared to cross anymore-was Important. He was Important for Various Reasons, but mostly for being rich. Arthur had grown up in the spotlight, and his absence of late had been noticed.
Not that anyone thought he had a stupid reason for staying locked away. For the most part, people seemed to understand. Well, they had at first. Now he saw his name in the headlines on slow news days. Speculation as to where he’d gone to hide. He hadn’t actually gone anywhere; he’d been hiding in his London flat for ages. It was the least obvious place to be. The Cardiff home and cottage in Ireland were considered private, so press that hoped to see the missing Arthur Pendragon often scoured both those locations. He never saw anyone with cameras waiting outside his door in London, though.
He rolled out of bed and glanced in the mirror. His hair had grown back, covering the ugly patch of skin that had been shaved away when they operated. His side though was still--“Grotesque,” he said softly. The scar was truly ugly, starting just below the waistline of his pajama pants to the left of his left hipbone and continuing up his side, finally wrapping around his chest and stopping several inches above his belly button. He swallowed hard as he stared at it.
That would never go away, the doctors had told him. Arcturus’s hoof had done that as the horse flailed his last few moments in pain. Arthur hadn’t been awake for it, but that’s what the doctors had told him. His horse.
Arthur pulled a shirt on hurriedly, the soft fabric drew him away from the memory of sand and choking dust that wasn’t even a memory so much as a hallucination-an idea of what might have happened those moments. All he remembered of The Accident was the jump and then blue, so much blue sky-then nothing.
“Where are we going that I might be getting dirty?” he asked Morgana.
She covered her eyes when he pulled off his pajama bottoms and tugged on a pair of jeans. He stuck his tongue out at her, because he knew she couldn’t see it. “We’re going someplace new,” was all she’d tell him. “Come on, hurry up. We’ll be late. And don’t stick your tongue out at me, Arthur. It’s so childish.”
“I still don’t know what I’ll be late for,” he pointed out, but Morgana was flouncing out of the room and he had no real choice but to follow her.
~~~
“No.”
“Arthur we aren’t even there yet.”
“Turn the bloody car around Morgana.”
“Arthur.”
“Morgana, I said no!” he almost yelled it, his hands balled tightly in his lap. He’d gone pale, and he could hear his harsh, ragged breaths as though he was someone else, watching himself. “I want to go home,” he sounded like a child.
She didn’t listen and the car kept moving forward, much to Arthur’s horror. The barn in the distance--he knew it was a barn--only got larger. He could see horses now, cantering in the fields around the old building, eating grass, living. “How dare you,” he said, his voice low and more desperate than angry, despite what he was going for. “Morgana, how could you. You know I can’t-I’m not able-I wouldn’t---”
“You can ride, Arthur,” Morgana said, her voice patient but tired. “We’ve been over this a thousand times with your doctors, there isn’t anything wrong with you.”
“I can’t,” he repeated, still looking at the barn. He could see people now, two of them standing there. One a girl, definitely, the other maybe a girl, but also possibly a guy. Taller than the one with curly hair, although she?-no, definitely he-was leaning against a fence. Soon, Arthur could see their faces, one of them--the guy--was familiar.
The sign above the door proclaimed the stable to be Camelot Therapeutic Riding Center. Arthur threatened to walk home as Morgana maneuvered into a parking spot. “No,” she said seriously. “Gwen is my friend and I won’t have you being rude.”
“There are a thousand places like this begging to get me to visit, Morgana, I’ve said no every time. I can’t ride horses, I don’t want to try.”
“Get out of the car, Arthur,” she snapped.
Arthur listened.
That was how he found himself standing in front of the two people. “Gwen,” Morgana said, giving the girl a hug. She pressed a fond hand to the guy’s shoulder. “Good to see you both.” She sounded so sincere that Arthur was almost caught off guard. “This is my brother, well, half brother, Arthur.”
“I’m Guinevere,” the girl held out her hand, “Call me Gwen. Lovely to meet you, really. I’ve always admired your riding.”
Arthur’s smile was tight as he took her hand and shook it. “Pleasure is mine,” he said stiffly.
The guy shifted and finally held out his hand. “I’ll be your-” he hesitated, “Instructor, I guess. I’m Merlin.”
Arthur’s jaw dropped, despite his best efforts to retain his composure. That was--unexpected. “Merlin Emrys?” he demanded.
The guy just nodded.
“Arthur won’t admit it, but he’s a huge fan. He’s seen your competition videos at least a million times,” Morgana chimed in. Arthur glared at her.
“I’ve always admired your fluidity with your horse. Not many riders can accomplish that. You two make a great show team.”
“Made a great show team,” Merlin corrected him. Arthur flinched.
“Right, sorry. I didn’t mean-”
“S’fine,” Merlin said. He turned away.
Gwen smiled apologetically, Morgana frowned disapprovingly, and Arthur looked longingly back at the safety of his car.
Through some small mercy, Gwen guided Morgana away from the barn as Arthur followed Merlin into it. He could be relieved, at least, that she wasn’t going to have to watch him fail. He was disappointing his family, Arthur knew, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about it. His days as a rider were long since over, and standing here, even with Merlin Emrys, wouldn’t change that.
“You’re wasting your time,” Arthur said as they walked down the long aisle. “I’m not going to get on a horse again.”
Merlin just shrugged and said nothing.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Arthur added, “When I was talking about you and The Fisher King. I wasn’t thinking.”
Again, Merlin shrugged.
Arthur fell silent. The conversation wasn’t coming easily, and he was too tired--or maybe he just didn’t care enough--to try and make one. They turned left, and finally, Merlin stopped outside a stall.
“This is your horse,” Merlin told him, pointing at the door in front of them. The horse was a young gelding, happily swaying its head back and forth. A beautiful palomino, soft and light in color. Arthur was almost tempted to touch him, but he kept his hands firmly at his side.
“My horse is dead.”
Merlin shifted uncomfortably. “Well, this is the horse you’ll be riding, then.”
“I’m not riding. Thank you for making the trouble to arrange this.”
Arthur had on his pleasing smile. His good company smile. The smile his father trained him to wear before he could even sit up on his own. Merlin didn’t smile back, he just looked at Arthur with tired eyes.
“That’s your choice, mate,” he said quietly.
Arthur watched as Merlin let himself into the stall and then brought the horse out on crossties. He watched, silent and disbelieving as Merlin groomed him. He stared, his fingers curled against his side--in anger or restraint, he wasn't sure. The urge to reach out and touch Gwaine battled with the urge to punch Merlin in his infuriatingly calm face. Merlin brushed past Arthur and grabbed Gwaine' tack. Finally, Arthur had to speak.
“I’m sorry, did you misunderstand me? I’m not riding.”
“Like I said, mate, that’s your choice. I’ll ride him then,” Merlin stroked the horse’s smooth neck. “Gwaine needs attention, his rider isn’t coming in today anyway. I just thought he’d be a good mount for you.”
“Well he won’t,” Arthur said stubbornly, crossing his arms.
Infuriatingly, Merlin just shrugged again. He finished fiddling with the horse’s bridle and led him out of the barn. Arthur followed a few steps behind, watching the way Merlin moved. He was confident next to a horse, that was obvious, but Arthur had already known about Merlin-so of course he’d known he was good. There was something in the way he carried himself, an easy pride. A comfortableness in his own skin that Arthur envied. It was a sort of grace.
Merlin touched his back, his hand pressing against the small of it like it was a familiar action. He rubbed slowly, and Arthur realized that Merlin’s pace had slowed a little. There was the faintest hint of a limp in his step. Merlin’s easy grace wasn’t grace, it was adjustment. He moved confidently, but it was fake. Arthur watched Merlin slow down and swing what must have been his good leg forward, compensating. Merlin’s shoulders tensed and he turned, just a little, catching Arthur staring. Arthur looked away.
For a few moments, neither of them moved.
Merlin was the first to shift. He slowed to a stop and swung up onto the horse, an easy near-fluid movement. There was a hitch at the top as Merlin went to swing his leg over Gwaine’s back. He held still once he was sat, breathing slowly. Arthur could see that he was paler.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Fine.” Merlin’s reply was terse and harsh. His cheeks flushed red. He nudged Gwaine to a trot, leaving Arthur behind him in the dust. Arthur watched Merlin ride for a long time. He watched the slow circles around the ring, the comfortable trot. He watched Merlin canter for a little while. Merlin took a few jumps-but only two, and right after he slowed to a walk, leaning heavily on his horse. Arthur’s eyes followed him, the slump in Merlin’s frame and the rapid jerks of his shoulders as he caught his breath.
“Merlin?” someone called from behind him. Arthur turned and saw Gwen hurrying out. She moved quickly over to Merlin, blocking Arthur’s view for a moment as Merlin finally swung down from the horse. Merlin gripped Gwen’s arm, looking pained.
“What happened?” Arthur heard Gwen say. Merlin just shook his head, his lips tight. When he walked by Arthur his limp was more pronounced. Gwen, who Merlin was leaning against, dropped Gwaine’s reigns into Arthur’s hand. The pair disappeared into the barn, leaving Arthur with a horse that needed a cool down and a good grooming.
He sighed. “Come on then,” he said quietly, clucking his tongue. The gelding ambled next to him as they walked around the ring. When enough time had passed that Arthur no longer felt like he was going to interrupt something if he went up to the barn, he lead Gwaine up to his stall, grabbed his grooming bucket, and spent a few minutes taking deep breaths before he finally got started. He had to untack Gwaine first, and he spent a few moments quietly apologizing to the horse for leaving him in his saddle while he had a minor identity crisis in the aisle.
Had anyone asked Arthur how he felt as he groomed the lithe palomino, he would have looked at them like they were stupid. “Like I do every day,” he would have said, rolling his eyes. He would have been lying, though. As Arthur groomed that stupid horse, he felt at peace for the first time in a long time.
~~~
Merlin doubled over in the tack room, sagging half against Gwen and half against the wall. He was going to be sick. God, he was going to be sick.
Gwen helped lower him on to one of the benches, her hand rubbing soothing circles into his back. “Merlin?” she was saying, her voice a little frantic under the forced calm. “Merl, what's wrong? Hey, hey what’s wrong?”
“My back,” he said quietly, his voice hitching a little as he pushed his hands through his hair. He could tell they were trembling. Seconds passed, then minutes before his breathing and shaking finally slowed, until the pain in his back abetted enough for him to straighten.
“Merlin, what the bloody hell was that?” Gwen hissed, “Have you been having attacks again?”
Merlin shook his head and swallowed hard. “No,” he said. “I haven’t, Gwen I swear. I haven’t had an attack like that in months.”
His last one had been three months ago. He’d ridden too hard too soon and had been laid up in bed for almost a week. That had been about six or seven months after the first time he’d gotten on a horse. They were halfway through October now, almost a year since the Christmas Day Gwen had convinced him he needed to start riding again.
Stress could bring them on though, that’s what Gaius had told him. The attacks-what Merlin called them, they had some medical name he’d never cared to remember-had been explained to him as a real possibility almost immediately upon waking. “You may never ride again,” a nurse had said, patting his shoulder like she cared, “But if you do, riding too much won’t end well for you.”
“Well then what caused that?” Gwen snapped. There was a real bite in her words, a frosty sort of intensity that Merlin knew was just worry, but it still stung.
“I’ve been riding a lot,” he admitted. “Maybe more than I should.”
“How much?” Gwen asked, looking suddenly tired. She dropped down onto a bench, leaving Merlin standing there, framed between the lesson saddles and his old show saddles.
“Four or five hours a day since I got back from New York,” he admitted.
Her gaze was sharp, but she didn’t say anything. There was a long, tense moment where Merlin thought he was going to get yelled at, but Gwen just stood and hugged him. Gwen was warm and familiar, all soft curves and curly hair, and Merlin let himself be held.
Ever since the accident, Merlin had felt like he was drowning. He was underwater and everything was blurred, and looking--trying to focus--just stung his eyes and made his lungs burn. He wanted to leave, to breathe, but the waves had distorted his senses, and he didn’t know which way was up.
Merlin didn’t like feeling so helpless, so after a while he pushed Gwen away. He toyed with being angry, maybe storming off up to the house and refusing to come out until Arthur left, but Merlin didn’t have it in him.
The door to the tack room shut softly behind him, and he walked away. His boots clicked against the wood of the aisle, but Gwen didn't follow him. Merlin ran a hand through his hair and sighed. The horses were all looking at him curiously. He could just see Kilgharrah’s stall, and the big horse’s green tinted ears. He looked away. His gaze fell on Gwaine’s stall, which Arthur was letting himself out of.
Arthur wasn’t limping. Arthur wasn’t falling over in fits of pain. He was walking. Golden and glowing like the horse he’d refused to ride. Merlin felt a swell of anger rise up in him because it wasn’t fair. After a year, though, people start to think you’re crazy for still being angry. You should get over it, they whispered, shooting glances at him. Local shows wondered why he didn’t come to judge. Sportscasters bantered about his absence on the circuit, even as a spectator or trainer. Arthur could go back to a life where that wasn't the case. He just wouldn't.
Merlin opened his mouth to snap at the stupid git walking down the hall. A childish insult hung on the tip of his tongue.
Arthur looked concerned. “Are you all-”
“Fine.”
“Right, just checking. I was wondering…” Arthur trailed off, looking almost uncomfortable-or the Arthur version of it, anyway. He still looked irritatingly composed to Merlin. “I’d like to meet the Fisher King, if I could?”
No. Merlin thought angrily, you can’t. He’s my horse. But his mouth said, “Sure. Follow me.”
~~~
The hardest part of the accident had been learning how to be broken.
No part of Merlin had ever been broken before. He lived an average life, with an above average mum, in an average part of Ireland. He lived tucked away amongst the hills and red built barns and his days had been routine. He’d had an ordinary best friend and he’d gotten a wonderful horse.
Fish had been a present from Gaius when both Merlin and the horse had seemed impossibly young. Merlin used to joke in interviews that they’d done the worst of their growing together, and now they had the right to be on top of the world. It didn’t matter, now, but Merlin still thought about it sometimes.
The smile that spread over his face when Fish poked an elegant head out over the door was the easiest thing that Merlin had done all day. Merlin moved in close and the horse snuffled at his shoulder, then bumped his warm nose against Merlin’s back. “Yes,” he said softly to the horse, “I’m hurting today. I hope you’re faring better.”
Arthur had stood back, Merlin noticed, a respectable distance away. He was just watching. Merlin could still tell him to leave and Arthur would, But Merlin didn’t tell him to leave, because he knew that expression on Arthur’s face. He’d seen it in the mirror of his own horrible hospital room. Merlin looked back at Fish and tried to imagine going through everything without him. He tried to imagine surviving the accident without his horse. He couldn’t. Merlin opened the stall door and slipped inside, curling his arm over Fish’s withers. “He won’t bite. Well. He hasn’t in a while,” Merlin said, looking up.
Arthur moved haltingly, like he was in a dream.
“Arcturus was the only colt my mother’s horse had,” Arthur said as he moved in front of Fish. “I had a huge fight with my sister over who would get to train him. I was lucky. Arcturus and I hit it off from the start,” he fell quiet. “My mother died before she saw me ride him,” Arthur added. “She died before she saw me ride at all, but it would’ve been special for her. Seeing me ride her horse’s son.”
Merlin nodded his head and leaned against the wall of Fish’s stall. His back still ached and he knew he’d be limping for the next day, at least, but there was something pleasantly quiet about watching someone else with his horse. Fish was looking at him, as if to say ‘this okay?’ and Merlin could only smile. Hurting sucked. Breaking sucked. But not everything was bad.
In the back of his mind, Merlin could hear the little voice he attributed to Gwen doing a victory dance.
“I should go,” Arthur said before Merlin could say anything else. Again, Merlin only nodded. He didn’t necessarily want Arthur here. The day hadn’t exactly been fun. Merlin planted a kiss on Fish’s muzzle and moved away from the horse. He let Arthur out of the stall in front of him, then shut and locked the door tightly behind him. They’d learned early on that Fish was very good with latches.
“Arthur!” Morgana called, her voice sweet as sugar. Arthur visibly tensed. “Did you ride today?” she asked. Arthur looked uncomfortable, but Merlin noticed the genuine affection in the hand Morgana laid on her brother’s shoulder and looked away.
Morgana lead Arthur away then, out of the barn and out of Merlin’s line of sight. He sank down against the wall and listened to the sound of their voices as the pair moved away.
“Merlin?”
He looked up and smiled at Gwen, tipping his head to the side. “I’m fine,” he said quietly, “Just tired, you know. It’s been a long day.”
Gwen nodded and dropped down next to him, bumping her shoulder against Merlin’s. “We can’t sit for a while,” she answered, “And then let’s head up to Gaius’s for tea. Then we’ll go home.”
“I think I want to sl-”
“You’re not sleeping at the barn again. For God’s sake Merlin, you’re going to make yourself sick! You’ve been limping since you got back from America. Did you think I hadn’t noticed?” her sigh could knock mountains over, and Merlin looked down at his feet.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be sorry! You haven’t got anything to be sorry for, just,” she groaned and stood up, holding out a hand to pull him to his feet as well. “Just be smarter, Merlin. It isn’t just you anymore.”
“What?”
“It’s all right to beat yourself up when it’s just you and me and Will,” Gwen answered, “Well it’s not all right, but Will and I, we can help you through your bad days. Arthur needs you.”
“That’s rubbish Gwen, and you know it. He doesn’t want to ride! Morgana shouldn’t make him.”
“You didn’t want to ride either,” Gwen answered, “I made you. Do you regret that?”
“No. Never, but it’s different-”
“Yes! It is different! You know it is, Merlin. Arthur has a chance! He can still be a champion. You know that. Help him!”
“I don’t know how to help him! I’m so fucked up that I can’t even bring myself to leave the barn on my bad days! I’m destroying my body just to get a few hours of riding in, to feel like I have possibility again!”
They’ve had this fight so many times. Merlin lost count too long ago for it to matter, but it still stung every time.
Gwen ran a hand through her hair, “Merlin,” she said quietly. “Merlin you aren’t going to compete again. Ever. You know that. We’ve been over it, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have possibility! You’re a fantastic rider! A good teacher. Your accident destroyed your dreams and that’s horrible. It’s bollocks and it’s unfair but it’s what happened. I’m not telling you to move on, I don’t expect you to. What I expect is for you to look at Arthur and think about if you were him! If you still had that chance, wouldn’t you want someone to help you realize that?”
Merlin pushed past her, “I’ll be in the car,” he snapped. He slammed the tack room door behind him.
~~~
The ride home was almost deathly quiet. He could hear Gwen’s harsh breaths, and knew that meant she was mad at him. Really mad. Not just grumpy or amusingly frustrated. She didn’t say anything to him at all when they got back to the flat, just stormed up the hall and slammed her door shut. He’d been horrible to her, and he knew it, but Gwen had never pried so deeply into that part of Merlin’s conscious. If he didn’t want to leave the flat and help Arthur then that was his prerogative! Wasn’t it?
Still, that night he curled up in bed and stared at the shadows the window threw onto the wall, and he thought about what Gwen had said. Potential. Possibility. People used to say that about him, but they didn’t any more. His back ached and his leg throbbed, and Merlin knew that pain would be a part of his life from now on, because he’d ruined his body.
But he hadn’t ruined his body. An accident had. A freak accident that nobody understood. One of those one-in-a-million chances that had to happen to somebody. It had happened to him. If it hadn’t though, or if he could have recovered, he would have wanted someone to smack him and say “Look what you still have!”
Merlin rolled onto his stomach and closed his eyes. He still had Fish, at least. Arthur’s horse was dead. Arthur though, he wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t broken.
If Merlin could help him, he realized that he would. That he wanted to know that someone could come out of this mess whole.
(The next morning he made Gwen breakfast, and they laughed the whole way to the barn).
>>>