Reel_Merlin fic: The Prince's Speech Part 3/4

[a8c_sock]

The Prince's Speech Part 3

masterpost, part 2

The next two weeks were a rough time for Merlin. All his patients remarked on how depressed he seemed. Little Freya even brought him a fruitcake from her mother to try and cheer him up. Merlin had known letting Arthur go wouldn't be easy, but he hadn't thought it would be this hard.

He kept up with the papers, read about the king's worsening health. Arthur seemed to have more public engagements now, and although Merlin would like to think it proved him right in ending his relationship, however that was defined, with Arthur, the truth was he wasn't sure it did. In pictures Arthur looked strained and his speeches weren't apparently of the standard he'd showed at the ship launching.

Arthur's role as Crown Prince was suffering.

It was one evening, when he was in the sitting room, that he saw the headline on the front of the newspaper Lancelot was reading about the health of the king, that Merlin started to wonder if he had helped Arthur at all by saying he couldn't be anything to him.

As if reading Merlin's mind Gwaine, who had been messing with an old beer bottle, spoke. “What happened to your great rich patient, Merlin? You've not talked about him in weeks.”

“Nothing,” Merlin said, hoping Gwaine would drop the subject.

“Nothing? You used to talk about him all the time. You said he'd be great,” Gwaine said. “You said he had the most potential of any patient you'd ever had. What happened?”

“He still does!” Merlin said. “He's still going to be a great man but he can't do that with me.”

“Why not?” asked Lancelot, putting down his newspaper and taking interest in the conversation.

“I crossed a line,” Merlin admitted, clutching his mug of tea. “He was my patient and I...” Merlin broke off. “He had a duty. I was in the way.”

“How do you know?” Gwaine asked. “Did you ask him?”

“I didn't have to ask him,” Merlin said.

“Perhaps you should have,” Lancelot said.

“Unless you didn't have any feelings for him” Gwaine said, casually picking up the beer bottle again and twirling it.

“Of course I had feelings for him!” Merlin said.

Lancelot leaned forward. “Merlin, there's nothing wrong with love.”

“It's unprofessional! I can't get involved with my patients,” Merlin said. He did not add the particular high rank of his patient.

“So make sure he doesn't pay you,” Gwaine said, shrugging.

“What?” Merlin turned to look at his friend.

“What Gwaine means is there's no law to say you can't help someone you love with their problems.”

“If he doesn’t pay you then he's not your patient. You're just his helpful boyfriend,” Gwaine said, with a grin, holding up the bottle.

“You've been miserable, Merlin. He made you happy,” Lancelot added.

“But he has a duty,” Merlin said, glancing down at the newspaper now forgotten on the floor.

“And it's his choice about how he does it,” Gwaine said. “If he's as good as you say he is then I think he could cope with you as a boyfriend.”

“I pushed him away...”

Rolling his eyes Gwaine got up and hauled Merlin to his feet. Merlin nearly spilled tea everywhere. “You need to stop being so self-sacrificing. Make it up to him and let him decide,”

“How?”

“Write him a love letter? When Gwen and I had our first fight I begged her to speak to me and sent her a letter of everything I couldn’t say. It worked,” Lancelot said.

Looking at his two friends Merlin knew deep down they were right. “All right. I'll try it.”

That night Merlin wrote Arthur a letter. He poured out everything into the words, hoping it would be enough. For a speech therapist it wasn't often he was lost for words, although he had never written anything more important. By the time he had finished his wrist was aching and Merlin was sure he had bent the nib of his pen.

The only trouble would be how to get it to Arthur.

Merlin didn't dare send it through the post. He knew that any letter for a member of the Royal family was likely to be opened and checked by aides. The last thing Merlin wanted was for his love letter to end up being seen by a court official. He had only one option - he would have to hand deliver the letter to Arthur himself.

******************************************************************************

The next morning he cancelled his few appointments and headed to the palace. He had to park some way away and headed in on foot. He knew where the back entrance was, the one where lower level visitors and servants would enter. Arthur had mentioned it a few times during their sessions.

Luckily for Merlin there were no guards as he went through the gate and across the small courtyard toward the entrance. However once he was there he was met by an official looking guard. His name badge gave his name as 'B. Knight' and he looked more like a bare knuckle fighter than an official working for the Royal family.

“What's your business here?” the man asked.

“I need to see Prince Arthur,” Merlin said, clutching the letter.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” Merlin said. “It's an emergency.”

“I see.” Knight didn't look particularly impressed. Nor did he look as if he believed Merlin. “And you are?”

“Merlin Emerson,” Merlin said. “It is urgent.”

“Is it official business?”

“Not exactly,” Merlin said. He wasn't about to divulge his professional, or hopefully personal, relationship with Arthur. “Please, just tell him I'm here.”

For a moment Merlin was worried that Knight would refuse the request. He had never felt more vulnerable than when the official looked at him. Merlin was glad he had at least worn his best suit which made him look a little less like a member of the public taking his chances.

“All right. I'll ask the Prince if he will see you,” Knight said and he disappeared inside.

The seconds went by slowly. Merlin didn’t know of that was a good thing or not. He moved the gravel around under his feet, occasionally kicking a small piece and watching it bounce. Eventually Knight reappeared, looking rather smug.

“He won't see you,” Knight said.

Merlin had been afraid of that, but seeing Arthur hadn't been his purpose. “Then give him this, please,” Merlin said, holding out the letter.

“I can't give him an unauthorised letter,” Knight said, with a snooty air, not even looking down at the letter.

“He has to see this,” Merlin said. “Please.”

Knight was still looking at Merlin with disdain as an important looking black car pulled up and a man in naval uniform stepped out.

“Ah, Captain Leon,” Knight said, bowing in feigned deference. “So good to see you.”

Captain Leon said nothing to Knight. Instead he looked at Merlin. “Are you serving this gentleman?” he asked Knight.

“This gentleman,” Knight said, grinding out the words. “Was just leaving.”

“But I need you to give the Prince this letter,” Merlin pleaded, holding out the letter again.

“And I told you I cannot take an unofficial letter,” Knight replied.

It was almost enough to make Merlin give up hope until Captain Leon held out his hand. “I'll take it,” he said. “If that's all right?”

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief and handed his precious burden to Capitan Leon. “Thank you,” he said.

Captain Leon offered him a smile. “It's no trouble.” He turned to Knight. “Now, if you don't mind I have an appointment with the Prince.”

“Of course, Sir,” Knight said, although he was clearly unhappy at being usurped from his authority.

“Thank you,” Merlin said, casually. “I'll be going now.”

He caught sight of the anger on Knight's face as he turned away and went out from the courtyard away for the palace and away from Arthur. He had done what he could and the rest was up to Arthur; it was his choice now. Merlin just hoped that Arthur would choose him.

****************************************************************************

There were few things that Arthur felt he had to look forward to any more. No longer did he have his daily sessions with Merlin and the relief they brought him. Now Arthur had to face his challenges alone. He sat through endlessly boring meetings, read similarly boring reports, and all the while he had to be the prince everyone expected him to be. It was becoming tiresome, so he was relieved his next meeting would be more informal.

“Leon,” he said, as his old friend entered Arthur's study. “It's good... to see you,” Arthur said, grasping Leon's hand and shaking it warmly.

“You too, Arthur,” Leon replied.

“Please have a... seat,” Arthur said, going to sit down himself.

“Oh, before I forget,” Leon said, holding out what looked like some sort of letter. “There was a man outside who wanted to give you this. He said it was urgent.”

Arthur took the envelope and peered at the writing: 'Prince Arthur Pendragon, Camelot Palace' it read. The writing looked familiar. It was the scrawl of a doctor. Or a therapist. “What did the man look like?”

“Tall, dark hair, blue eyes, ears,” Leon replied.

Merlin. It had to be. Only Merlin would risk hand delivering a letter to the Prince. The thought warmed Arthur a little before he squashed it down.

“Do you know him?” Leon asked.

Placing the letter down Arthur slid it under his blotter, out of sight of prying eyes. “I met him... a few times,” Arthur said, hoping his stutter would not be picked up as the lie it was. “How are things... in the naval business?” he asked, changing the subject.

Leon did not look convinced by Arthur's lie, but he was too good a friend, and far too well mannered, to enquire further about it. He answered Arthur's questions as they discussed the movements of Mercia's ships into the territorial waters around the Western isles.

“If they're researching fish migration patterns I'm in the air-force,” Leon said.

“It's s...serious then?”

“If we're lucky we'll have another six to eight months before they attack,” Leon said. “But war is coming and we'll need someone we can stand behind.”

Arthur saw the look Leon was giving him. “I'm not sure that's... me,” he said.

“It might have to be,” Leon replied. “We’re all behind you, Arthur. Don't forget that.”

“I won't,” Arthur said. The depth of Leon's loyalty sometimes surprised him, but he was grateful for it.

They continued to talk about other subjects, some lighter than the possibility of war. Leon always had interesting tales of what the junior officers got up to in their off hours in Albion's ports. When their meeting was over Arthur was sorry to see Leon leave. He shook his hand again to say farewell.

“It's been good... to see you,” Arthur said.

Leon offered a smile. “You too.” Leon glanced at the desk. “Good luck, Arthur.”

Once Leon was gone Arthur headed back to the desk and took out the letter he had secreted away earlier. He placed it in front of him and looked at it. He was puzzled as to why Merlin was writing to him. Merlin had made his feelings perfectly clear all those weeks ago.

Arthur was half in a mind to dispose of the letter unopened, but he missed Merlin and here was a tangible thing to connect Merlin with. His head said no but his heart screamed yes, and eventually it was his heart that won out as he picked the letter up and opened the envelope.

He took out the letter itself and began to read as best as he could. Merlin's writing wasn't particularly easy to read.

'Dear Arthur,

I know that sorry probably isn't enough but I'm going to apologise anyway. I'm sorry. I thought I was helping you by releasing you to do your duty but now I wonder if I was only helping myself avoid a difficult situation.

I felt a great deal of responsibility being the speech therapist to the Crown Prince but the partner, the lover, of the Prince would have been that much more. I'm not sure I would be worthy of it.

I'm not sure I am worthy of you.

When the people look at you they see the Crown Prince of Albion. When I look at you I see Arthur, a man who is going to make a great king. And because I see you as a great king I cannot be selfish enough to keep you from the people who see you too.

However, I have realised that it is not my palace to dictate your choices to you, to decide what your course of action should be.

If you wish, your old appointment time is always free. Although sometimes I go home because I can't bear to spend that hour in my rooms waiting for you.

I'll leave the decision in your hands.

All my love and friendship,

Merlin'

Arthur read over the letter again, taking in each word, black and stark against the page. Even now Merlin seemed to understand him, even now Merlin spoke to Arthur's heart, seeing past the title and the position Arthur had been born into. Part of Arthur wished immediately for a reconciliation but he couldn't. Not yet.

Merlin had hurt him, badly, and Arthur wasn't sure he was ready to make the decision to once again place his heart in Merlin's hands. He trusted Merlin with his speech, his voice, but anything else Arthur wasn't sure about.

Part of him was also angry as it was clear that Merlin understood exactly how much he had hurt Arthur, and yet he had pushed him away regardless. That rejection was not so easily solved, as much as Arthur wished it might be. He folded the letter up and put it in his pocket, close to his heart.

****************************************************************************

For the next three weeks Arthur would often take the letter out and read it. He kept it close and kept it hidden. He was careful not to let anyone else even be aware of it. The creases in the paper had become worn, he had taken it out and unfolded and refolded it so often.

He carried it with him whenever he went to see his father, making sure it was carefully concealed. Even in his weakened state Uther seemed to have Arthur constantly under scrutiny. On this particular evening his father was sitting up in bed, but he seemed quiet and reserved, his skin pale, almost grey.

“F...father? Arthur asked, sitting down next to the bed.

Uther look at him with sad eyes. “I miss your mother,” he said, quietly.

Arthur's mother had died on the day of Arthur's birth. His father had never remarried, preferring to remain the widowed King as the succession had been secured with the birth of a son. That his father had loved his mother Arthur had never doubted, but it seemed strange that his father was bringing this up now.

“I think her about her more now. I know I'll be with her soon.”

“Don't... talk like that... f...father...”

“Arthur, I know I'm dying. I don’t intend to die soon but one day I will.”

Arthur kept quiet, pressing his hands together. “I...”

“Support, Arthur, you'll need support. Your mother gave me a lot of strength in the early years.”

“Yes, F...father.”

“If I have one regret, it's that I never told her. Don't have regrets, Arthur.”

The words his father spoke echoed with Arthur. His heart beat merely a hair's breadth away from the love letter Merlin had written him. Arthur's anger seemed inconsequential when faced with that.

“I w...won't,” Arthur said.

That earned a small, weak smile from his father. “I wish Ygraine was here,” he said.

“I know,” Arthur replied, reaching out and touching his father's hand. He felt so old, cold to the touch.

That night when Arthur lay in his bed he brought out the letter and read it again by the light of his bedside lamp. Holding it up, the paper became almost transparent, Arthur could see the fibres of the paper locked together, giving each other strength. He could do with some strength himself and resolved the next day to see Merlin. It was time they had a talk.

****************************************************************************

It was half past two, and Merlin was at home in the kitchen, going through the cookbooks Gwen had lent him to see if there was something he could cook for dinner. Since he'd stopped seeing Arthur in the afternoon he had taken to coming home in between appointments. It was too painful to wait in his treatment rooms for Arthur. It was obvious that he was never going to come by now.

He was about to ponder the advantages of lamb versus beef stew when the doorbell rang. Merlin wasn't expecting anyone, and, as far as he knew, neither were Gwaine and Lancelot, both of whom were at work. Frowning, he went to the door.

When he opened it he got the shock of his life for there, on his doorstep, was the Crown Prince of Albion.

“Arthur?”

Arthur was holding something up. “I got your letter.”

“I sent it weeks ago.”

“I needed... time to think,” Arthur said. “C...can I come in?”

“Yes, of course,” Merlin said. He allowed Arthur to step inside.

He felt rather embarrassed. The house wasn't messy but it was a little shabby and untidy. The hall carpet was rather gaudy and bright, and the walls painted an interesting shade of yellow. It wasn't the sort of house to impress anyone, let alone Arthur.

He led Arthur into the kitchen which was at least clean and tidy. They both faced each other, more like two strangers than potential lovers.

“How is your father?” Merlin asked. He'd read the newspapers. They had downplayed the King's latest turn for the worse but it was clear to all that King Uther was not a well man.

“He's alive,” Arthur said. “He's not... but I didn't come here to talk... about him.”

“Why did you come here?” Merlin asked.

“You weren't... at your rooms,” Arthur replied.

“You read my letter?” Merlin asked.

“My father's illness made me... realise... life is too short to be away from the person I love,” Arthur looked straight at Merlin as he spoke.

“You love...”

“If I didn't it wouldn't... have hurt so much when you... p...pushed me away,” Arthur replied.

“I was an idiot. I'm sorry

“What you said... in your letter,” Arthur said. “All m...my life decisions have been made... for me. You were the one that... wasn't.”

Merlin could have interrupted but he knew it was better to let Arthur have his say. Merlin had already had his in the letter.

“You c...can't understand what it's like, Merlin. To have your life... dictated to you by your f...father, by your government... but I have a choice about who I... give my heart to.”

There was a pause and Merlin spoke quietly. “And who did you choose?”

“I choose you, Merlin. I chose you. I chose you... when you were sitting on top of me to help me... breathe. I chose you w...when you chewed the end of your... pencil before you made notes. In some ways you were another choice I... didn't have because I didn't just choose to fall in love with you. I just am.”

Merlin came closer and touched Arthur's cheek. “I chose you too.”

“I know. I...read your letter,” Arthur said. “It was surprisingly poetic.”

“I was good at poetry, in school. I could have been a poet or a writer,” Merlin smiled at the memory.

Arthur looked into Merlin's eyes, searching for something. “Why did you choose to be a... therapist?”

“When I was younger I was an English teacher,” Merlin said. “One year I had a boy in my class who had trouble speaking. No-one wanted to help him, the school, the doctors, they'd all turned a blind eye. I wondered how many other children were out there facing the same problem?” Merlin looked at Arthur. “That summer I went and I found a man called Doctor Taliesin. Everyone thought he was mad, he was trying things that had no medical basis, but they worked, Arthur. I saw a man who had spent his whole life hiding himself away suddenly be able to speak. So I studied, I learned everything I could. Then I went out there to help people, to give them back their voice.”

Arthur swallowed audibly.

“I was there,” Merlin said. “When you gave your speech at the exhibition, and I knew, I knew I could help you,” he put an arm around Arthur's waist. “I'm glad I got the chance.”

“You did more than help me,” Arthur whispered. “You know you did.”

“I can't have you as my patient, Arthur,” Merlin said, and he felt Arthur begin to pull back.

“Merlin...”

“Let me finish,” Merlin said, tightening his hold. “I can't have you as my patient but I'd like to be whatever you want me to be to you. Boyfriend, partner, lover, whatever you want to call it.”

Arthur's face lit up. “You will?”

“Yes. I can still help you but you're not my patient. You're not going to pay me and you're not going to have appointments like you did. Mr Wartson is officially finished as a patient but I can still help Arthur.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Arthur, just...” Merlin didn't have time to finish that sentence before Arthur's lips met his.

This kiss was much more intense than the one they had shared earlier. It was one borne of fresh truths and determination. It was a kiss of equals, of two men who had found their way back to each other. Merlin could feel every touch, movement and caress and retuned it with fervour.

It was unclear how long the kiss would have gone on had they not been interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

“Merlin! We're home,” Lancelot called.

Immediately Merlin stopped kissing Arthur and, taking hold of his arm, dragged him out of the kitchen and behind the door of the sitting room. “Oh gods. Gwaine! Lancelot!”

“Who?”

“The men I share the house with,” Merlin whispered. “They’re back early.”

“And?”

“And I've just been kissing the Crown Prince of Albion in our kitchen!” Merlin hissed.

Arthur frowned and then came out from behind the door. “Then I should introduce myself.”

Grabbing hold of Arthur's arm Merlin tried to pull him back into hiding. “No, Arthur, you can't do that.”

“Why not? I'm the Prince,” Arthur pulled forward, dislodging his arm from Merlin's grasp.

“That shouldn't be an excuse for everything,” Merlin said, albeit a little feebly.

“Merlin, if you're serious... about us, I should at least meet your friends,” Arthur said, sounding a little put out.

“It's probably too late to take that letter back now?” Merlin smiled weakly.

Arthur smiled back. “I think so.”

They left their hiding place and went into the kitchen. They were standing awkwardly by the kitchen table when Gwaine came in. At first he ignored them, offering Merlin a simple greeting of “Hello.” He began to search through the cupboards, completely missing the other person in the room. It was only when Lancelot entered that the penny dropped.

“Your Royal Highness?” Lancelot asked, staring at Arthur.

Gwaine immediately turned around, and bumped his head on the open cupboard door.

“I prefer 'Sir',” Arthur said.

“Merlin, what is the Crown Prince of Albion doing in our kitchen?” Gwaine asked, rubbing his head.

“Arthur, this is Lancelot and Gwaine my house mates,” Merlin said, gesturing at each in turn. “Lancelot, Gwaine, this is Crown Prince Arthur Pendragon.”

“We know who he is,” Gwaine said. “What's he doing here?”

Lancelot looked thoughtful. “He's your patient?” he asked.

“Technically, I'm... no longer Merlin's patient,” Arthur said, taking Merlin's hand in full view of the two other men.

Gwaine whistled. Lancelot looked shocked.

“I took your advice and wrote Arthur a letter,” Merlin said, feeling the whole conversation was a little surreal. “And he came to see me.”

“In our kitchen,” Gwaine repeated.

“Are you staying for tea?” Lancelot asked, smoothly, as if Arthur were just another visitor.

Arthur smiled. “I'd love to.”

Merlin tried not to groan as Gwaine went rooting for the best china teacups and Lancelot rummaged for spoons.

****************************************************************************

The next month passed by in a blur. For once Arthur felt content. He still worried for his father, but the king didn’t worsen any further. Gaius still had a grave look about him whenever he examined Uther, but for Arthur his father being stable meant he could at least allow himself to give some attention to Merlin. Wonderful Merlin who didn't mind when Arthur was called away.

They met these days in the small flat in the Tintagel area of the city which had been Arthur’s mother's before her marriage, and which had been passed to Arthur in her will. It was somewhere that was solely Arthur's, somewhere he could relax away from court.

“I'm sorry it's only small,” Arthur had said when he'd first taken Merlin there.

“Arthur, this place is nearly as big as my house.”

“So you don't like it then?”

Merlin had smiled at him. “Arthur, if this means we can spend time together without worrying about anyone barging in then of course I like it.”

It had been so simple after that. Of course despite their new surroundings Merlin had not let up on Arthur's therapy. If anything, now Arthur wasn't his patient he was even more zealous about making sure Arthur did his exercises.

“And breathe out,” Merlin said, as he pressed down on Arthur's stomach.

“Is that it?” Arthur asked.

“No, we've still got more exercises to do, Merlin said.

“You know I think I preferred it... when you were my therapist,” Arthur replied, lightly touching Merlin on the arm. He still wasn’t used to having the freedom to just reach out and touch another person.

Merlin put his hand over Arthur's. “Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with suggestion.

“Perhaps not,” Arthur replied, and leaned forward to give Merlin a kiss.

When he returned to Camelot Palace that evening, Arthur felt euphoric. His and Merlin's courtship was a rather chaste affair so far, but he didn’t mind. He didn't mind the fact Merlin had had him singing out of the bathroom window.

“Why the bathroom?” Arthur has asked.

“Better acoustics,” had been the reply.

His voice always felt better, more assured when he'd spent time with Merlin. He'd begun to notice that the longer he spent with Merlin the more his stammer seemed to disappear. Merlin had a theory about relaxing the body and the mind and it seemed that time with Merlin certainly did have that effect. Already he was counting down the hours to their next meeting, already prearranged for the following afternoon.

Arthur was just wondering if it would be terribly forward of him to give Merlin some sort of gift to celebrate their first month together when Morgana grabbed his arm.

“We need to talk, Arthur,” she hissed.

Arthur nodded. “My chambers?”

“It might be safer,” Morgana said, looking around.

“Morgana...”

“Shhh,” she said, holding tightly onto his arm and practically dragging Arthur into his chambers. She closed the door and Arthur could hear her click the lock.

“I'm sorry for this, Arthur, but I thought you should know.”

“Know what?” Arthur asked, feeling a little exasperated.

“I know you've had other things on your mind,” she began.

Arthur coughed. “Yes... w...well...”

“It's all right, Arthur. I don't blame you,” Morgana said. “I've been keeping an eye on your uncle Tristan whilst you've been... occupied.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said. Morgana always looked out for him, and he appreciated that.

“My maid Gwen saw him with Geoffrey. Gwen overheard him asking for your parents' marriage certificate.”

“Why w...would he... want that?” Arthur asked. His mother had been dead for as long as Arthur had been alive. His parents' marriage had ended with her death all those years ago.

“Before he married your mother, Uther was betrothed to my mother,” Morgana said.

“That ended before they... before they married. They got a decree to annul the... betrothal.”

“But he still fathered me,” Morgana pointed out. “Before he met your mother.”

“It's a... secret.” To anyone else the Lady Morgana was merely Uther's ward, but to Arthur she had always been his sister, even before he had known the truth of her parentage.

“An open secret. The court knows and Tristan knows. They all know it was a reckless mistake Uther made. However, it gives Tristan leverage. He could argue that the betrothal was validated. Which means it couldn’t be annulled.”

“W...which means I'd be...”

“Yes, Arthur, it would make you illegitimate,” Morgana said.

The very idea didn't sit well with Arthur. His entire life had been that of a Prince, of an heir to the throne. In his eyes he didn't simply stop being one just because of a piece of paper. “Tristan? He's not... got a claim.”

“He has, Arthur, through his mother's side. He's a great-great-grandson of King Aurelius. He's talking to courtiers, looking at the records. If there's a way to give himself a claim to the throne he'll find it.” Morgana looked worried.

“I shouldn't have left... all this to you,” Arthur said, putting a comforting arm around his sister.

She looked at him and he could see tears in her eyes. “What else are sisters for?”

“Thank you,” Arthur said.

“We're family,” Morgana replied. “Now, I think we should change before dinner, don't you?”

Arthur nodded. “Yes.”

Changing clothes gave Arthur some control, and put some formality back into the situation. He could hardly believe his own uncle would challenge him for the throne, but then he had never liked him. He had asked Morgana to keep a close eye on Tristan. Although if it came to it Arthur had no idea how he would tackle a challenge to his claim, or what the outcome would be.

******************************************************************************

Of course it was inevitable Merlin picked up on Arthur's discomfort during their next meeting. He couldn't go more than five minutes these days without touching Arthur. Merlin had never been one to pay any attention to barriers of propriety and now that was even less the case.

“Your shoulders are tense,” Merlin said, working his hands to loosen them.

“I've had a lot to... think about,” Arthur replied, arching into Merlin's impromptu massage.

“Such as?” Merlin asked.

“My uncle,” Arthur replied.

“Ah, Uncle Tristan who covets your throne.”

Arthur dislodged Merlin's hands as he leaned forward. “How do you know about that?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

Merlin came and sat down in the chair opposite. “The rumours of your uncle wanting to mutiny are all over the government,” Merlin said. “And Gwaine and Lancelot like to gossip.”

“Firstly, Merlin, it is not a... mutiny, and why do your friends... know more than me?”

Merlin reached out to lightly touch Arthur's hand. “Because the person who is plotted against is always the last to know. I mean look at Shakespeare.”

“In Hamlet the uncle knew Hamlet... was trying to kill him,” Arthur said.

“So you're not completely uneducated then?” Merlin asked with a grin.

“This isn't a... play.” It did seem like something that could be concocted for dramatic effect, Arthur thought. Except the reality of the situation was all too real.

“No,” Merlin said, looking serious. “It isn't. You don't get on with your uncle.”

“Does anyone?” Arthur asked. He looked at one of the portraits of his mother adorning the wall. “I never knew if my mother... loved him. He didn’t come and visit much. He came... for Christmas and he and my... father had meetings.”

“Did he ever play with you?”

“Once,” Arthur said. “He tried to.. .teach me chess. I was... six and I... couldn't remember how all the... pieces moved.” Arthur pictured the memory clearly.

“What happened?”

“He... laughed. He said I was... useless... that I would never... make a decent king. I... cried and he...he just sat and... laughed.”

“What about your father?”

“He saw me cry and... said I was... weak... that I should have learnt...” Arthur could feel tears welling up again, as if he was back in the room, as his six year old self. “F...father got angry... pushed the pieces over... one of the... rooks hit my... knee. I had... a bruise there...”

Merlin got up and came over, using his hand to rub gentle circles on Arthur's back. “Parents' expectations are sometimes too high,” he said. “You are not weak and you are not a failure,” he said, leaning down. “You are the bravest man I know,” Merlin whispered.

“I don't... feel brave,” Arthur said.

“The truly brave people never do,” Merlin replied, gently kissing his cheek.

Arthur let Merlin give him comfort. He'd let Merlin see a vulnerable side of him, one he hadn't showed for years. When they reluctantly parted Arthur's heart felt lighter, and the ghost of a six year old child with a bruised knee finally felt ready to move on.

*****************************************************************************

Three months passed and the King's health had begun to worsen. Merlin knew it was hard on Arthur, no matter how much he tried to hide it. They weren't able to meet every day and Merlin understood why. Arthur had a great many responsibilities. He worried about Arthur though. He couldn't help it.

At least Arthur had reassured him he was keeping up with his exercises.

Every morning Merlin waited for the newspaper to see what the latest news on the king was. At the kitchen table Lancelot and Gwaine were amused by Merlin jumping up as soon as he heard the newspaper come through the letterbox.

“It's quicker than having a dog waiting by the letterbox,” Gwaine said, taking a gulp of tea from his mug.

“I'm not that bad,” Merlin said, scanning the front page.

“I'm sure Prince Arthur would find some way of letting you know if there was any news,” Lancelot said.

Merlin couldn’t see anything relating to the king, so he sighed in relief and sat back down, moving on to scan the other pages, just in case. “He's the Crown Prince, Lancelot, he has responsibilities. He can't just drop them to tell me any news.”

“If Gwen hears anything I'm sure she'll let you know,” Lancelot added.

“He'll let you know,” Gwaine said. “Even if he is pompous, arrogant Royalty.”

“Thanks, Gwaine,” Merlin said. “I'll tell Arthur you're starting to like him.”

“He might make a half decent king,” Gwaine replied, and went back to tucking into his scrambled eggs.

*****************************************************************************

Two more days passed and Merlin waited anxiously for news. The headlines all reported on the king's ailing health, with several statements from Lord Tristan, Merlin had noticed. There was a brief statement from Arthur, but it was clearly nothing Arthur had written himself. It made Merlin a little bit angry to see Arthur's autonomy limited at such an emotional time.

That night Merlin was awake in bed. He had heard the clock in the living room strike eleven some time ago but he was having some trouble getting to sleep. He glanced out of the window and mourned the fact he could see so few stars. Out there, on the other side of the city, Arthur would be in the palace, no doubt waiting for news.

He was wondering if he could find some discreet way of contacting Arthur, when he heard a knock on the door. He came out of his bedroom to find that Gwaine had turned the landing light on. Lancelot appeared from his bedroom.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“We don't know,” Merlin replied and he made his way downstairs. Once he reached the bottom he turned on the hall light. He could see a shadowy figure through the glass of the door. He waited until Gwaine and Lancelot had joined him before he unlocked the door, took off the catch and slowly opened it.

“Hello?”

The man at the door wore a Telegram Delivery Agent's uniform. “Mr Emerson?

“Yes?”

“This is for you,” the man said, handing over a small piece of paper.

“Thank you,” Merlin said.

The man tipped his hat and set off into the night.

Merlin's fingers trembled a little. He'd never had a telegram, and certainly not at such a late hour before. He carefully opened the envelope and took out the message inside. He had to read it a few times to get the information out of it. It was suitably cryptic.

IT IS TIME.

“What does it say?” Gwaine asked, risking a lean over to peek.

“King Uther's dead,” Merlin said, going to sit down on the bottom of stair. “Arthur's king.”

There was nothing either Lancelot or Gwaine could say.

****************************************************************************

Arthur was by his father's bedside looking down at his father's peaceful countenance. He looked so much more human in death than he had ever been in life. It was hard to believe that earlier that afternoon he had rallied, sitting up in bed and talking, but then just before dinner he'd fallen asleep and hadn't woken up.

“He had a heart attack in his sleep,” Gaius had said. “I doubt he felt anything.”

There was some comfort in the physician's words but Arthur hadn't even said goodbye to his father. Their last meeting he had promised to talk with him about the results of the maiden voyage of the HMSA Wyvern the next morning, now the report was in a strange kind of limbo, as Arthur himself was.

Arthur reached out and touched his father's hand. It was pale and cool to the touch, devoid of life. Yet he just seemed to be sleeping, only the stillness of his chest revealed the fact he would never wake. Arthur sniffed, determined not to cry. He was sure his father would know if he did.

Morgana entered the room. She was pale and her eyes red from crying. She'd been with the nurse when they’d discovered the king's death, and it weighed heavily on her. Arthur beckoned her to sit next to him and he embraced his sister, letting her cry into his shoulder.

Arthur wished he could let his tears flow so freely.

The death was to be announced in the morning papers. “He... timed it... w...well, didn't he?” Arthur said. “Plenty of time for... for the newspapers to print their... obituary.”

Morgana sniffed, taking a handkerchief Arthur offered. She dabbed her eyes. “I suppose he'd be happy about that. Did you tell anyone?”

Arthur knew who Morgana meant. “Gaius sent a... telegram for me,” Arthur replied.

He could do with Merlin now, Merlin always knew what to say, always seemed to know how Arthur felt and the best way to make him feel better. He needed that support at the moment, now his world had been turned upside down. In a matter of hours the course of his life had changed, turned onto a course that had already been set long ago at Arthur's birth.

“Long live the king,” Arthur murmured.

Morgana raised his hand to her lips and kissed the ring Arthur wore. “Long live the king.”

******************************************************************************

It was five days before Arthur had the chance to see Merlin. The funeral arrangements took up much of his time. Oddly Uncle Tristan seemed happy enough to delegate the task to Arthur, instead he held court with the press, detailing the last months of the King's life. King Uther was to lie in state for a week. It had been four days and the lines of people queuing for one last glimpse of their king had not abated at all.

Luckily for Arthur the funeral had been mostly arranged and planned out already. His father had made sure of it years before he'd even been taken ill. He had listed those who should be present and who should conduct it. Poignantly Arthur was given a few words to say.

“I c...can't...” he said to Merlin. “To... speak about him... in front...”

Merlin rubbed his shoulders and soothed him. “Arthur, you can do this. Prove to your father that you are a worthy successor.”

“My father’s dead,” Arthur said.

“Not to you he isn't,” Merlin replied. “One day, Arthur, you are going to know what a great king you are, but until then I know you're going to judge yourself by your father.”

“He was a great... k...king. A great... man.”

“He just didn’t know how to be father,” Merlin said.

Had Merlin said such a thing months ago Arthur probably would have argued with him, raised his voice, thrown Merlin out. However, his father's death had brought perspective into his life. Now Arthur no longer had to live in fear of him. “He was my father,” Arthur said. “He loved me.”

“Oh, of course he did,” Merlin said. “It doesn't mean he was perfect.”

“I'm not... p...perfect.”

“I think you'd make a very boring king if you were.” Merlin leaned down and gave Arthur a hug. “The best kings show they are as human as the rest of us and strive to overcome their weaknesses all the same.”

Arthur leaned against Merlin. He felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. His father's shadow still loomed long but it seemed as if it was perhaps a little shorter.

“I love you,” Arthur whispered, scared to say the words, not because he couldn't say them, but because he wasn't sure Merlin would want to hear them.

“I love you too,” Merlin replied.

Four days later Arthur held in his hand the small piece of paper onto which was typed but a couple of sentences. He stared out at the gathered crowd, heads of state from all over the world. Except from Mercia who hadn't been invited as their military and naval escalation continued. Here Arthur was among men, kings, who were now his peers; King Olaf, King Alined and others all stood before him waiting for the first words Arthur would speak publicly to his people as King.

Somewhere out there too was Merlin, in the depths of the crowd, but Arthur knew he would be listening.

“Honoured ladies and gentlemen,” Arthur began, taking a breath, looking up at them all. “Today we celebrate the life of a great man and,” another pause to get ready for the next bit, “a great king.” Arthur breathed. “Please join me in paying,” a quick breath, “our respects,” a slight pause, “to my father.” He paused and took a breath, looking down and then back up. “May he live on,” a breath, “among us.” Another pause. “Long Live K..king Uther.”

Arthur stumbled a little at the end but managed to gloss over his mistake. No-one seemed to notice.

****************************************************************************

Merlin stood in the empty cathedral and marvelled at its size. The last time he had been here it had been a solemn occasion and the place had been filled with people. It was quite a contrast to see it now; the bare stone and tiled floor.

“It looks a lot bigger empty,” he said, a little too loudly as his voice echoed in the cavernous chamber.

“Yes, Merlin, it would be,” Arthur replied, as he began to pace up and down on the red carpet that had been laid for his coronation.

“Arthur, calm down, take a deep breath, and relax,” Merlin said.

“I'm being... crowned tomorrow, Merlin,” Arthur said, he shuffled a little on his feet but he did at least keep still.

“And you only have to say a few lines. You said more than that at your father's funeral. You can do this.” Merlin went to stand in front of the coronation chair. “Why don't you take a seat?”

Arthur came over to the chair, looking at it as if it was a loaded gun.

“It's just a chair, Arthur.”

“It's not... just a chair! It's the chair Albion's kings have been crowned on for hundreds of years.”

Rolling his eyes Merlin came and sat down on it. “It's not very comfortable,” he said. The chair was made of wood and was hard to sit on. It also hadn't been very ergonomically designed as it made Merlin’s back ache.

“Get out of that chair, Merlin!” Arthur said, raising his voice. It echoed, without any stammer, around them.

Merlin slowly got up and offered the seat Arthur. “All right, but someone has to sit on it.”

Arthur almost scowled as he turned to sit on the chair. Then he did begin to scowl. Merlin looked down the cathedral and saw a well dressed man in a black suit making his way toward them. He looked important, official, and he had the bearing of a powerful man.

“My uncle,” Arthur said, walking down the steps to meet him.

“Is there a problem, Arthur?” Lord Tristan enquired, looking behind Arthur at Merlin.

Merlin felt rather uncomfortable. Lord Tristan was more intimidating than he'd thought. His gaze seemed to see straight through Arthur and right at Merlin. It felt as if Merlin was a specimen under a microscope, from the way Tristan was looking at him he would probably consider Merlin to be a germ.

“There's no... problem, Uncle,” Arthur said

“Who is this, Arthur?” Tristan asked, as he walked up the steps and past Arthur toward Merlin. His gaze never wavered.

Arthur came to stand next to Merlin. Positioning himself slightly in front, Merlin noticed. “Uncle, this... is Merlin, he's an... English teacher.”

“An English teacher? And what use would an English teacher be?” Tristan asked. Merlin felt almost like a spot of dirt on Tristan's shoe.

“He's also a... speech therapist,”Arthur said.

Tristan smiled but it wasn't especially welcoming. “Is he now?”

Ignoring his nerves, Merlin held out his hand to Tristan. “Pleased to meet you, Sir,” he smiled, he'd taken part in enough amateur theatre to be able to act a little.

“And are you helping our esteemed king learn his lines?” Tristan asked, shaking Merlin's hand.

“Arthur already knows them. I'm just here to give him tips on the theatrical nature of the ceremony,” Merlin explained. “You'd be surprised how useful the techniques of speaking Shakespearean soliloquies are in a situation like this.”

For a moment Tristan's mask slipped but it was just a second before he regained his composure and released Merlin's hand. “Really? I look forward to seeing the results.”

“It was good of you... to come... Uncle,” Arthur said.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was in order,” Tristan replied, looking around. “If you'll excuse me I need a word with Archbishop Kilgharrah.”

Merlin watched as Tristan walked off, his footsteps muffled on the carpet. “Whose coronation does he think this is?” Merlin said, keeping his voice low, knowing how sound echoed in the place.

“My uncle wants... his own coronation,” Arthur said, going back to the chair and touching the top.

“This is your coronation, Arthur, your time.”

Arthur looked sceptical.

“Sit on the chair and we'll go through your lines,” Merlin said.

Reluctantly Arthur sat down in the chair. “I w...wish he didn't know about you,” Arthur mumbled as he squirmed in the uncomfortable seat.

“Don’t squirm during the ceremony,” Merlin said. “Knowing your uncle he would have found out anyway.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I don’t either, but we can worry about your uncle after we’ve rehearsed this again.”

“Merlin...”

Merlin leaned down. “I'm going to be the lover of a great king, remember?”

Arthur gulped.

Merlin stood up and smiled. “And the first step to being a great king is to rehearse and be ready for when the old dragon places the crown on your head.”

“Archbishop Kilgharrah isn't... that bad,” Arthur said, through a smile.

With a theatrical flourish Merlin ran up to the top of one of the boxes where the VIPs would be sitting. “Pretend I'm the Ambassador of somewhere important,” Merlin said, waving the paper on which the order of service was written. “Now let's see. Is your Majesty willing to take the oath?”

“I am willing,” Arthur said, giving the correct response.

“Will you govern your people of Albion and her Empire according to their laws, lands and customs?”

“I solemnly promise to do so,” Arthur said, more quietly than his first response.

“I can’t hear you!” Merlin called.

Arthur repeated the response, louder now. “I solemnly promise to do so.”

Merlin coughed. “And will you to your power cause law and justice in mercy to be executed in all your judgements?”

“I will,” Arthur said, quite loudly.

Merlin came down the stairs. “Now there's the bit about upholding the old religion and then you say...”

“Upon the things which I have here before,” Arthur paused. “promised, I swear I will perform and keep, so help me gods.”

“And that's it,” Merlin said, coming to stand in front of Arthur. “The archbishop places the crown on your head,” Merlin pretended to do so, which drew a smile from Arthur. “And you're King Arthur.”

“You think I can do this?”

Merlin leaned down and kissed Arthur's lips. “I know you can, Your Majesty.”

The next day Arthur proved it.

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Part 4