Just can't kill the beast for Oestentia
Title: Just can't kill the beast
Recipient:username oestentia
Author: username ace_teagirl
Rating: T
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Summary: Following his father's death, Arthur uses alcohol as a coping mecanism. Merlin is there to support Arthur and to remind him that he doesn't need to deal with his problems and emotions on his own.
Warnings: Grief, alcoholism, unhealthy coping mechanisms
Word Count: 2253
Author's Notes: Hi Oestentia, I really hope that you'll like this fic!
Many thanks to Salamandair for being a wonderful beta!
Disclaimer:Merlin is owned by the BBC and Shine. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made. Don't send us to the dungeons.
“Pour me another glass, Merlin. Then you can leave. You’re dismissed for the night,” Arthur said without looking up from the report he was reading.
He couldn’t have said what time it was or how many goblets of wine he had drunk. All he knew was that his tired brain still tormented him with memories of his father and his weary heart still insisted on shattering further every time he thought of the man. In the three weeks that followed Uther’s death, Arthur had been steadily drowning himself in work and alcohol. During the day, he could pretend he was fine. He could find distractions to keep his mind away from all his complicated emotions. But it was worse at night. When the darkness fell, the ugly beast that reared its head during the funeral vigil Arthur had to observe, roared in his head and clawed at his chest.
In the first three days that followed Uther’s passing, Merlin hadn’t left Arthur’s side. Arthur had been grateful for his lover’s presence at the time. It provided a much-needed balm to his torn heart. But Merlin’s kindness and sympathy had soon become overwhelming. Arthur needed to cry and rage and throw things at the wall. He needed to shout insults into the void. And he couldn’t let out all of his darkest feelings towards his father, the disappointed admiration, the painful love, the anger and resentment that bordered on hatred, when Merlin was there to witness it.
Merlin had allowed Arthur the space he needed. For the better part of three weeks, he had acted more like a servant than a lover, if one ignored the occasional affectionate gesture. He had ignored Arthur’s less-than-healthy coping mechanisms. Had refrained from commenting on the empty pitcher of wine he found in the morning. Day after day, he had cleaned the mess Arthur had created in his nightly rage without a single word of complaint. But it seemed Merlin was now done being complacent. He made no move to obey Arthur’s order.
“I said-” Arthur began, feeling the now familiar sensation of anger starting to seethe in his blood.
“I heard what you said,” Merlin replied. “You’ve drunk half a pitcher by yourself; I think that’s enough for now. The only thing you’ll get from me is a glass of water,” he continued, placing a glass filled with cold water before Arthur.
Arthur stood up so abruptly his chair fell backwards. He threw the glass off his table with the back of his hand, glaring at Merlin. Objectively, he knew the other was right. But it was as if the rational part of his brain was trapped behind a glass door, helplessly watching as Arthur destroyed both himself and the man he loved.
“Then you can just leave now,” Arthur said coldly.
But Merlin was stubborn and insubordinate, always had been. They were traits Arthur loved and admired in his lover. Now, however, they served only to irritate him.
“I’m not leaving you alone in this state, Arthur. It might have evaded your notice, but I love you. I want to be there for you, please.”
“I don’t need you and I don’t want you here. Now leave.”
The hurt that flashed on Merlin’s face pierced through the veil of anger and self-hatred that clouded Arthur’s mind. It wasn’t enough to stop him on his path of destruction, though. The beast was still roaring in his head, its loud howls drowning every rational thought that formed in his brain. It kept scraping at his chest, tearing his already broken heart to shreds. Arthur took the pitcher and poured himself a glass of wine that he downed in one go. It did little to dampen the wild swirl of his thoughts and emotions. The beast wasn’t sated yet and Arthur couldn’t drown it anymore.
“I don’t care,” Merlin said firmly. He did an admirable job at masking his hurt behind a façade of caring determination. “I’m not leaving you to deal with your grief on your own. Not anymore.”
“And how do you intend to help me? What do you know about mourning a parent? You’d known your father for all of a day when he died, so don’t pretend to understand!”
As soon as the words left his thoughtless, cruel mouth, Arthur knew he had gone too far. But the beast in his heart rejoiced at the way Merlin’s brave front shattered to reveal the destruction Arthur had wrought on him. He heard the beast’s ugly laughter as Merlin turned his face away to wipe the tears off his cheeks. Arthur had done the one thing he swore he’d never do. He hurt Merlin. His sweet, kind, caring Merlin. The man he loved. The man who stayed by his side, who supported him despite his many flaws.
“Merlin, I-”
“It’s alright,” Merlin said, cutting off Arthur’s apology. He forced a wobbly smile on his quivering lips. “You know what? I’ll make us some tea and we can drink it in front of the hearth.”
Arthur almost asked Merlin to make mulled wine instead of tea. He heard the beast inside snicker, whispering to him to drink some more. Maybe another glass would drown the feelings of failure and disgust he felt towards himself. It was so tempting. Just drink until everything seemed unimportant. Until he could barely feel anything. He longed for the numbness he had felt in the hours that followed his father’s death, when he was still trapped in a state of stupor. Now, his emotions were too intense, too contradicting. He didn’t know how to deal with them.
But Merlin had made the effort to forgive him when he really shouldn’t have. He was still here, doing his best to take care of Arthur when he could - should - just leave and save himself the trouble. He watched Merlin put herbs in a cauldron over the fire and stir it. Even though he tried to pretend like everything was perfectly normal, Arthur could see the way his shoulders remained stiff. Merlin’s constant prattle had died down, leaving only oppressive silence. Arthur was the only one to blame for that.
“Why are you still here? Why do you stay?” he asked voicing the question that had been plaguing his mind for weeks now.
With a long sigh, Merlin seemed to deflate. His shoulders slumped and he dropped the long wooden spoon he was using to stir the pot where the tea was brewing. It was like all the energy that kept him going suddenly evaporated. Merlin turned to look at Arthur. His eyes were red and underlined by dark circles. Arthur hadn’t noticed how tired Merlin looked.
Yet, despite all the hurt that Arthur had caused him, Merlin still found it in himself to smile tenderly at his lover. “Don’t you know? I love you, Arthur. More than anything. I just wish you’d let me in, instead of staying alone with your grief.”
Looking down at the floor in shame, Arthur admitted, “I don’t know how.”
Wordlessly, Merlin joined Arthur and enfolded him in a tight hug. Arthur couldn’t remember the last time they had shared an embrace like this. It seemed a lifetime ago. Arthur hadn’t realised how much he had missed Merlin’s easy affection until this moment. In all his life, every accolade, every word of praise, every pat on the shoulder had always come with a price. Uther’s love had always been conditional. That’s what Arthur had come to expect, what he’d considered normal. Until Merlin appeared in his life and changed everything. Merlin gave his love freely. He was generous with his affection and never asked or expected anything in return for his tender words and gestures. He simply loved and accepted Arthur as he was, with all his imperfections. Even now, after Arthur had treated him so badly, he was still there to comfort Arthur.
“Talk to me. Tell me what you feel. You don’t have to hide from me; don’t shut me off, please.”
It seemed easier to confide like this, with Merlin’s warm body held tightly in his arms and with his face concealed from Merlin’s eyes. The soothing smell of chamomile and lavender from Merlin’s brewing infusion filled the room.”
“There are so many things I wish I could have told him. And now he’s dead and I’ll never be able to say all those things.” Arthur grasped Merlin’s shirt in his fists as he felt the first tears spill down his cheeks. “Sometimes, I look in the mirror and all I see are the parts of me that are him, and I hate myself for it, for being his son. And then I hate myself for hating him, because he was still my father and I love him. And I hate myself for loving him despite all the things he did to me, to Morgana, to your kind. Hell, to all the citizens of Camelot.”
For the first time in years, Arthur was allowing himself to wail. He sobbed in Merlin’s shoulder, taking comfort in the way his lover held him patiently. Arthur wondered why he’d kept Merlin at arm’s length for so long. Inside his head, the beast was still there. It still roared. It still clawed at his heart. But it seemed muted, far away. Merlin was keeping it at bay with his gentle care. Maybe just for tonight, Arthur allowed himself the respite.
“I don’t want to become like him, Merlin. But I resemble him a bit more with each passing day,” Arthur murmured, his voice still thick with tears.
“You’re a better man than he’s ever been, Arthur,” Merlin replied. Somehow, Arthur was glad he didn’t try to deny the myriad of ways Arthur resembled his father. “You’re his son, but you’re not him.”
“I’m not sure I’m so much better than him. Just look at me,” he said, laughing humourlessly, “I turn to wine whenever my emotions get too strong, just like he did. And it’s not even a new development. You, better than anyone, know I’ve always had the tendency to drink when I’m too stressed or sad or angry. Runs in the family, you know. It seems like it’s a fate I can’t escape.”
Probably sensing that Arthur wasn’t done talking yet, or maybe just needed some more time to think about what to say, Merlin remained silent. Arthur was grateful for that. There were more fears plaguing his mind that he needed to put into words, and he wasn’t sure he’d find the courage to do it if Merlin interrupted him.
“I’m scared one day I’ll become violent like my father and my grandfather were when they drank too much. I used to be terrified of my father as a child. I never want you to be scared of me. I don’t want to become like my father, Merlin.”
The tears started falling in earnest again. Arthur didn’t know he had so much grief trapped inside. It felt like a bottomless pit of darkness in his heart. All his wails did very little to drain it. Arthur was scared he would fall and drown in the dark, icy waters of despair.
“You won’t turn like him. You’re not alone, you don’t have to deal with this alone. I love you, and I’ll always be here for you. But I think someone else could help you better than I could.”
“Who?” Arthur asked, sniffling.
“I think you should talk to Gwaine. He hasn’t drunk in almost four months now, you know. He’s doing well, even though he’s still struggling. I truly believe you both could benefit from supporting each other,” Merlin suggested, letting Arthur make the final decision. He just held Arthur and rubbed his back, offering counsel and affection without any judgment.
Arthur’s first instinct was to reject the suggestion, to keep his failings to himself and deal with his problems on his own, as Pendragons tended to. But the parts of him that weren’t moulded by his father told him to consider the possibility. Gwaine was a good friend. He talked a lot, but he knew how to listen. And just like Merlin, he never judged.
“I think you might be right,” Arthur said, deciding to seek Gwaine out the next day.
“I’m always right,” Merlin answered, ruffling Arthur’s hair affectionately.
Arthur chuckled wetly. “Don’t push it. You’re still an idiot most of the time. But you have brief flashes of wisdom once in a while.”
Merlin hummed, pulling away from Arthur to press a soft kiss to his damp cheek. “And you’re not that bad when you decide not to be a prat,” he said with an unbearably sweet smile. “Now go sit by the fire; I’ll bring us both a mug of tea.”
Arthur obeyed without question. When it came to his well-being, he had learned to trust Merlin blindly and so far, he had never regretted that decision. The fire provided a comforting heat, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of Merlin’s embrace. Thankfully, his lover joined him shortly after and promptly gathered Arthur in his arms. Perhaps Merlin was right. Contrary to his father, Arthur wasn’t alone. He had friends who cared about him and who never hesitated to speak their minds. He didn’t have to cope with his emotions alone, not when so many others wished only to be there for him. And with their help, Arthur knew he would learn to let them in, and, in time, he would heal.