[Fic] A Scandalous Friendship (pt. 1) - for i_claudia

[solstice_mods]

Title: A Scandalous Friendship
Author: Anonymous
Recipient: i_claudia
Pairing(s)/Character(s): *deep breath* Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Morgana, Past Morgana/Edwin, Morgana/Adult Mordred, Gwen/Lancelot.
Warnings Mentions of past domestic violience and dub con, but nothing specific.
Spoilers: No specific spoilers for the plots of the series, but some character spoilers for up to late season two. Nothing huge though, and it wouldn't spoil the episodes for you.
Rating: NC-17. Oh so very NC-17
Word Count: Approx 43,000
Summary: When Arthur's father, the Duke of Sussex, tells him he must marry, his best friend Merlin is devestated. Arthur isn't too happy about it either. But his plans to marry his friend Morgana are put in jepordy by the return of an old enemy. - Regency AU
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction - none of this ever happened. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
Author's Notes: Firstly, huge thanks to A, M and R for putting up with me over the past few weeks. About listening to my panic filled IM's about character development and my constant rants of 'Does this seem like something Arthur would do?' I love you guys.

Secondly, I have no idea where the length came from. More and more plot kept appearing. I just hope you like it, i_claudia, cos I'm a HUGE fan of your works and hope this lives up to your standards.

Thirdly, massive thanks to the camelotsolstace mods for putting up with me and my delay in getting this to them. Thank you!

Fourthly, some translations:

Ormir House - Lord Hurt's house, mentioned only once in the fic, comes from the Old Norse word ormr, meaning Dragon.

Mordred's second name, Sortiar, comes from the vulgar Latin 'sortiarius', which was the origin of the word 'sorcerer'. It directly means 'one who influences fate', which I thought was pretty appropiate, don'y you think?

Happy reading!



London, England. February 17th, 1817

It was a beautifully crisp February’s day when Dr. Merlin Emrys cheerfully bounded up the polished steps of Avalon House and knocked loudly. The London home of the Duke of Sussex and his family shone in the afternoon light, its windows glinting with the sun. But Merlin had seen it dozens of times before, and refused to be awed by Uther Pendragon’s ostentatious wealth any more. Most of the time, anyway. After several long moments, the imposing front door was opened by a serious looking handsome man whose face immediately broke into a grin upon seeing the young doctor on the doorstep.

"Good morning Lance," Merlin chirped as the butler/secretary stood aside to allow him entry.

"Hullo Merlin," Arthur’s right hand man smiled back. "How goes it in the hospital?"

"They’re going well," Merlin answered happily. "Now that the war is over, we’re not getting so many veterans with need for immediate surgical care. It’s quietening down a bit, thank God. But there’s always work to do. But at least we’re doing something for them. How is your lady?" he grinned, changing the subject from his work in the Royal Hospital in Chelsea to something far more pleasant; namely Lance’s fiancée, Guinevere Smith.

"My sweet Gwen is doing well. I saw her yesterday. She sends her regards." Merlin smiled at the smitten look on Lance’s face at the mere thought of his lady love.

"You will give her my best, won’t you?" Lance nodded as they headed down the hallway to towards the back of the house. "Excellent. Now, do you have any idea what this is all about?" he asked, pulling the missive that had been delivered to his residence he shared with his uncle and mentor, Gaius.

"His Lordship had a meeting with his father during the week. Or, to put it better, he was summoned by His Grace to the Camelot Estate on Monday and arrived back on Thursday. He’s been quiet ever since."

"You mean he’s been pouting ever since," Merlin laughed.

"I heard that you know," a strong, familiar voice floated out from the study they had finally reached. This place was a maze. "And I don’t pout," Arthur clarified as they entered the comfortable and well used room. "I brood, I become pensive, I think. I do not pout"

"Whatever you want to tell yourself," Merlin grinned at him, and, as always, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of his friend. The former soldier was impeccably turned out as usual, his clothing tailored to fit his trim, athletic body like a glove and made of cloth as fine as could be found anywhere in the city. His breeches encased his muscular legs, moulding to his thighs and he had given in to comfort and taken off his dark blue coat, resting it over the back of the nearby chair. He stood, leaning against the mantle and highlighted by the fire in just his shirtsleeves, and Merlin’s mouth went dry at the appealing sight he made.

"Of course, your Lordship," Lance bowed slightly, and Arthur’s lips, the subject of too many of Merlin’s private fantasies, curled up in amusement. He ran a hand through his ridiculously golden locks and Merlin had to literally drag his mind back to the topic at hand.

"I never understand how you can call him ‘Your Lordship’ Lance," Merlin commented as he made himself comfortable in his favourite armchair by the window. "You served with him during the war. You were his lieutenant and now, you’re his butler, secretary, bodyguard... everything. You’ve seen him at his whiney, pratty worst."

"Lance knows his place, Merlin," Arthur said loftily, but his eyes held no hint of malice, only humour. "He knows how to address his Lord properly."

"Oh where’s your sense of fun Arthur?" Merlin grinned back, setting back into the chair.

"Comfortable?" Arthur smirked at him.

"Extremely," Merlin replied, his eyes never leaving Arthurs.

Lance coughed and Merlin jerked his eyes way, cheeks colouring slightly.

"I’d better leave you to it," he said, heading for the door.

"Lance, wait," Arthur said, all trace of humour gone from his face. "You’d better stay for this too. I’m going to need your help with this and you two are pretty much the only two people I truly trust."

Both Lance and Merlin blushed faintly at the praise. Not the most demonstrative of men, he rarely gave out random compliments to his friends. For Arthur to say something like that, it was serious indeed.

"What is it Arthur?" Merlin asked quietly, sitting forward in his chair.

"I’m guessing this has something to do with what your father wanted to speak to you about," Lance said once he was seated. "And why you called Merlin here today?"

Arthur nodded and sighed. He turned from them and braced his arms against the mantle as he spoke.

"My father summoned me to Sussex on Monday. I managed to cancel my appointments and get down there by Tuesday, but of course, that wasn’t fast enough and since he was already in a foul humour, I had to endure a day of silence before he deigned to speak to me again. It was almost like being a boy again," he murmured almost to himself. "Anyway, on Wednesday morning, he called me into his study for his usual review of my business dealings, my personal affairs and the standard lectures on duty and responsibility to the family. Finally though, he got to the point of his summons."

Arthur glanced quickly at Merlin before looking away again.

"He wants me to marry."

And the bottom dropped out of Merlin’s entire world.

~*~

"Arthur, I’ve decided that it’s high time you were married," his father told him, settling back into his chair. Arthur sat facing him, unable to move for shock. That statement had come out of nowhere He had always been told that his marriage would be a matter of business and duty, and that he would have little or no choice in his future wife, but he had thought he had time. "This can hardly come as a surprise to you," Uther continued.

"Father, I don’t feel that right now..."

"Nonsense," Duke Uther Pendragon interrupted his only son and heir. "If I left it up to you, it would never be the right time. Why, by the time I was your age, I was married and had an heir."

You were also a widower with a son at my age too, Arthur added, silently of course. He may be a hero of the Napoleonic Wars, but he didn’t have a deathwish. His mother had died in childbirth, and his father, despite the many years since the event, had never really gotten over Ygraine’s death. He never spoke of her; it was obviously too painful. Arthur’d had to rely on sparse stories from his father’s old friend Gaius Winters, and on the one portrait that Uther’s had time to commission before her death. It hung in the gallery in Camelot House, their family’s estate for generations, and Arthur remembers sitting cross-legged as a child, staring up at her beautiful face, cataloguing every nuance of her delicate features in search of those similar to the ones he saw in the mirror every day.

He would have given anything for even the vaguest of memories of her.

Still would, truth be told.

"I haven’t met the right woman yet," he said finally, after the silence has stretched to an uncomfortable length. "I haven’t met anyone special enough yet."

No woman’s eyes were ever the right colour blue, or had the right laugh or the same kind nature or... Arthur had to stop. This was lay madness and pain and could never be. He had to accept that.

It was easier said than done, though.

"Arthur, if I left it up to you, the right woman would never come along," Uther reprimanded. "You have a duty to continue the Pendragon line. It was bad enough you went to war without an heir, but now, you’re almost thirty."

"And I have many good years left in which to find a woman to love and to marry," Arthur replied.

"Arthur, please listen. Marry for duty. Marry for breeding and wealth and to continue the line. Find love elsewhere, in the arms of another, but do not love your wife. Hold affection for her, but do not love her. Childbirth is dangerous, and it is too painful..."

His father was silent and serious as Arthur stared across at the desk at him. Only once in his entire life had he ever heard the anguish in his father’s voice as he had a moment ago and that had been when he’d been injured in Spain. As if sensing his hard-bitten exterior was crumbling before his son’s eyes, Uther straightened up in the chair.

"I am not going to cajole you with threats of disinheritance or exile if you do not do as I say," he told him. "I am simply telling you this: the Season starts in a few weeks. I expect an engagement announcement to a woman of good breeding and family connections by the end of it. I trust you to do your duty son."

And really, what response could Arthur give to that, except a yes?

~*~

"Married?" Merlin echoed dully behind him and Arthur winced, his back still to his friends. He’d known this would be hard, and admittedly it was a shock to them all, but he hadn’t been prepared for the barely disguises anguish in the doctor’s tone.

"Yes, married." He finally schooled his expression into something more neutral, bored even, and turned around. Lance and Merlin were sitting there, staring at him. He supposed he couldn’t blame them. Merlin was, well... Merlin. He knew Arthur’s tastes didn’t extend to those of the fairer sex, and also knew where Arthur’s affections truly lay. Arthur thought he even reciprocated with feelings of his own, but he could never find out. The risk was too great.

And Lancelot? Well, he had an inkling. He’d been with Arthur for years, and knew him better than almost anyone. He’d be a fool not to notice, and Lancelot duLac was no fool.

"It was a surprise to me too," he continued, focusing on a spot on Merlin’s ear, avoiding eye contact. "It did come out of nowhere. But, the more I think about it, the more I see his point of view. I do need an heir, someday. Why not now? It will be a marriage of convenience of course, my name and future title will ensure that many young women of consequence vie for my affections."

"Oh, naturally," Merlin grumbled.

"It’s a fact of society Merlin, not pure arrogance," Arthur told him, irritation creeping into his voice. "Many women want to be Duchesses. And they will do anything to achieve it. And that’s where I need your help."

"You want us to help you pick a wife?" Lance was highly sceptical if his raised eyebrows were any indication.

"In a way," Arthur admitted. "People let society and their peers see what they want them to. I don’t want a sweet, kind girl I marry to turn out to be a vicious harpy once the wedding band is on her finger. Lancelot, if I am considering marrying a girl, I need you to talk to her people. See how she treats them. Use some of the charm that had women throwing themselves at you all over Spain."

"Okay," Lance sounded uncertain. "But if Gwen finds out, I’m telling her what I’m doing. I don’t like it when she cries. Cos it’s usually my fault and she finds ways to make me sorry."

Arthur laughed. He genuinely adored Gwen and loved the effect she had on his friend.

"And what do you need me to do?" Merlin’s voice was quiet and subdued, holding none of his usual jubilant personality.

"I need you with me, Merlin," Arthur told him, aware he was asking a lot of the doctor. If their situations were reversed, he didn’t know if he could do what he was about to ask him. "I need you to help me chose someone. I can’t go to these places alone, the balls, the parties and Almacks." He shuddered. "I’d be eaten alive."

"That is true," Merlin mused. "The matchmaking mama’s have a gossip chain and a spy network that Napoleon would have sold his soul for. As soon as the word gets out that you’re looking, you’ll never get a moments peace."

"Will you help me then? Please? You’re a good friend but I know I’m asking a lot..."

Merlin stared at him hard for a long moment, his face inscrutable.

"Alright. I’ll help you."

"You will?" Arthur couldn’t hide his surprise.

"Of course Arthur. We’re friends, aren’t we?"

Arthur winced internally, but let nothing show in his face.

"My thanks to you."

Lance was looking between the two of them, a frown on his features.

"I just remembered, I have to go check up on one of my patients," Merlin said, suddenly standing and not meeting anyone’s eyes.

"Merlin, wait..." Arthur began but Merlin was almost half out the door already.

"I’ll talk to you later Arthur," he said as he hurried out. "See you again soon Lance."

And then he was gone.

~*~

Through sheer force of will and stubbornness, Merlin managed to make it most of the way home before he had to duck into a side street lest he collapse. He chest physically hurt, and he leaned against the wall, panting and fighting back tears.

Arthur was getting married.

The knowledge made his gut churn and he turned to the side, retching onto the damp ground. He was coughing up bile by the time he managed to straighten up.

Oh God, Arthur was getting married. Merlin always knew that it would happen one day; that he’d be forced to watch the man he loved in the arms of another, but he thought he had time. And the fact that Arthur asked him to help him find a wife, despite being aware on some level of Merlin’s feelings was just cruel, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate him for it. He could never hate Arthur, and it helped to know that Arthur didn’t actually want to be wed. But, no matter who he ended up married to, everything would change.

And those ridiculous, improbably and idealistic dreams he had of Arthur throwing off the shackles of society and kissing him like he meant it would never happen now. Not that he ever thought it would, but marriage was so permanent.

Merlin pulled himself up to his full height and put his hat back on his head. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and walked out of the side street, his head held high.

Alright, so he was in love with his best friend. But, love aside, he was still his friend, and he needed him. Merlin could put aside his un-tenable emotions and do as he asked and help him.

There would be time enough to grieve later.

~*~

British Army Camp, Spain. 22nd February, 1813.

Arthur whole body was on fire. He radiated heat and the pain kept him pinned to the bed. The epicentre of the agony was his left shoulder, surgical stitches and scars thick and ugly against his skin. His fevered mind was aware of people moving around in his peripheral vision, of nurses mopping his bow and of surgeons puzzling over his condition.

The gunshot wound should have been healing.

Instead, an infection had spread, reducing him to this state. And they did not understand why. His father had him moved from their small camp to a larger, permanent facility with doctors and surgeons, and he’d had the surgery as soon as possible. But it may have been too late. The Duke sat with him as often as he could between meetings and his duties and Arthur was grateful for his presence, especially when surgeons started bandying around words such as ‘amputation’.

His father’s shout of outrage had drowned out his own weak sound of protest and horror. He could not imagine life without his arm, even though it was currently completely useless and ravaged by infection. His father’s hand jerked Arthur’s shoulder and he cried out as pain flared through his body again until blissful unconsciousness overtook him.

~*~

When Arthur became aware again, the hustle and bustle of raised voices had faded. It had dimmed to a quiet murmur in the background and there was someone sitting on the bed next to him. That person was muttering to himself about ‘barbarians attempting to bleed him dry’. A hand covered with a cool cloth pressed against his brow, his cheek and Arthur pressed his face into the touch.

"Captain Pendragon?"

Arthur forced his gritty eyes open a crack. He found himself staring into the most beautiful pair of clear blue eyes he had ever seen. The eyes pulled away from their close examination of his own to reveal a pale face topped with a truly awful haircut and rather large ears.

To Arthur, he was the most perfect man he had ever seen.

But that may have been the fever talking.

"My name is Dr. Emrys," the pale faced man told him. "You’re fever is getting worse. I’m going to need to operate again. Don’t worry. I’m pretty good."Arthur just stared up at him, watching as his elegant hands ran over his brow, checking his temperature and took his pulse. "Now," Emrys continued, "let’s see what’s under these bandages, shall we? This will hurt," he warned before he sat Arthur up slightly to unwrap the bandages. His fingers poked and prodded the surgical site and Arthur clenched his teeth in agony. "Hmm, it’s definitely a severe infection," he mused, sitting back down as Arthur panted for breath.

"Well, thank God you’re here to state the bloody obvious," Arthur ground out.

"No need to be like that," Emrys chided. "Especially when I’ll be the one opening you up again."

Arthur felt his face go pale.

"Don’t take my arm," he gasped, suddenly aware that this man held his future in those graceful hands of his. He grabbed onto Emrys’ sleeve with his good hand and half hauled himself up out of the bed. Emrys, obviously not expecting such a show of strength, fell forward onto the bed. He caught himself and braced his arms on either side of Arthur’s hips and when he looked up, they were practically nose to nose. "Please, don’t take my arm. I’d die first."

"I swear I will do what I can, but I can’t guarantee anything," he said after a moment. He seemed slightly breathless at the close proximity to him, as was Arthur.

"Don’t lie to me," Arthur warned.

"I promise never to lie to you," Emrys breathed.

The captain nodded, confident and trusting in this doctor, for reasons he didn’t yet understand.

Later that day, Arthur had more surgery under the skilled hands of Dr. Emrys. He came out of the surgery intact and whole, but minus the three gold clothing fibres left in the wound by the original, bumbling surgeon.

Later still, during the night, Arthur’s fever finally broke.

~*~

Two days after, Arthur was well enough to sit up in the camp bed in his tent and managed to keep down some gruel. He had just finished another bowl of the bland, unappetising stuff when a familiar dark head popped warily around the curtain. He looked harried, checking every corner of the tent before he entered.

"What on Earth are you doing?" he asked as the doctor scurried - scurried - into the tent.

"I’m avoiding your father," Emrys replied, sitting next to Arthur on the camp bed. "Sit up. I need to check the bandages."

"Why are you... OW! Careful! Why are you avoiding him?" Arthur asked, struggling into a sitting position. Emrys peeled back the layers of bandages and started poking at the wound, causing Arthur to grit his teeth to avoid yet another exclamation in pain.

"He keeps trying to reward me for saving your life," Emrys grumbled and Arthur huffed out an un-amused laugh.

"Well, you did save the son of a Duke."

"I didn’t do it for glory or rewards," Emrys snapped, and Arthur got the strangest feeling he had just somehow insulted the doctor. When he was angry, the doctor’s eyes lit with a fire that Arthur found very, very appealing and he shifted uncomfortably, bunching the blankets around his waist to avoid embarrassment. "I did it because I was there, and I could use my training to help you. Plus, I did it for Gaius. You father sent a scout ahead telling of his arrival you. He was bellowing for him before he even dismounted."

"My father has known Gaius for years," Arthur told him. "He trusts him completely. He’s a wonderful physician."

"I know," Emrys smiled. "He’s my uncle and the reason I got into medicine. But Gaius isn’t here. He was sent into the mountains a few days ago to help treat a ‘very important person that I can tell no one about’." He rolled his eyes at that one. "When I arrived at your bedside, there were some other surgeons there. The idiots were talking of bleeding you to help avoid bad humours. I got a bit, erm, angry at their proposed treatment, and told them so. The Duke heard me, and when he found out Gaius was my uncle and mentor, and that I was actually a good doctor... well, he ordered me to do the procedure and sent the rest of them running. It was kind of wonderful actually." Emrys had finished examining the wound and had wrapped it in fresh bandages.

"Well, no matter why you did it, my father owes you a debt. And you have a friend for life in me."

Arthur settled back on the bed as the doctor fussed over the bandages, smoothing them over with long, pale but remarkable capable hands. Arthur watched him as he ran his hands over them, briefly touching the skin of his chest with his warm fingers. He breath hitched and Emrys stood, blushing furiously and went to the flap of the tent.

"You’re healing well," he told him, not meeting Arthur’s eyes. "Keep doing what you’re doing, rest. I’ll get someone to come by and change your bandages daily. Don’t stress the shoulder and if you do sit up, wear a sling on it."

"Wait!" Arthur burst out when it looked as if the doctor was going to disappear. "Look, what’s your full name?"

"Merlin Thomas Emrys," Emrys... No, Merlin, smiled slightly.

"Well Merlin, thank you for saving my arm."

"You’re welcome Arthur."

"I never said you could use my Christian name," Arthur reminded him, somehow more amused than irritated at the lack of respect.

"I know, but where’s the fun in calling you ‘Captain’ or ‘Lord’ Pendragon all the time?" Merlin was grinning fully now, a stupidly happy smile that made Arthur’s chest flutter a little. He hated himself for the reaction to a manic grin, but the smile softened, and Arthur’s chest fluttered again and he knew he was lost.

"It’s fun for me," he pointed out, relieved to hear his voice was steady and sure.

Merlin smiled again.

"I’ll be back to check the bandages tomorrow," he said, and Arthur considered it a victory that he would be back to check them himself. "Get some rest."

The next moment, he was gone. Arthur lay back on the bed, and tried to sleep. But every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was a smile that warmed his heart.

~*~

April, 1817

Merlin frowned at himself in the mirror as he failed, for the fourth time, to finish trying his cravat correctly. Unfortunately, he’d never gotten so much practice. The Season had started with a bang just after Easter in March, and since then, Arthur had dragged him to any ball or party that he had to attend. It was both a pleasure and a torment for Merlin: he was spending more time with Arthur than he ever had, but it was in the knowledge that he was helping him find someone to share his life with, and that thought threatened to shatter him every time it crossed his mind, so he tended to shy away from the subject.

Merlin knew, of course, that he could also marry; find a young woman and make a life with her, have children and raise them with her. Though he was merely the son of country woman, widowed when Merlin was two and lucky enough to get the position of housekeeper to a country gentleman in a grand old house in the middle of Kent, Merlin was considered a catch. Not as great one, of course, as his impending fortune wasn’t vast, but it was enough to garner him some attention in the drawing rooms and salons of the Ton. Merlin had been as surprised as anyone when Lord Hurt, his mother’s employer, had died and left his entire estate to him. But in retrospect, it shouldn’t have been such a shock. Ever since he’d been a boy, tearing around Ormir House, Lord Hurt had been amused by him. He had taken a shine to Merlin and, having no children of his own, had put him through school and then through his medical training so he could become a physician like his uncle Gaius, whom Merlin had idolised from a young age.

And while it was in no means a large fortune he was bequeathed, not even a fraction of Arthur’s or Lady Morgana’s, it was enough ensure him a place in the Ton, whether he wanted it or not. Both Arthur and Morgana had made it known that they considered him a particular friend, and often failed to appear at balls and parties that he had not been invited to. The fawning of the Ton over his friends had ensured him a place in even the most prestigious of drawing rooms, and had even been enough to get him some of the coveted vouchers to Almacks. In a world where people judge your worth by how far back you can trace your bloodline, they had been the ones to support him when he came into his inheritance and Merlin was very grateful.

Still didn’t mean he liked attending parties such as this one, though. And he didn’t like the way some of the mothers threw their daughters in his path. It was worse for Arthur, who was constantly bombarded with endless parades of pretty young things for him to dance with and entertain, but Arthur was born to this. He was a natural, having been trained from a young age in matters of etiquette and society, but Merlin always felt so awkward in social situations such as this, never knowing the right thing to say or do. He hated to live his life by rules and strictures of society, but he would hate it even more without Arthur. So Merlin endured. He attended parties, plastered a smile on his face and attempted to be charming, he danced with the daughters and laughed with their mothers, but his heart was not in it. Merlin knew he would never marry; his heart had been stolen long ago by a grumpy, injured Captain, and Merlin had no hope of ever getting it back.

Finally getting the cravat into some semblance of style, Merlin stood back and viewed himself into he full length mirror. It was perhaps time, he reflected, to hire a valet. If he kept having to attend functions such as the party at Almacks tonight, he would need all the help he could get. His clothes were well fitted, accentuating his lean body and making him seem even taller than he already was. It was uncomfortable and his collar irritated him, but he forced himself not to fiddle with it as he made his way downstairs to grab is cloak and order a taxi cab to take him to Arthur’s.

~*~

The party at Almacks was in full swing by the time Merlin and Arthur arrived. Though the future Duke was ‘not a woman and therefore did not strive to arrive fashionably late’, Merlin knew he enjoyed turning heads when he arrived. He had an inner core of self assurance and knowledge of self worth that Merlin couldn’t help but admire, and, of course, the rest of the Ton seemed to echo that self image. It came across at pure arrogance at times, though spending so much of their time together showed Merlin the good, decent man beneath the outer mask.

As they entered the ballroom the crush of people seemingly parted around Arthur as if he were a prophet, much to Merlin’s amusement. He had to smother his laughter again when he saw Arthur literally square his shoulders as if he were going into battle. And in Arthur’s mind, he supposed he was. Though he was well trained in society, having impeccable manners and being fully aware of his position in society, Merlin knew Arthur was more at home on the battlefield or planning a campaign than sipping tea in a lady’s parlour. He was a soldier through and through. He glanced around the packed room, valiantly trying to ignore the many heads turning their way. Merlin could see mothers poking their daughters to stand up straight and simper in Arthur’s direction, as if a straight spine and a lack of personality would entice him. But, he had to marry, and he at least wanted to be able to stand his bride long enough to beget and heir. Possibly a spare also.

They greeted the Lady Morgana when they managed to reach her through the press of people. She was, as usual, surrounded by her bevy of admirers, but for some reason, tonight she looked incredibly bored. Merlin frowned in concern. She usually hid her irritation and distaste of the situation a lot better than she did now. Morgana smiled wanly when she saw them. As a physician, Merlin was worried. She was pale and tired, and had dark circles under her eyes as if she had not slept well in a long, long time.

Though she had always been pale and delicate, in the two or so years since her marriage to Lord Edwin Muirden, and his subsequent death just over seven months later, she had gone from delicate to gaunt, from ivory white to deathly pale. It had been over a year since Lord Muirden’s bed curtains had caught alight in the middle of the night and killed him in his sleep, and the Lady Muirden had only just come out of her period of mourning. Even though it had been a long time, she still looked as if she had barely got any sleep, and what sleep she did get appeared to be anything but restful. Merlin had only known her for a short time before her marriage, for when the Peninsular Campaign finished, and Arthur had kind of adopted him and dragged him into society with him, kicking and screaming, but she had been kind to him. She had made it known that he was her particular friend, and it had eased his way in ways that Merlin couldn’t even imagine. But above all, he liked her. She was smart and witty and beautiful, but her marriage had changed her. Her widow-hood had changed her even more: her behaviour becoming erratic of late, her composure slipping more and more, and sometimes, there was a wildness in her eyes that sent a chill through Merlin.

Despite his new place in society, Merlin was a physician at heart, and so, when he looked at Morgana, and compared her in his mind to the woman he had met three years before, he became very concerned. The Ton whispered about her behind her back, cruel rumours and taunts about her late husband proclivities, and even Morgana herself, implying she had a hand in the fire that killed him. That she had found him in bed with a mistress, and had killed them both. Merlin had to admit, he would have trouble sleeping and feel hunted and trapped if people were constantly speaking the like of him where they thought he couldn’t hear. But Morgana’s fortune, her beauty, even now, and, if Merlin were honest, the hint of the scandal that followed her, ensured that men flocked to her wherever she went, to the eternal disappointment of their Mama’s.

Arthur simply strode through the crowd of admirers, which again, parted for him easily. He smiled at Morgana and sent a glare at her would-be suitors, which never failed to send them running. Soon, the three of them were alone, or as alone as they could be in the packed out assembly rooms. Arthur smiled warmly at her, and kissed her hand for he knew it always amused Morgana to see him try and act the gentleman. Arthur looked down at her, frowning slightly.

"Good God Morgana, you look like death warmed up," he, tactfully, said. Merlin rolled his eyes at his friend, but a genuine smile lit Morgana’s features as she threw back an insult of her own. Merlin left them to it, knowing from experience that they would be a while. Friends since they were young because of the closeness of their fathers, Arthur had always held a soft spot for her, and had tried to shield her from the worst of society, especially since the death of her husband. Despite the fact that they bickered and fought constantly, they were as friendly as a man and a woman could be in society without causing tongues to wag. If Arthur had noticed a change in her in the past few years, he’d never said so to Merlin, but Arthur was not stupid. And he had known her far longer. Merlin made a mental note to speak to him later about it.

They parted ways after a little while, Morgana being claimed for some of the dances, and Arthur off to claim others for the same. Merlin danced once or twice with some of the less prestigious debutants, but never with the same woman twice. Despite his inheritance, Merlin had no intention of ever marrying himself, and he had heard how the matchmaking mama’s worked, and saw them in full force with Arthur, and had no desire to be trapped by someone desperate to make use of his friendship with Arthur or Morgana. He conversed with several of his acquaintances, and drifted along the outskirts of the crowded ballroom, trying to look like he was enjoying himself. After every dance, Arthur found him and each time, his mood became darker and darker.

"I feel like I’m being hunted," he breathed in Merlin’s ear after one particularly determined mother paraded her daughter in his line of sight once more. Merlin shivered at the sensation and coughed, looking towards the girl and not at Arthur. He knew if he did, he’d do something monumentally stupid like grab him and kiss him in the middle of Almacks. Arthur sighed beside him, and made his way forward, speaking to the girl and her mother for several minutes before adding his name to her dance card.

Merlin watched as Arthur led her onto the dance floor a little while later. It was a waltz, still new and slightly scandalous, and the girl, Amanda Whitbourn, blushed bright red beneath her chestnut curls when Arthur put his hand on her waist. She was pretty, but nothing outstanding, but as they danced, she actually answered Arthur when he spoke to her, and somehow didn’t collapse into a puddle of warmth when he smiled at her, as Merlin would have done. So all in all, she was leagues ahead of many of the other debutantes Arthur had met over the course of the season.

Suddenly, the resounding ‘slap’ of hand meeting cheek sounded in the air, louder than the music and Merlin winced in sympathy even as he turned to see the source of his commotion. Somehow, he was not hugely surprised to see it originated with Morgana, though he had hoped for her sake he was wrong. She was standing in the centre of the ballroom, in front of Lord Aufric Sidden, who was currently holding his reddening cheek in pain as he looked at her, shocked. She stood in front of him, eyes blazing and cheeks flushed in anger, hissing furious words at him at a volume to low to be heard by anyone but the man in front of her. Merlin could guess what had happened, that Sidden’s hand’s had strayed or had voiced a suggestion too insulting, but he was still surprised at Morgana’s lack of composure, especially in public. The crowd parted for her as she finished un-manning him with her words, turned on her heel and stalked away. Arthur appeared at his side after delivering Miss. Whitbourn back to her mother, and had witnessed most of the scene. Sidden slunk out of the ballroom, and Arthur looked at him in anger.

"I need to have a word with Lord Sidden," he said, venom dripping from every word. "Can you please go see to Morgana?" Merlin nodded and the pair moved off. But Morgana moved quickly, and by the time he managed to get through the press of excitedly chattering people, through the hallways and to the fancy entrance doors, she was long gone.

~*~

The next morning, Arthur found himself waiting impatiently in Morgana’s elegant parlour for her to appear. Merlin had failed completely to find her after the fiasco of the night before, and he’d considered leaving after he finished threatening Sidden to check up on her, but he’d had his own obligations to fulfil, his own duties to perform. So he’d had to wait until the morning, which was why he found himself sitting on comfortable chairs in the parlour that had changed much since Muirden’s death. She had put her own stamp on the place, brightening them and putting money into them so the house and its contents were no longer as shabby and run down as they had been. It was no secret that Muirden had married her for her money, though he didn’t get to spend much of it before his untimely death.

Would that he had died sooner.

When Morgana finally appeared in the doorway, she looked elegant as always, but something in her gaze caused him to frown in concern, even as he stood to greet her.

"Arthur, what are you doing here so early?" she asked after one of her maids had placed the tea set down on the low table between where they were seated on their respective low couches.

"You can’t seriously be asking me this," he said incredulously. "I came to see how you are. I’ve been worried about you Morgana. Especially since last night. You’ve not been yourself the past few months."

"I was recently widowed, Arthur," she reminded him, voice betraying no emotion. "Of course I’ve not been myself. I’m in mourning for my dear departed husband." Her mouth twisted in bitterness.

"Almost believable," Arthur commented. "Except for the fact that I know you hated your husband, and he you. Those few months you were married to him, you were like a shadow of yourself. But since his death, instead of returning to how you were, you’ve changed even more. And with your outburst last night..."

"Aulfric Sidden is a letch," Morgana said coldly. "He was making highly inappropriate comments and suggestions throughout the dance. He deserved more than a slap in the face."

"I happen to agree with you on that respect, and trust me, if he wants to keep his whole self intact, he will make no such suggestions again, to any woman," Arthur told her, a cold glint in his eyes. "But Morgana, you’ve been at out in society for years. You have dealt with far worse than the likes of Sidden without batting an eyelid. It’s not like you to lose control like that. There’s something else going on."

"Maybe I’m sick of it all," Morgana’s eyes flared in anger. "Maybe I’m tired of pretending to be someone I’m not all the time. You do not understand what it’s like, Arthur. I have to hide so much of myself to be accepted."

"You’d be surprised," Arthur murmured, expression impassive as Morgana turned on him in anger.

"I’m just so tired of having to answer to society every second of every day. I just want to be free!"

As she spoke, she stood and was standing looking down at Arthur, expression wild and the spark of passion was in her eyes. Arthur sat back and regarded her.

"You are a widow Morgana," he observed. "You can do as you please. If you wished, you could retire to your country estates and never set foot in London again. You could live there, content and never have to face society."

"As attractive as that prospect is, especially in light of the backlash no doubt heading my way after last night, I wish it was that simple." She sat back down again, and began toying with her teacup. "I want children, Arthur," she sighed at his bemused look. "I want to have children before it’s too late, and for that, I need to marry. I will not have them out of wedlock. I wouldn’t do that to them. But the thought of marrying again... Of putting myself so completely and entirely into someone else’s hands... Someone who could turn out like Edwin again." She shuddered, and Arthur winced internally. He did not know the full details of her marriage, but he knew enough of Muirden to know he would not have been gentle. Aside from his cruelty, one of Morgana’s main problems with her husband had been his proclivities for the same sex and it disgusted her so much, Arthur could never even begin to tell her... She would never understand.

But since he would never endanger Merlin enough to act on his feelings, no matter how strongly he felt... this could possibly work. Morgana wanted children. She wanted security and a family, but she didn’t trust any man enough without knowing is true character. He needed to marry, and so far, the only women he had met were either grasping, greedy wenches or painfully shy debutantes who turned red if he so much as looks their way. Morgana was none of those things. Wealthy in her own right, money would not be a bone of contention between them. And she was brave, and beautiful and capable and possibly... Possibly.

"Maybe the answer is to marry someone you trust," Arthur said slowly, warming to the idea half formed in his mind. "Someone who knows you and respects you and your talents. Someone who won’t try and crush you under his heel and try to force you to be something you’re not."

"And where, pray tell, would I find such a man in London society?" she scoffed. "All gentlemen of Quality want meek, demure little misses, not widows who cause scandals by slapping members of the peerage when they get too handsy."

"You’d be surprised," Arthur said, his words heavy with meaning. Morgana jerked her head up at his tone, and startled at the look in his eyes.

"Do you mean what I think you mean?" she asked warily.

"Think about it," he told her, rising to leave. "It could be good for both of us. It would give you the freedom you want, and the children you deserve, and my father would be pleased. I won’t press you for an answer right now. Take a few days, or a few weeks if you like. Think it over. You have the power here. Father has decreed I am to marry, and I would much rather it be you than one of those meek, demure little misses’ that you were so scathing of earlier."

He bent and kissed her cheek and, for the first time in the 25 years of their acquaintance, Arthur left her staring speechless after him.

~*~

"Morgana?" Merlin spluttered, almost dropping his brandy onto Arthur’s expensive Oriental rug as they sat in his library. "You proposed marriage to Morgana?"

"Yes Merlin," Arthur replied, irritated. "Morgana."

"And she didn’t try to smack you on the back of the head for the mere suggestion?" Because really, of all the people Arthur could have spoken of marriage to, Morgana hadn’t even been on the list last time Merlin checked. And there was a reason for that. They would kill each other within two weeks!

"Surprisingly, no" Arthur’s lips twitched in amusement.

"Are you sure about this?" Merlin hedged. "I mean, your father said you had to marry, but I’m not sure a widow..."

"My father wants me to marry for family lineage and for wealth, both of which Morgana has. This way, at least I know she wouldn’t burst into tears if I said an unkind word to her in temper."

"More likely she’d challenge you to a duel," Merlin smiled faintly. "You are one crazy bastard."

"Morgana is not in love with me, and I’m not in love with her. But she wants children and would be a good mother. I need to marry, and I respect her fire and her spirit. We could do very well together."

Merlin sat in silence, for once thinking before he spoke. This was a delicate conversation to be having, especially after two brandy’s had already loosened his tongue.

"Merlin?" Arthur queried his silence. "Come on. For some reason, God help me, I value your opinion on these sort of matters. Spit it out."

Merlin was very reluctant to answer, but he had promised Arthur he would never lie to him, and never had so far, so...

"Just... are you sure about Morgana?" he asked slowly. "She hasn’t been the same since her husband died. Or since she married him, for that matter. And I only knew her a short time before she was wed. You remember when she was born. You’ve known her all her life. Surely you have seen the change since she was widowed."

Arthur’s jaw clenched in anger.

"Would that the fool had set fire to his bed curtains sooner," he ground out. "Did I tell you I saw bruises on her arm one day, just a few weeks after their wedding? I nearly called him out there and then, but Morgana begged me not to. She told me that she could take care of herself, that she was alright. I shouldn’t have listened to her, but he was her husband. He could do what he like with her," he spat out. "I was worried every day until he died," he admitted. "So, of course she’s changed. She’s gone through too much to be the same person she was before."

"There were strange circumstances around his death, weren’t there?" Merlin asked without thinking and winced, wanting to smack himself on the head. He hated gossip as much as Arthur, and here he was, chattering away like a fishwife. But the alcohol and the company had loosened Arthur’s tongue also, and he replied, to Merlin’s eternal surprise.

"He wasn’t alone when he died," he told Merlin conspiratorially, glancing around to ensure there was no one else around. When he saw they were indeed on their own, he leaned forward and continued. "When they managed to put out the fire, they found another body beside him. Apparently, Muirden was entertaining a young man when the candle set the curtain alight. Only the clout of the combined Muirden, Le Fay and Pendragon names kept it from getting out and causing the scandal."

Merlin winced and put the brandy down. He was well aware of how crippling and destroying such a rumour could be to a family, thank you very much. He thought about it every day. He studied Arthur beneath his lashes, took in the sight of him sprawled out in a comfortable armchair, loose limbed and relaxed, and close enough to touch. But he never, ever could. Arthur also seemed lost in thought, and Merlin knew he was thinking along the same lines.

"How did your family get involved?" he asked eventually, trying to get the dejected look off his friend’s face.

"My father and Morgana’s had been friends for decades. They met in the army in their youth and remained close until General le Fay’s death at the beginning of the campaign in Spain. My father wanted to take Morgana as his ward when that happened. She was Gorlois’ only child, and he spoiled her rotten, which is why she wasn’t married despite the fact she was in her early twenties at the time. He encouraged her spirit and her fire, and my father admired that. Except when it was directed at him, of course," Arthur laughed slightly and Merlin smiled in return. "But after the funeral, her uncle appeared out of the woodwork and insisted on the duty of taking her as his ward, citing bloodlines. And, as usual, the family connection won out. He just wanted control of her fortune. After the period of mourning, she was just coming to be herself again. That was when you met her for the first time, remember? We were home from the war, and you were getting used to your new status as a man of wealth."

"I remember," Merlin said softly. "She was kind to me. I considered her a friend right from the start, on her insistence."

"Her uncle married her off to Muirden just before Waterloo. The Muidren’s were practically destitute. Lord knows what Edwin had on Morgana’s uncle to get him to agree to the match, but she was forced to marry him."

"I remember you getting her letter a few days after the battle."

It was one of the only clear memories Merlin had of that time. He spent so many days up to his elbows in bodies and limbs, and the haze of grief made his memory sketchy. The only things he remembered clearly were holding Will’s hand as he died in agony in one of the farmhouses they had taken over as a makeshift hospital, of Arthur pulling him away and making excuses for him to others as he cried into Will’s shoulder and refused to let go, how he stood guard as Merlin vomited up the meagre contents of his stomach at the back of the building, and the day that the post finally reached them and Arthur got Morgana’s letter. He raged and shouted in anger, but by the time the letter had reached them, the deed had been done and Morgana was a married woman.

"If I had been there, I would have prevented it," Arthur said, conviction in his voice. "I knew of his character, I knew he would not have treated her well."

"How Arthur?" Merlin asked. "You had no power over her. You couldn’t have stopped it."

"I would have married her myself if I thought it would help. Merlin, you don’t understand. I’ve known Morgana since she was born. I remember teacher her to fight when we were children, and how to ride properly, none of this side saddle nonsense. I’ve been there her whole life, and I wasn’t there when she needed me the most. I couldn’t stop it. She went from being doted upon and indulged to being the wife of a cruel man who abused his position of trust abominably. She was mortified and enraged after the fire was put out and they discovered the second body. The least I could do was help her keep it secret."

"I knew she has been through a lot, and I hadn’t realised just how bad it was for her. But surely you have noticed just how much she has changed since his death. She’s been jumping at shadows, looks like she barely sleeps at all. And several times I’ve come across her staring off into space, with her head tilted to the side as if she was listening to someone speak. You cannot tell me you haven’t noticed this."

"She’s been through a lot, but she’s strong. She’ll be fine."

"You sound as if you’re trying to convince yourself, Arthur."

"Shut up Merlin," Arthur snapped. "Like you said, you don’t know her as well as I do."

"I just don’t want you to end up unhappy," Merlin rose unsteadily to his feet. "Tell me you’ll think this through some more."

"Can’t you just respect my decision and try to be happy for me?" Arthur shouted, also rising to his feet so he was staring Merlin square in the eye.

"I’m never going to be happy to see you married!"Merlin shouted and they both froze, staring at each other. Merlin was the first to break eye contact, cheeks flaring with colour. "You know I’m not Arthur," he gulped. "But I do want you see you marry someone who will make you happy. Someone who you can imagine having children with."

"I think we’ll be able to tolerate each other," Arthur said quietly. "It’s not as if we have to spend all our time together. We can have our own lives. She’s already said she wants children but would prefer to spend her time in the country. If we had children..."

This time Arthur was the one to look away.

"If you’re sure," Merlin said.

"I’m getting there."

~*~

Arthur stayed away from Morgana for three full days after his proposal. He knew his suggestion had come out of nowhere, and was a complete shock for her. She deserved the time to think it over and decide what she wanted before giving her answer. Though he hadn’t given it much thought before he asked, Arthur found himself warming to the idea of marriage to her. They weren’t as close as they had been as children, when social and gender roles meant little and they could play Knights in the Castle to their hearts content, but Arthur still had affection for her. They grew apart as adults as Arthur was given more and more freedoms and responsibilities and Morgana found herself under more and more restrictions. Even with an indulgent and liberal father like Lord Gorlois, Morgana was still bound by the rules and strictures of society and Arthur had, more than once, felt that she resented him for his sex and his birth right. Marrying her, giving her as much freedom as he could, would be a way of helping her. And of assuaging his guilt, completely unfounded guilt, of course.

The next time he saw her was at Lady Millan’s annual ball. Merlin had been called out to tend to a man injured when his horse threw him, so Arthur had been forced to attend on his own. He refused to admit to anyone that he was intimidated by the pushy, forceful mothers and matrons that frequented such events, but he went anyway in the hopes of seeing Morgana. For the first two hours, he only caught bare glimpses of her as he or she dance with other partners, and he did his duty and danced with some daughters of the peerage, resisting the urge to go hide in the game rooms. Halfway through the night, he finally caught sight of her standing amidst a group of women too vapid for Morgana to consider them real friends.

She looked pained.

He approached her, aware of the gaggle falling silent on his approach.

"Morgana," he acknowledged. "I don’t suppose there’s any room left on that dance card of yours?"

"I may, possibly, have saved some dances in case you deigned to show up," she told him, showing him her card.

"I see that the next dance is free, and that it’s a waltz. Shall we?" He offered her his arm, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow after a moment. The pair walked out onto the dance floor as the previous dance ended, ignoring the flurry of whispers that erupted in their wake, and took their positions. The waltz was still considered new and somewhat racy in the eyes of the Ton, and he was conscious of even more whispers spreading through the room as he took her slight form in his arms. They were considered friends, but they never danced together. This was a cause for gossip, and both he and Morgana were well aware of it. That fact gave him hope. If she was dead set against him, she would have refused.

"So, have you thought some more on my offer?" he asked when the music started.

"No, what offer is that? I’ve been too busy worrying about my needlework to think about any drastically life-altering decisions," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "Of course I gave it some thought. I’ve don’t nothing but think about your proposal for the past three days."

Arthur smirked at her response.

"And?" he prodded,

Morgana bit her lip in an uncharacteristic display of nerves.

"I don’t know Arthur," she said. "It’s been years since we spent any significant amount of time together. Do we really want to bind ourselves to each other for the rest of our lives?"

"We wouldn’t have to spend every second of every day together Morgana," he reminded her. "We could lead separate lives. You could do what you wanted, retire to the country with the children, if the fancy struck, and never grace society again, if you so wished. I wouldn’t push you. Me giving you your freedom was part of the appeal, remember? And likewise, you wouldn’t pout and whine and try to force me to dance attendance on you twenty four hours a day. It works in both our favours."

"I know." She looked awfully tempted.

"Look, you don’t have to answer right now," he said, twirling her around in a needlessly showy manner. "I think I shall court you: give you proper time to decide."

"You’re going to court me?" she laughed. "Are you sure you’re up to the challenge?"

"I’m a veteran of the war against Napoleon. Very little scares me."

"Aside from the matchmaking mama’s," she teased, and Arthur didn’t even try to deny it.

"The point is, Morgana, I am quite capable of courting a woman without making an utter fool of myself," he said confidently.

"Alright," she agreed, coming to a halt as the music ended. "Let’s see what you’re made of. Court me, and we’ll take it from there.

~*~

So, Arthur took her at her word.

He danced with her twice more that night, causing even more tongues to wag at the number which society considered excessive, even though Morgana was no blushing debutant. The Ton seemed particularly interested in their going’s-on over the next few weeks, which irritated them both, but they knew it was bound to happen considering their respective status’.

Arthur took her for drives in his curricle through London and Hyde Park in particular, they dined together often, he paid as much attention to her at parties and balls as his pride, and his awareness of Merlin, would allow. He bought her gifts and called on her almost every day.

Towards the end of the Season, they were engaged in everything but name.

~*~

"Morgana le Fay?"

His father stared him down from across his desk as he repeated what Arthur had told him. Arthur had arrived at Camelot only a few short hours before, aware that his father would wish to know of the developments in Arthur’s affairs. His father sat behind his imposing desk as usual, and the faint air of disappointment never left eyes. It never did when it came to Arthur, no matter what he accomplished. Now, he was seated with his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, his fingers steepled in front his face as he stared Arthur down.

"Lady Morgana Muirden," Arthur corrected, strangely at ease for once. He was confident in his decision, and aware that no matter whom he had chosen, his father would have found fault. He was slowly coming to realise that his father would pick, not matter what he did. It was his nature. "And yes, we’ve come to an arrangement. We’ll make the announcement in a few weeks, and will marry by the end of the year."

"When I said you were to marry, I meant you were to marry a debutante of good name, not a widow with a faintly scandalous reputation. Lord Bayard’s daughter has been presented to society this year, I believe. It would be a good match and go far to heal the rift between our two families."

"Clara Bayard is a lovely girl father," Arthur agreed, "She’s very pretty and seems sweet. But she is also barely seventeen. She gets so nervous around me, she almost faints. My ego is not that big, and besides, it drives me crazy. Morgana is of good family and has copious personal wealth so I know she’s not a gold digger like some of the women this Season. And most of all, I can stand her. We fight often, but there is affection underneath it all. And, above all, we owe it to her father. We should have helped her when her Lord Gorlois died, but we didn’t. The result was an unhappy and awful marriage to an evil man. I’m doing this."

Arthur could see his father had been swayed by the mention of his old friend, and of his un-fulfilled promise to look after his daughter. Arthur held his breath as his father studied him carefully.

"Very well then," he said eventually. Arthur let out the rush of air in a whoosh and almost sagged in relief. "I give you my consent."

[ Part II]