Cellmate - Chapter 12
TITLE: Cellmate (12/14)
PAIRING: Merlin/Arthur
GENRE: Modern AU
RATING: NC-17
WORDS: This chap is 4800
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.
SUMMARY: Merlin Emrys is dead. No, really. He's just called the most powerful prisoner in jail a prat. A prat he happens to be cellmates with.
A/N Just to warn you now, this chapter gets soppy. Or soppy for this fic anyway.
Previous Chapters
***
Cellmate
Chapter 12 - The Lesser of Two Evils
“Does someone want to explain what’s going on?” Arthur asked, as he and Merlin followed Lancelot into the communal area, collapsing into some seats opposite Mordred.
The druid was sat alone once again, without the protection of his usual guards, jaw jumping and face thunderous. He barely glanced up when Arthur, Lancelot and Merlin arrived, eyes locked on small spindly table in front of him, as though trying to blow it up with sheer willpower alone.
“Morgana’s been arrested,” Lancelot repeated, shaking his head.
Mordred eye twitched, but he made no other movement, allowing Lancelot to continue.
“It seems Nimueh discovered that Morgana was making enquiries about her,” he explained, shrugging his shoulders. “So…Nimueh pulled some strings, got her arrested.”
Merlin groaned, bringing a hand up to his mouth. “How?!”
“No idea,” Lancelot said. “Nimueh thought Morgana was a threat, so decided to get rid of her. But that’s all we really know at the moment, nobody can get into contact with her.” He then gave his arms a rather lifeless wave, looking bemused. “And to be honest, she’s lucky she wasn’t killed instead.”
“Lucky?!” Mordred echoed, head snapping up. His cheeks were uncharacteristically flushed and his eyes were blazing, causing Merlin to recoil slightly in his seat. “She’s been arrested because of a favour I asked her for!”
“Does Nimueh know Morgana was working on Mordred’s orders?” Arthur asked, turning towards his best friend and ignoring the druid completely.
“Well, she’s got to suspect,” Lancelot admitted, sighing, “even if she doesn’t know for sure. But I don’t think she knows about our involvement.” He signalled to himself and Arthur, raising his shoulders in a rather sheepish shrug.
“So, how are we going to get the evidence now?” Merlin asked, glancing around at them all. Lancelot waved a bemused hand and looked away, expression defeated, while Arthur raised his eyebrows and shook his hand, looking irritated but not altogether surprised. Even Mordred appeared strangely distressed, still glaring at the table with a look of pure evil, not even dignifying Merlin’s words with a response. “Because the recordings aren’t enough to get Nimueh arrested.”
After a moment, Arthur sighed exasperatedly, waving his hands. “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Mordred’s going to have to ask someone else in his gang,” he said, nodding his head importantly.
Mordred raised his eyes from the table leg, fixing Arthur with one of the most deadly stares Merlin had ever seen. “What, so they can get arrested as well?!” he exclaimed, expression incredulous.
“Well, the less druids there are the better,” the blond grinned smugly, apparently unable to stop himself. “Win - win!”
Mordred surged forwards, only to be intercepted my Lancelot, who caught him round the waist and pushed him back down. “Arthur!” he hissed, glaring daggers at his friend. “Shut your trap. Not helping.”
The blond shrugged and looked away, evidently immune to the power of Mordred’s death glares.
“Er…can you ask another druid to gather evidence?” Lancelot asked Mordred sheepishly, after a rather painful pause. “Because we don’t have many other options here.”
“No.” Mordred voice was firm and glare unwavering, leaving little room for argument. “The risks aside, Morgana was the only one I trusted with this.”
“Then what the hell are we supposed to do?!” Merlin cried, trying to suppress his internal panic. If the druid’s couldn’t help, it meant they were well and truly on their own.
But Mordred didn’t appear too worried. In fact, he was beginning to look frighteningly gleeful, expression twisting from anger to sickening smugness in a matter of seconds. “I’m not the only one with gang connections,” he simpered innocently, an idea obviously forming in his mind. “Am I, Arthur?”
Arthur’s head snapped towards the druid, and although his face was stony, panic was flaring in his eyes. “You can’t honestly be suggesting I go to him?” he asked, sounding more icy that Merlin had ever heard him. His whole body had tensed and his fists were clenched, looking ready to pounce. “I haven’t been in contact for years.”
“You’re his son, whether you like it or not,” Mordred said, lips curling at the evidence of Arthur‘s distress. Merlin quickly realised he was referring to Uther, notorious gang leader and Arthur’s absent father. “If you ask him for help, he will give it to you.”
“I don’t want his help!” Arthur hissed, leaning forwards threateningly, as though the whole thing was Mordred’s fault.
“You may not want his help," Lancelot interrupted, before it could dissolve into another argument, “but we need it.” He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed comfortingly, his expression bright and earnest.
“No,” the blond snapped, sounding rather strained. He shook his head and looked around longingly, searching for some support. But when his gaze found his cellmate, Merlin glanced away, trying to ignore the way Arthur’s face crumpled out the corner of his eye.
“Arthur…” Lancelot began calmly, only to be cut off.
“No,” the blond cried, climbing shakily to his feet. He shook off Lancelot’s hand and backed away, staring at them incredulously. “No!”
Then, in a completely uncharacteristic move, Arthur turned on a heel and fled, practically flying to the other end of the communal area and up the stairs.
Merlin blinked bemusedly at the hasty retreat and looked towards Lancelot and Mordred, who both looked almost as surprised as he did.
Lancelot shook his head and sighed, managing to look worried, angry and upset all at once. Mordred on the other hand, looked positively delighted, a drastic difference to his mood at the beginning of the conversation. Arthur’s misery appeared to have cheered him up a treat.
“Well, that went well,” Lancelot commented mildly.
***
“Arthur?” Merlin called, announcing his presence as he opened their cell door. He walked in slowly, as though expecting an attack, allowing Arthur to pull himself together before he arrived.
But it appeared there was no need. Arthur was perched on the side of his bed, gazing at the opposite wall, in the way he always did when he was thinking.
Merlin shuffled closer and shut the door, lips pursed into an awkward frown. “Are - are you ok?”
Arthur gave a distant nod and shrugged. “Have they sent you to convince me?” he asked, sounding remote and uninterested.
“No,” Merlin said empathically, sitting down on the bed. He turned his head to look at his cellmate, unsure of what to say. He hated to see Arthur in conflict, hated to see him struggling. It was so uncharacteristic it made Merlin feel disconcerted, and if he was honest with himself, maybe a little bit scared. Arthur was supposed to be the strong one, unflappable and indestructible. Uther must have been a formidable force indeed, to reduce the blond to such a state.
“I wont do it,” Arthur repeated firmly, startling Merlin from his thoughts, as though trying reaffirm the notion in his mind.
Merlin lowered his gaze and swung his legs against the edge of the bed, working to keep his voice cool and casual. “Why not?”
“Because he killed my mother!” Arthur cried, voice strong with feeling.
“Directly?” Merlin asked, undeterred, although he already knew the answer. Gwen had informed him of how Arthur’s mother had died during his first couple of weeks at the prison, but he’d never heard the story from the blond directly. It was different hearing it from Arthur himself, almost an admission of the trust Merlin was subconsciously desperate to receive. “Did he take a gun a shoot her himself?”
Arthur inhaled sharply, and for one frightening moment, Merlin thought he had crossed an invisible line. But a second later, the blond replied, sounding cold but strangely resigned. “No.”
“Then he didn’t kill her,” Merlin stated firmly. He didn’t know why he was defending a gang leader he’d never even met, but as someone who’d never had a father, it saddened him to see Arthur’s and Uther’s relationship in such tatters. Even if the relationship seemed to be built upon lies, deceit and criminal activity.
“As good as,” the blond protested, more instinctively than anything else. He scrunched up his face and looked down at the floor, watching Merlin swing his legs backwards and forwards with a conflicted expression. He seemed to be struggling to say something more, a muscle jumping erratically in his jaw. “It…it was because of him, she was targeted….We were targeted. But I got away, and s-she didn’t.”
Merlin was unable to stop himself leaning forwards, captured by Arthur’s words. He'd been waiting for this explanation from Arthur for a long time, and now that it had come, Merlin couldn't quite believe he was hearing it.
“Because of all of his illegal dealings, the enemies he made, she was targeted,” the blond continued in an almost business-like manner, still staring at Merlin’s feet. “She died, all because he liked playing Gang Leader.”
Merlin allowed Arthur to gather himself for a second, before pressing forwards, asking a question he’d always been desperate to know the answer to. “And what about you?” he wondered, heart thumping. “Were you ever part of the gang?”
Arthur laughed, but his voice was strangely shrill. “No,” he replied.
Merlin let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, relief swooping down to the pit of his stomach. He'd been right all along! He’d always known that Arthur wasn’t a cold-hearted criminal everyone assumed him to be. He was dangerous, most certainly - strong, powerful and physically skilled - but he was no monster.
“I think everyone always thought I was part of my father’s gang,” Arthur admitted, oblivious to Merlin’s internal triumph. “That’s why everyone’s so afraid of me here. But I never was. My mother sheltered me from it until I was 16, 17...and then she died and I ended up in here. Wasn’t much time to follow in Uther’s footsteps.”
“Have you even spoken to him?”
Arthur sighed, shrugging almost carelessly. “No. I mean, he tried to see me when I first came here, but….” He dribbled off, leaving the sentence hanging.
“Then he still cares about you,” Merlin persisted, ready now to push his argument. Even if Arthur couldn’t get Uther to help with Nimueh, even speaking to his father, just to clear the air, would do the blond a world of good.
However, Arthur seemed to sense where Merlin’s words were leading, face clouding over. “I already told you,” he muttered, looking pained, “I can’t go to him.”
“That’s what you said when I asked you to work with Mordred,” Merlin pointed out, unwilling to give up despite Arthur's increasing anger. He’d known the man long enough to know that Arthur wouldn’t really hurt or maim him, no matter how much he pushed. “And you managed to work with him!”
“That’s different,” the blond insisted, sounding stubborn. He shook his head and dithered some more, struggling to explain himself. “Mordred’s an enemy, he’s supposed to try and destroy me. I can deal with that. But…Uther’s supposed to be my father, my mother’s husband. He was supposed to protect us.” Arthur shrugged and looked away. “And he didn’t.”
Merlin closed his eyes and let out a breath, not wanting to push further when the blond was in such obvious distress, but knowing he had to. “Arthur…” he tried, attempting to form some sort of convincing argument. “If you don’t speak to Uther, Nimueh might destroy us all. She’ll win.”
Arthur shrugged but said nothing, frowning at the opposite wall.
Merlin pressed further. “Deep down you must know that Mordred was telling the truth when he said he wasn‘t behind your mother's death. It was Nimueh.” Merlin knew he was basing his whole argument purely on Mordred’s supposed innocence and his own rather vague theories, but he had very little else to work with. He would just have to hope his intuition was correct. “We finally have a chance to get her arrested. You can’t let your mother’s killer get away with it.”
Arthur looked pained now, fists clenched and face twisted.
Merlin bit his own lip as he watched Arthur’s expression crumble, but didn’t stop, knowing that the blond was close to defeat. “If you let Nimueh get away now, it’ll all be for nothing. You have to go to him!”
Arthur let out a choked gasp and buried his face in his hands, muttering a very strained, but very final, “I know.”
***
“So, how is he?” Lancelot asked, as soon as Merlin stumbled into the communal area a few minutes later, white as a sheet and expression drawn.
“Honestly,” Merlin muttered, collapsing into a seat, “not good. I’ve never seen him like this before.”
Lancelot smiled bitterly. “Uther tends to have that effect on people.”
“I didn’t know what to do,” Merlin moaned, running a hand through his hair and down his face. “He was so upset - or as upset as Arthur can get, anyway - and I kept pushing him to help!”
“Someone needs to push him,” Lancelot said softly, looking sympathetic, “or things with Uther would never get better.”
Merlin sighed. “I know. I just…I didn’t know how to comfort him.”
Lancelot stared at him for a moment, expression soft but eyes searching. “You care about Arthur a lot, don’t you?”
Merlin let out a strained laugh and looked away, avoiding Lancelot’s eyes. “That obvious, huh?” he muttered, feeling his cheeks flame slightly in embarrassment. He hadn’t realised he’d be so unsubtle, but then again, it was hardly a surprise. Tact had never been his strong-suit.
“Sort of,” Lancelot smiled, eyes warm. “But it’s the way you look at him more than anything else.”
“The way I look at him?!” Merlin squawked, slightly panicked.
Lancelot grinned. “Yes,” he confirmed, nodding his head. “All…dazed, admiring and love-sick. Not to mention lustful.”
Merlin spluttered, attempting to form a coherent argument, but unable to think of anything but, “I do not!”
“Yes, you do,” Lancelot insisted, amusement evident on his features. His voice was soft and playful, twinkling with suppressed laughter. “But as soon as he speaks, the love-sick expression vanishes and you look like you want to punch him.”
Merlin was suddenly unable to stop himself from chuckling aloud, feeling considerably more light-hearted. “That’s because he’s irritating when he speaks. And often insulting,” he felt the need to point out, only partly joking.
Lancelot paused a moment before replying, taking in a deep breath. “He does care about you too, you know?” he said, laughter dissolving into an expression of earnest honesty.
Merlin’s own smile slipped and his looked at the ground, unsure of what to say. “Really?”
“Really,” Lancelot said firmly. “More than he’s cared about anyone in a long time. He may not say anything because it’s not really in his nature, but I’ve seen the way he is around you. He lets you say what you want to him, he trusts you with private information and he defends you against people like Mordred. And I don’t think you quite understand how rare that is for him.”
Merlin looked up in surprise, brow furrowing, feeling his heart pound pointedly at Lancelot’s words. “Yeah…maybe…” he muttered, feeling confused and dizzied by the new information. “But…Owain….”
“I know he’s made some mistakes and I’m not condoning them, but I think he’s just confused,” Lancelot replied, weighing his words out slowly. “He likes you, trusts you, cares about you, and he doesn’t really know what to make of it.”
Merlin sighed and looked at the ground, purposely ignoring the butterflies that had taken flight in his stomach. “Look, I appreciate you telling me this, Lancelot,” he said, sounding far calmer than he felt. “But it’s something I need to hear from Arthur.”
Lancelot nodded, but his expression was grim. “I understand,” he muttered, “but I think you’ll be waiting in vain. I doubt it’s something Arthur will ever say.” Merlin knew that Lancelot spoke the truth, but it didn’t stop his heart dropping in disappointment, hands curling into shaking fists. “That’s just not who he is. He’s more a man of action.”
Merlin allowed Lancelot words to sink in and said nothing, his mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions. He knew that Arthur did care about him to some extent, he had witnessed it on a few occasions, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to hear it confirmed. To hear that there wouldn’t be another Owain, and that he was Merlin's alone…all the romantic crap that he suspected Arthur had never even thought about, let alone confess.
Because sometimes kisses just weren’t enough.
***
Dragging his feet back to the cell one very confusing hour later, Merlin attempted to pull himself together, for Arthur’s sake more than anything. If the blond agreed to see Uther, he would need his help and support, something that Merlin was more than willing to provide. He felt that Arthur deserved that much at least.
“You OK?” Merlin asked upon his return, slipping through the door. He stood in the middle of the room and watched Arthur stare at the ceiling some more, feeling strangely anxious and conflicted. He blamed Lancelot for leaving him even more confused than he was before.
“I suppose,” came the bland reply, devoid of any emotion. “I arranged the visit with Uther. It’s tomorrow.”
Merlin’s eyes widened and he was unable to hold back a smile, relieved and thankful that the plan was back on track. “Wow, so soon?” he asked, trying to keep the excitement in his voice to a minimum. But going from the glare Arthur shot him, he hadn’t succeeded. “That’s…that’s good.”
“I suppose,” the blond said again, in the same expressionless tone.
“Did you speak to him yourself? To Uther?” Merlin asked, hating to see Arthur so indifferent. It made him so difficult to read, not to mention even more maddening to understand.
“Yes,” the blond replied curtly, but he sounded more strained now.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Arthur paused before continuing, jaw snapping together loudly. “I just asked him to come and see me. He agreed.” Apparently unable to hold back his frustration, Arthur then let out a straggled cry and threw his hands over his face, his impassive expression abandoning him. “God! Even hearing his voice made me want to punch something.”
Merlin frowned. “That doesn’t bode well,” he muttered, suddenly wondering how Arthur would be able to handle the visit. They needed Uther’s help, and Arthur punching him in the face was hardly a good way to get it. “Are you sure you’re going to be OK for tomorrow?”
“No,” Arthur replied instantly….Well, at least he was honest.
“Great,” Merlin muttered, for a lack of anything better to say.
Arthur turned to look at him, his golden head tipped sideways on his pillow. He watched Merlin with the same calculating gaze he’d used when they first met, both wary and confused, as though trying to search for something. “I thought that maybe…” he took in a deep breath, looking determined “…that maybe, you’d come with me.”
Merlin blinked, recoiling slightly. “To the visit?!”
“Yes,” the blond nodded, looking completely serious. “To stop me from doing something stupid.”
“Um…I don’t know, Arthur,” Merlin struggled, panic curling in his stomach. Meeting a gang leader was scary enough, but from what everyone had told him of Uther, the man was particularly terrifying. And Merlin really didn’t fancy getting on the wrong side of him. “Me and gang leaders, not a good mix.”
Arthur looked down before his gaze flittered back up, looking hesitant and strangely uncertain. The look was so reminiscent of the time Arthur had kissed him, determined and unsure, Merlin felt his breath catch.
“Please, Merlin,” the blond said quietly, voice strong but pleading. “I…can’t go alone.”
“Right,” Merlin choked, unable to look away from the brightness of Arthur’s unwavering gaze. He found himself bobbing his head, mesmerised by his cellmate's vivid blue eyes. “Of course. Of course I’ll go with you.”
Arthur smiled, so relieved and genuine, Merlin resisted the urge to pounce on him. He just couldn’t help it; just knowing that he’d made Arthur happy did awfully strange things to him, irrational and completely beyond his control.
“Thanks,” the blond replied, lowering his gaze and looking almost shy. Almost, but not quite. “That means a lot. More than you know.”
Merlin smiled in reply, unable to stop himself. “I’m glad that you trust me with this,” he admitted, biting his lip and fixing Arthur with what he feared was one of his love-sick expressions.
But the blond looked back up and him and nodded, his own expression unusually soft. “I do, Merlin. I do.”
***
“So…” Merlin said the next day, looking about the room and pretending to be casual. They were sat in the visiting area, side by side, awaiting Uther’s arrival, both nervous and on edge. After watching Arthur stare into the distance for several minutes, Merlin was becoming desperate to break the tension and eagerly attempted conversation, voice fake and thick with falsetto. “What’s your father like?”
Arthur blinked at the wall, face wooden and fists curled. “You know, the usual. Controlling. Manipulative….Evil.”
Merlin swivelled in his seat to look at his cellmate, unable to hide his alarm. “Evil?” he repeated, voice several octaves higher than usual. “You don’t mean that?” He paused, suddenly doubtful. “Do you?”
Arthur took a minute before replying, leaving Merlin to stew in his mounting panic. “No,” he finally admitted, sounding reluctant, “I guess not. But he’s certainly controlling and manipulative.”
“Oh,” Merlin squawked sarcastically, “just controlling and manipulative! Well, that’s alright then. I don’t know what I was even worried about!”
The blond glanced at him for the first time since they had sat down, obviously hearing the alarm in Merlin’s voice. “Look,” he said calmly, “I’ll be the first to admit my father is a…formiddable man, but you don’t need to worry. I’m going to be the one speaking to him.”
Merlin sighed and nodded, suddenly feeling foolish and a little bit guilty. He’d agreed to go with Arthur on the pretence of offering moral support, and he was panicking far more than the blond was. It was embarrassing.
However, before he could say anything in his own defence, the room’s doors clanked open with a painful screech, alerting everyone to the visitors arrival. They began to file in slowly, eyes skimming over the prisoners until they located their loved ones, all looking eager and anxious.
Arthur however, immediately straightened in his seat, looking inches away from bolting, eyes wide and breathing ragged. He stared up at the visitors with a frightened gaze, lowered his eyes and glanced back up, unsure of where to look. Merlin could feel Arthur’s hands clawing at his own thighs beside him, knuckles white with the pressure and arm muscles clenched anxiously.
Suddenly forgetting his own worries and remembering why he came, Merlin reached out and grasped at Arthur’s clawed hands, forcefully lacing their fingers together into a clutching embrace. He felt a blond take a breath and give his hand a thankful squeeze, although his eyes never wavered from the crowd of visitors, nervously awaiting his father.
But it was only when a man emerged through the throng of people completely untouched and unflustered, with a strange dignity and grace, straight-backed and proud, did Merlin realise that Uther had arrived.
It was easy to recognise who he was. He held himself with pride and purpose, his strides long and powerful, eyes shrewd and calculating, causing Merlin to withdraw slightly on instinct. He even wore the same unreadable expression Arthur often adorned, although his face was not bright and beautiful like his son’s, but lined and aged, portraying both the power and wisdom of his position and profession.
If Merlin wasn’t afraid before, he definitely was now.
“Father,” Arthur choked, by way of introduction. His hand was sweating profusely in Merlin’s palm, nails digging into his skin and clinging to their entwined fingers like a lifeline.
Uther looked down at his son as he stopped on the other side of the table, eyes skittering from the top of Arthur’s head all the way down to his toes. “Arthur,” he replied, nodding his head and taking his seat, paying Merlin absolutely no heed. “How are you?”
The blond tensed even further, his expression almost a grimace. “I’m fine,” he said curtly, meeting his father’s gaze. “But I didn’t call you here to make small talk.”
Uther didn’t appear particularly surprised to hear this, his lips curving into a somewhat bitter smile. “No, I’d imagine not.” He placed his hands on the table in front of him and laced them together, leaning back on his seat and seeming completely at ease. “Then tell me Arthur, why did you call me here? After three years of silence?”
Arthur hesitated and glanced back a Merlin, who gave him a small nod of encouragement. “For your help,” he admitted.
Uther’s all-seeing stare turned straight to Merlin, apparently noticing his small gesture of support. “And he is?” the gang leader asked, addressing his son despite looking right at Merlin, his tone suddenly sharp and unforgiving.
Merlin blinked back at him, brow furrowing in annoyance, although he was resisting the urge to cower.
“He’s my…friend,” Arthur replied, searching for an appropriate word. He sounded snappy and defensive, his hand giving Merlin’s another reassuring squeeze. “He’s the one that convinced me to even try to talk to you. Moral support.”
Merlin couldn’t help but smile triumphantly, his heart swelling with pride. Or at least until Uther looked back at him, expression deadly and faintly disgusted.
“I see,” the gang leader said, choosing not to dignify Merlin’s presence with anything more substantial. “And the help you require?”
“I…or we, have a problem,” Arthur explained, drawing himself up and getting down to business, gesturing to himself and Merlin. “Someone's plotting against me. Me and people that I care about have been targeted, and it’s getting worse. Lancelot ended up in hospital with a severe blow to the head.”
“Lancelot Du Lac?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who the person behind it is?” Uther asked, sounding neither worried or concerned, but brisk and business-like, as though he was merely discussing the weather.
“Yes,” Arthur replied, his voice adopting the same tone as his father’s. “We believe Nimueh is behind it, instigating from the outside.
“Nimueh…” Uther repeated, for the first time since his arrival, showing a true flicker of emotion. His eyebrows had furrowed and his lips were pursed, forehead crinkling worriedly. “It can’t be,” he said, more to himself than Arthur. “She wouldn’t dare.”
“It is her,” Arthur stated firmly, making no move to elaborate on how he knew so, for which Merlin was grateful. He doubted Uther would take his word for it, especially regarding Tristans’s overheard phone conversation.
“Nimueh and I negotiated a truce years ago,” Uther informed them, sounding defiant, as though challenging Arthur to contradict him. “Attacking my own son might as well be an act of war.”
The blond glowered, his teeth grinding together in an attempt to contain himself, chest rising rapidly. Merlin could even feel the muscles in Arthur’s hands clenching, twitching, as though begging to wrap themselves around Uther’s neck. “So, you take Nimueh’s word over mine?” he snapped, meeting Uther’s stare head on. “The word of your own son.”
The gang leader’s eyes narrowed. “That is not what I said.”
“But that is what it sounds like,” Arthur replied instantly, his gaze never wavering from his father’s face. They stared at each other for several long pained moments, neither willing to look away, engaged in a silent battle of wills which Merlin couldn’t begin to understand.
But finally, after an extensive strained silence, Uther sighed and looked away, his face softening ever so slightly. “I believe you,” he said, as though he was admitting defeat.
“Then help us,” Arthur cried, his grip on Merlin’s hand loosening significantly, although he did not let go. “We already have recordings to incriminate Nimueh. But we need more evidence.”
“And you want me to find it,” Uther guessed, eyebrows raised.
“Yes.”
“If Nimueh discovers I've begun to work against her, our truce will be void. It could mean war between the gangs,” Uther murmured, watching Arthur very closely over the tips of his fingers. He waited for a few moments, turning things over in his mind. “You know, I wouldn’t do this for anyone but you.”
The blond inhaled loudly, face contorting before he managed to pull himself together, looking both flustered and conflicted. “Well, thanks…I guess.” He paused, shaking his head. “But this doesn’t change anything between us.”
“No,” Uther agreed, giving his head a quick incline. “But it’s a start.”
***
To be continued…
Chapter 13
***
A/N This chap was supposed to be focused on Arthur and Merlin’s growing relationship. Although nothing physical happens this chap. That’ll be next ;) And I know that Merlin convincing Arthur to go to Uther is similar to the Mordred fiasco, but this time Arthur was actually willing to ask Merlin for help :)
But only two chapters to go! *WAILS* What am I going to do with my life when it’s over? XD
And of course, I'll be updating the Cellmate Masterlist about info when I'm likely to update
Comments are hugs! They kick me into gear and get me updating faster! XD
PAIRING: Merlin/Arthur
GENRE: Modern AU
RATING: NC-17
WORDS: This chap is 4800
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.
SUMMARY: Merlin Emrys is dead. No, really. He's just called the most powerful prisoner in jail a prat. A prat he happens to be cellmates with.
A/N Just to warn you now, this chapter gets soppy. Or soppy for this fic anyway.
Previous Chapters
***
Cellmate
Chapter 12 - The Lesser of Two Evils
“Does someone want to explain what’s going on?” Arthur asked, as he and Merlin followed Lancelot into the communal area, collapsing into some seats opposite Mordred.
The druid was sat alone once again, without the protection of his usual guards, jaw jumping and face thunderous. He barely glanced up when Arthur, Lancelot and Merlin arrived, eyes locked on small spindly table in front of him, as though trying to blow it up with sheer willpower alone.
“Morgana’s been arrested,” Lancelot repeated, shaking his head.
Mordred eye twitched, but he made no other movement, allowing Lancelot to continue.
“It seems Nimueh discovered that Morgana was making enquiries about her,” he explained, shrugging his shoulders. “So…Nimueh pulled some strings, got her arrested.”
Merlin groaned, bringing a hand up to his mouth. “How?!”
“No idea,” Lancelot said. “Nimueh thought Morgana was a threat, so decided to get rid of her. But that’s all we really know at the moment, nobody can get into contact with her.” He then gave his arms a rather lifeless wave, looking bemused. “And to be honest, she’s lucky she wasn’t killed instead.”
“Lucky?!” Mordred echoed, head snapping up. His cheeks were uncharacteristically flushed and his eyes were blazing, causing Merlin to recoil slightly in his seat. “She’s been arrested because of a favour I asked her for!”
“Does Nimueh know Morgana was working on Mordred’s orders?” Arthur asked, turning towards his best friend and ignoring the druid completely.
“Well, she’s got to suspect,” Lancelot admitted, sighing, “even if she doesn’t know for sure. But I don’t think she knows about our involvement.” He signalled to himself and Arthur, raising his shoulders in a rather sheepish shrug.
“So, how are we going to get the evidence now?” Merlin asked, glancing around at them all. Lancelot waved a bemused hand and looked away, expression defeated, while Arthur raised his eyebrows and shook his hand, looking irritated but not altogether surprised. Even Mordred appeared strangely distressed, still glaring at the table with a look of pure evil, not even dignifying Merlin’s words with a response. “Because the recordings aren’t enough to get Nimueh arrested.”
After a moment, Arthur sighed exasperatedly, waving his hands. “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Mordred’s going to have to ask someone else in his gang,” he said, nodding his head importantly.
Mordred raised his eyes from the table leg, fixing Arthur with one of the most deadly stares Merlin had ever seen. “What, so they can get arrested as well?!” he exclaimed, expression incredulous.
“Well, the less druids there are the better,” the blond grinned smugly, apparently unable to stop himself. “Win - win!”
Mordred surged forwards, only to be intercepted my Lancelot, who caught him round the waist and pushed him back down. “Arthur!” he hissed, glaring daggers at his friend. “Shut your trap. Not helping.”
The blond shrugged and looked away, evidently immune to the power of Mordred’s death glares.
“Er…can you ask another druid to gather evidence?” Lancelot asked Mordred sheepishly, after a rather painful pause. “Because we don’t have many other options here.”
“No.” Mordred voice was firm and glare unwavering, leaving little room for argument. “The risks aside, Morgana was the only one I trusted with this.”
“Then what the hell are we supposed to do?!” Merlin cried, trying to suppress his internal panic. If the druid’s couldn’t help, it meant they were well and truly on their own.
But Mordred didn’t appear too worried. In fact, he was beginning to look frighteningly gleeful, expression twisting from anger to sickening smugness in a matter of seconds. “I’m not the only one with gang connections,” he simpered innocently, an idea obviously forming in his mind. “Am I, Arthur?”
Arthur’s head snapped towards the druid, and although his face was stony, panic was flaring in his eyes. “You can’t honestly be suggesting I go to him?” he asked, sounding more icy that Merlin had ever heard him. His whole body had tensed and his fists were clenched, looking ready to pounce. “I haven’t been in contact for years.”
“You’re his son, whether you like it or not,” Mordred said, lips curling at the evidence of Arthur‘s distress. Merlin quickly realised he was referring to Uther, notorious gang leader and Arthur’s absent father. “If you ask him for help, he will give it to you.”
“I don’t want his help!” Arthur hissed, leaning forwards threateningly, as though the whole thing was Mordred’s fault.
“You may not want his help," Lancelot interrupted, before it could dissolve into another argument, “but we need it.” He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed comfortingly, his expression bright and earnest.
“No,” the blond snapped, sounding rather strained. He shook his head and looked around longingly, searching for some support. But when his gaze found his cellmate, Merlin glanced away, trying to ignore the way Arthur’s face crumpled out the corner of his eye.
“Arthur…” Lancelot began calmly, only to be cut off.
“No,” the blond cried, climbing shakily to his feet. He shook off Lancelot’s hand and backed away, staring at them incredulously. “No!”
Then, in a completely uncharacteristic move, Arthur turned on a heel and fled, practically flying to the other end of the communal area and up the stairs.
Merlin blinked bemusedly at the hasty retreat and looked towards Lancelot and Mordred, who both looked almost as surprised as he did.
Lancelot shook his head and sighed, managing to look worried, angry and upset all at once. Mordred on the other hand, looked positively delighted, a drastic difference to his mood at the beginning of the conversation. Arthur’s misery appeared to have cheered him up a treat.
“Well, that went well,” Lancelot commented mildly.
***
“Arthur?” Merlin called, announcing his presence as he opened their cell door. He walked in slowly, as though expecting an attack, allowing Arthur to pull himself together before he arrived.
But it appeared there was no need. Arthur was perched on the side of his bed, gazing at the opposite wall, in the way he always did when he was thinking.
Merlin shuffled closer and shut the door, lips pursed into an awkward frown. “Are - are you ok?”
Arthur gave a distant nod and shrugged. “Have they sent you to convince me?” he asked, sounding remote and uninterested.
“No,” Merlin said empathically, sitting down on the bed. He turned his head to look at his cellmate, unsure of what to say. He hated to see Arthur in conflict, hated to see him struggling. It was so uncharacteristic it made Merlin feel disconcerted, and if he was honest with himself, maybe a little bit scared. Arthur was supposed to be the strong one, unflappable and indestructible. Uther must have been a formidable force indeed, to reduce the blond to such a state.
“I wont do it,” Arthur repeated firmly, startling Merlin from his thoughts, as though trying reaffirm the notion in his mind.
Merlin lowered his gaze and swung his legs against the edge of the bed, working to keep his voice cool and casual. “Why not?”
“Because he killed my mother!” Arthur cried, voice strong with feeling.
“Directly?” Merlin asked, undeterred, although he already knew the answer. Gwen had informed him of how Arthur’s mother had died during his first couple of weeks at the prison, but he’d never heard the story from the blond directly. It was different hearing it from Arthur himself, almost an admission of the trust Merlin was subconsciously desperate to receive. “Did he take a gun a shoot her himself?”
Arthur inhaled sharply, and for one frightening moment, Merlin thought he had crossed an invisible line. But a second later, the blond replied, sounding cold but strangely resigned. “No.”
“Then he didn’t kill her,” Merlin stated firmly. He didn’t know why he was defending a gang leader he’d never even met, but as someone who’d never had a father, it saddened him to see Arthur’s and Uther’s relationship in such tatters. Even if the relationship seemed to be built upon lies, deceit and criminal activity.
“As good as,” the blond protested, more instinctively than anything else. He scrunched up his face and looked down at the floor, watching Merlin swing his legs backwards and forwards with a conflicted expression. He seemed to be struggling to say something more, a muscle jumping erratically in his jaw. “It…it was because of him, she was targeted….We were targeted. But I got away, and s-she didn’t.”
Merlin was unable to stop himself leaning forwards, captured by Arthur’s words. He'd been waiting for this explanation from Arthur for a long time, and now that it had come, Merlin couldn't quite believe he was hearing it.
“Because of all of his illegal dealings, the enemies he made, she was targeted,” the blond continued in an almost business-like manner, still staring at Merlin’s feet. “She died, all because he liked playing Gang Leader.”
Merlin allowed Arthur to gather himself for a second, before pressing forwards, asking a question he’d always been desperate to know the answer to. “And what about you?” he wondered, heart thumping. “Were you ever part of the gang?”
Arthur laughed, but his voice was strangely shrill. “No,” he replied.
Merlin let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, relief swooping down to the pit of his stomach. He'd been right all along! He’d always known that Arthur wasn’t a cold-hearted criminal everyone assumed him to be. He was dangerous, most certainly - strong, powerful and physically skilled - but he was no monster.
“I think everyone always thought I was part of my father’s gang,” Arthur admitted, oblivious to Merlin’s internal triumph. “That’s why everyone’s so afraid of me here. But I never was. My mother sheltered me from it until I was 16, 17...and then she died and I ended up in here. Wasn’t much time to follow in Uther’s footsteps.”
“Have you even spoken to him?”
Arthur sighed, shrugging almost carelessly. “No. I mean, he tried to see me when I first came here, but….” He dribbled off, leaving the sentence hanging.
“Then he still cares about you,” Merlin persisted, ready now to push his argument. Even if Arthur couldn’t get Uther to help with Nimueh, even speaking to his father, just to clear the air, would do the blond a world of good.
However, Arthur seemed to sense where Merlin’s words were leading, face clouding over. “I already told you,” he muttered, looking pained, “I can’t go to him.”
“That’s what you said when I asked you to work with Mordred,” Merlin pointed out, unwilling to give up despite Arthur's increasing anger. He’d known the man long enough to know that Arthur wouldn’t really hurt or maim him, no matter how much he pushed. “And you managed to work with him!”
“That’s different,” the blond insisted, sounding stubborn. He shook his head and dithered some more, struggling to explain himself. “Mordred’s an enemy, he’s supposed to try and destroy me. I can deal with that. But…Uther’s supposed to be my father, my mother’s husband. He was supposed to protect us.” Arthur shrugged and looked away. “And he didn’t.”
Merlin closed his eyes and let out a breath, not wanting to push further when the blond was in such obvious distress, but knowing he had to. “Arthur…” he tried, attempting to form some sort of convincing argument. “If you don’t speak to Uther, Nimueh might destroy us all. She’ll win.”
Arthur shrugged but said nothing, frowning at the opposite wall.
Merlin pressed further. “Deep down you must know that Mordred was telling the truth when he said he wasn‘t behind your mother's death. It was Nimueh.” Merlin knew he was basing his whole argument purely on Mordred’s supposed innocence and his own rather vague theories, but he had very little else to work with. He would just have to hope his intuition was correct. “We finally have a chance to get her arrested. You can’t let your mother’s killer get away with it.”
Arthur looked pained now, fists clenched and face twisted.
Merlin bit his own lip as he watched Arthur’s expression crumble, but didn’t stop, knowing that the blond was close to defeat. “If you let Nimueh get away now, it’ll all be for nothing. You have to go to him!”
Arthur let out a choked gasp and buried his face in his hands, muttering a very strained, but very final, “I know.”
***
“So, how is he?” Lancelot asked, as soon as Merlin stumbled into the communal area a few minutes later, white as a sheet and expression drawn.
“Honestly,” Merlin muttered, collapsing into a seat, “not good. I’ve never seen him like this before.”
Lancelot smiled bitterly. “Uther tends to have that effect on people.”
“I didn’t know what to do,” Merlin moaned, running a hand through his hair and down his face. “He was so upset - or as upset as Arthur can get, anyway - and I kept pushing him to help!”
“Someone needs to push him,” Lancelot said softly, looking sympathetic, “or things with Uther would never get better.”
Merlin sighed. “I know. I just…I didn’t know how to comfort him.”
Lancelot stared at him for a moment, expression soft but eyes searching. “You care about Arthur a lot, don’t you?”
Merlin let out a strained laugh and looked away, avoiding Lancelot’s eyes. “That obvious, huh?” he muttered, feeling his cheeks flame slightly in embarrassment. He hadn’t realised he’d be so unsubtle, but then again, it was hardly a surprise. Tact had never been his strong-suit.
“Sort of,” Lancelot smiled, eyes warm. “But it’s the way you look at him more than anything else.”
“The way I look at him?!” Merlin squawked, slightly panicked.
Lancelot grinned. “Yes,” he confirmed, nodding his head. “All…dazed, admiring and love-sick. Not to mention lustful.”
Merlin spluttered, attempting to form a coherent argument, but unable to think of anything but, “I do not!”
“Yes, you do,” Lancelot insisted, amusement evident on his features. His voice was soft and playful, twinkling with suppressed laughter. “But as soon as he speaks, the love-sick expression vanishes and you look like you want to punch him.”
Merlin was suddenly unable to stop himself from chuckling aloud, feeling considerably more light-hearted. “That’s because he’s irritating when he speaks. And often insulting,” he felt the need to point out, only partly joking.
Lancelot paused a moment before replying, taking in a deep breath. “He does care about you too, you know?” he said, laughter dissolving into an expression of earnest honesty.
Merlin’s own smile slipped and his looked at the ground, unsure of what to say. “Really?”
“Really,” Lancelot said firmly. “More than he’s cared about anyone in a long time. He may not say anything because it’s not really in his nature, but I’ve seen the way he is around you. He lets you say what you want to him, he trusts you with private information and he defends you against people like Mordred. And I don’t think you quite understand how rare that is for him.”
Merlin looked up in surprise, brow furrowing, feeling his heart pound pointedly at Lancelot’s words. “Yeah…maybe…” he muttered, feeling confused and dizzied by the new information. “But…Owain….”
“I know he’s made some mistakes and I’m not condoning them, but I think he’s just confused,” Lancelot replied, weighing his words out slowly. “He likes you, trusts you, cares about you, and he doesn’t really know what to make of it.”
Merlin sighed and looked at the ground, purposely ignoring the butterflies that had taken flight in his stomach. “Look, I appreciate you telling me this, Lancelot,” he said, sounding far calmer than he felt. “But it’s something I need to hear from Arthur.”
Lancelot nodded, but his expression was grim. “I understand,” he muttered, “but I think you’ll be waiting in vain. I doubt it’s something Arthur will ever say.” Merlin knew that Lancelot spoke the truth, but it didn’t stop his heart dropping in disappointment, hands curling into shaking fists. “That’s just not who he is. He’s more a man of action.”
Merlin allowed Lancelot words to sink in and said nothing, his mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions. He knew that Arthur did care about him to some extent, he had witnessed it on a few occasions, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to hear it confirmed. To hear that there wouldn’t be another Owain, and that he was Merlin's alone…all the romantic crap that he suspected Arthur had never even thought about, let alone confess.
Because sometimes kisses just weren’t enough.
***
Dragging his feet back to the cell one very confusing hour later, Merlin attempted to pull himself together, for Arthur’s sake more than anything. If the blond agreed to see Uther, he would need his help and support, something that Merlin was more than willing to provide. He felt that Arthur deserved that much at least.
“You OK?” Merlin asked upon his return, slipping through the door. He stood in the middle of the room and watched Arthur stare at the ceiling some more, feeling strangely anxious and conflicted. He blamed Lancelot for leaving him even more confused than he was before.
“I suppose,” came the bland reply, devoid of any emotion. “I arranged the visit with Uther. It’s tomorrow.”
Merlin’s eyes widened and he was unable to hold back a smile, relieved and thankful that the plan was back on track. “Wow, so soon?” he asked, trying to keep the excitement in his voice to a minimum. But going from the glare Arthur shot him, he hadn’t succeeded. “That’s…that’s good.”
“I suppose,” the blond said again, in the same expressionless tone.
“Did you speak to him yourself? To Uther?” Merlin asked, hating to see Arthur so indifferent. It made him so difficult to read, not to mention even more maddening to understand.
“Yes,” the blond replied curtly, but he sounded more strained now.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Arthur paused before continuing, jaw snapping together loudly. “I just asked him to come and see me. He agreed.” Apparently unable to hold back his frustration, Arthur then let out a straggled cry and threw his hands over his face, his impassive expression abandoning him. “God! Even hearing his voice made me want to punch something.”
Merlin frowned. “That doesn’t bode well,” he muttered, suddenly wondering how Arthur would be able to handle the visit. They needed Uther’s help, and Arthur punching him in the face was hardly a good way to get it. “Are you sure you’re going to be OK for tomorrow?”
“No,” Arthur replied instantly….Well, at least he was honest.
“Great,” Merlin muttered, for a lack of anything better to say.
Arthur turned to look at him, his golden head tipped sideways on his pillow. He watched Merlin with the same calculating gaze he’d used when they first met, both wary and confused, as though trying to search for something. “I thought that maybe…” he took in a deep breath, looking determined “…that maybe, you’d come with me.”
Merlin blinked, recoiling slightly. “To the visit?!”
“Yes,” the blond nodded, looking completely serious. “To stop me from doing something stupid.”
“Um…I don’t know, Arthur,” Merlin struggled, panic curling in his stomach. Meeting a gang leader was scary enough, but from what everyone had told him of Uther, the man was particularly terrifying. And Merlin really didn’t fancy getting on the wrong side of him. “Me and gang leaders, not a good mix.”
Arthur looked down before his gaze flittered back up, looking hesitant and strangely uncertain. The look was so reminiscent of the time Arthur had kissed him, determined and unsure, Merlin felt his breath catch.
“Please, Merlin,” the blond said quietly, voice strong but pleading. “I…can’t go alone.”
“Right,” Merlin choked, unable to look away from the brightness of Arthur’s unwavering gaze. He found himself bobbing his head, mesmerised by his cellmate's vivid blue eyes. “Of course. Of course I’ll go with you.”
Arthur smiled, so relieved and genuine, Merlin resisted the urge to pounce on him. He just couldn’t help it; just knowing that he’d made Arthur happy did awfully strange things to him, irrational and completely beyond his control.
“Thanks,” the blond replied, lowering his gaze and looking almost shy. Almost, but not quite. “That means a lot. More than you know.”
Merlin smiled in reply, unable to stop himself. “I’m glad that you trust me with this,” he admitted, biting his lip and fixing Arthur with what he feared was one of his love-sick expressions.
But the blond looked back up and him and nodded, his own expression unusually soft. “I do, Merlin. I do.”
***
“So…” Merlin said the next day, looking about the room and pretending to be casual. They were sat in the visiting area, side by side, awaiting Uther’s arrival, both nervous and on edge. After watching Arthur stare into the distance for several minutes, Merlin was becoming desperate to break the tension and eagerly attempted conversation, voice fake and thick with falsetto. “What’s your father like?”
Arthur blinked at the wall, face wooden and fists curled. “You know, the usual. Controlling. Manipulative….Evil.”
Merlin swivelled in his seat to look at his cellmate, unable to hide his alarm. “Evil?” he repeated, voice several octaves higher than usual. “You don’t mean that?” He paused, suddenly doubtful. “Do you?”
Arthur took a minute before replying, leaving Merlin to stew in his mounting panic. “No,” he finally admitted, sounding reluctant, “I guess not. But he’s certainly controlling and manipulative.”
“Oh,” Merlin squawked sarcastically, “just controlling and manipulative! Well, that’s alright then. I don’t know what I was even worried about!”
The blond glanced at him for the first time since they had sat down, obviously hearing the alarm in Merlin’s voice. “Look,” he said calmly, “I’ll be the first to admit my father is a…formiddable man, but you don’t need to worry. I’m going to be the one speaking to him.”
Merlin sighed and nodded, suddenly feeling foolish and a little bit guilty. He’d agreed to go with Arthur on the pretence of offering moral support, and he was panicking far more than the blond was. It was embarrassing.
However, before he could say anything in his own defence, the room’s doors clanked open with a painful screech, alerting everyone to the visitors arrival. They began to file in slowly, eyes skimming over the prisoners until they located their loved ones, all looking eager and anxious.
Arthur however, immediately straightened in his seat, looking inches away from bolting, eyes wide and breathing ragged. He stared up at the visitors with a frightened gaze, lowered his eyes and glanced back up, unsure of where to look. Merlin could feel Arthur’s hands clawing at his own thighs beside him, knuckles white with the pressure and arm muscles clenched anxiously.
Suddenly forgetting his own worries and remembering why he came, Merlin reached out and grasped at Arthur’s clawed hands, forcefully lacing their fingers together into a clutching embrace. He felt a blond take a breath and give his hand a thankful squeeze, although his eyes never wavered from the crowd of visitors, nervously awaiting his father.
But it was only when a man emerged through the throng of people completely untouched and unflustered, with a strange dignity and grace, straight-backed and proud, did Merlin realise that Uther had arrived.
It was easy to recognise who he was. He held himself with pride and purpose, his strides long and powerful, eyes shrewd and calculating, causing Merlin to withdraw slightly on instinct. He even wore the same unreadable expression Arthur often adorned, although his face was not bright and beautiful like his son’s, but lined and aged, portraying both the power and wisdom of his position and profession.
If Merlin wasn’t afraid before, he definitely was now.
“Father,” Arthur choked, by way of introduction. His hand was sweating profusely in Merlin’s palm, nails digging into his skin and clinging to their entwined fingers like a lifeline.
Uther looked down at his son as he stopped on the other side of the table, eyes skittering from the top of Arthur’s head all the way down to his toes. “Arthur,” he replied, nodding his head and taking his seat, paying Merlin absolutely no heed. “How are you?”
The blond tensed even further, his expression almost a grimace. “I’m fine,” he said curtly, meeting his father’s gaze. “But I didn’t call you here to make small talk.”
Uther didn’t appear particularly surprised to hear this, his lips curving into a somewhat bitter smile. “No, I’d imagine not.” He placed his hands on the table in front of him and laced them together, leaning back on his seat and seeming completely at ease. “Then tell me Arthur, why did you call me here? After three years of silence?”
Arthur hesitated and glanced back a Merlin, who gave him a small nod of encouragement. “For your help,” he admitted.
Uther’s all-seeing stare turned straight to Merlin, apparently noticing his small gesture of support. “And he is?” the gang leader asked, addressing his son despite looking right at Merlin, his tone suddenly sharp and unforgiving.
Merlin blinked back at him, brow furrowing in annoyance, although he was resisting the urge to cower.
“He’s my…friend,” Arthur replied, searching for an appropriate word. He sounded snappy and defensive, his hand giving Merlin’s another reassuring squeeze. “He’s the one that convinced me to even try to talk to you. Moral support.”
Merlin couldn’t help but smile triumphantly, his heart swelling with pride. Or at least until Uther looked back at him, expression deadly and faintly disgusted.
“I see,” the gang leader said, choosing not to dignify Merlin’s presence with anything more substantial. “And the help you require?”
“I…or we, have a problem,” Arthur explained, drawing himself up and getting down to business, gesturing to himself and Merlin. “Someone's plotting against me. Me and people that I care about have been targeted, and it’s getting worse. Lancelot ended up in hospital with a severe blow to the head.”
“Lancelot Du Lac?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who the person behind it is?” Uther asked, sounding neither worried or concerned, but brisk and business-like, as though he was merely discussing the weather.
“Yes,” Arthur replied, his voice adopting the same tone as his father’s. “We believe Nimueh is behind it, instigating from the outside.
“Nimueh…” Uther repeated, for the first time since his arrival, showing a true flicker of emotion. His eyebrows had furrowed and his lips were pursed, forehead crinkling worriedly. “It can’t be,” he said, more to himself than Arthur. “She wouldn’t dare.”
“It is her,” Arthur stated firmly, making no move to elaborate on how he knew so, for which Merlin was grateful. He doubted Uther would take his word for it, especially regarding Tristans’s overheard phone conversation.
“Nimueh and I negotiated a truce years ago,” Uther informed them, sounding defiant, as though challenging Arthur to contradict him. “Attacking my own son might as well be an act of war.”
The blond glowered, his teeth grinding together in an attempt to contain himself, chest rising rapidly. Merlin could even feel the muscles in Arthur’s hands clenching, twitching, as though begging to wrap themselves around Uther’s neck. “So, you take Nimueh’s word over mine?” he snapped, meeting Uther’s stare head on. “The word of your own son.”
The gang leader’s eyes narrowed. “That is not what I said.”
“But that is what it sounds like,” Arthur replied instantly, his gaze never wavering from his father’s face. They stared at each other for several long pained moments, neither willing to look away, engaged in a silent battle of wills which Merlin couldn’t begin to understand.
But finally, after an extensive strained silence, Uther sighed and looked away, his face softening ever so slightly. “I believe you,” he said, as though he was admitting defeat.
“Then help us,” Arthur cried, his grip on Merlin’s hand loosening significantly, although he did not let go. “We already have recordings to incriminate Nimueh. But we need more evidence.”
“And you want me to find it,” Uther guessed, eyebrows raised.
“Yes.”
“If Nimueh discovers I've begun to work against her, our truce will be void. It could mean war between the gangs,” Uther murmured, watching Arthur very closely over the tips of his fingers. He waited for a few moments, turning things over in his mind. “You know, I wouldn’t do this for anyone but you.”
The blond inhaled loudly, face contorting before he managed to pull himself together, looking both flustered and conflicted. “Well, thanks…I guess.” He paused, shaking his head. “But this doesn’t change anything between us.”
“No,” Uther agreed, giving his head a quick incline. “But it’s a start.”
***
To be continued…
Chapter 13
***
A/N This chap was supposed to be focused on Arthur and Merlin’s growing relationship. Although nothing physical happens this chap. That’ll be next ;) And I know that Merlin convincing Arthur to go to Uther is similar to the Mordred fiasco, but this time Arthur was actually willing to ask Merlin for help :)
But only two chapters to go! *WAILS* What am I going to do with my life when it’s over? XD
And of course, I'll be updating the Cellmate Masterlist about info when I'm likely to update
Comments are hugs! They kick me into gear and get me updating faster! XD