Fic: Tackling Albion (Part 10/11)
Title: Tackling Albion
Rating: R, but I'm being conservative.
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for S3. Warning for character death, homophobia, mentions of rape (which doesn't happen) and strong language.
Summary: Football AU, but I suppose if you've not picked it up yet, you're hardly going to ten chapters in. As things go from bad to worse, Arthur is forced to dig up old secrets. In trying to make things better, he inadvertently digs himself a hole, and time is running out on his career.
Disclaimer: I know I've not done this yet, but it's highly important that you do not confuse any BBC/Shine characters for my own. Also, all "real people" involved aren't meant to represent their rl counterparts in any way, except to fulfil the same function in this universe as they do in ours. Understood? Good: they're not real.
Catch up with old chapters here at my journal or here on AO3.
~ ~ ~
It wasn’t Merlin’s first funeral of course, but there’s no getting used to certain experiences. For a start, he wasn’t even sure how he was supposed to feel.
Betrayed was top of the list, naturally. That wasn’t unusual for a suicide, but in this case it was even worse. He wasn’t even sure he was supposed to be here. He felt somehow guilty, like he should have been paying closer attention. As if he could undo the events of a few days ago just by having better attention to detail. He couldn’t let himself rule it out. Maybe a life had been lost because he wasn’t fully on the ball.
The football metaphor stung a little. He wondered what else had happened in the name of football. For fuck’s sake. It was only kicking a little leather ball around. Maybe the whole world should grow up and forget about football.
He placed his hand over Gwen’s, if only to try and stem the tears that had silently traced their way down her features all morning. She glanced at him, nearly smiling, but she couldn’t bring herself to.
He wasn’t sure he felt sad, like one ought at a funeral. The thing about suicide is that the deceased made their own decision. You can only miss them, never pity them.
Merlin didn’t think Morgana ever wanted to be pitied. Perhaps that’s why she never mentioned who she really was… maybe Gorlois Levy’s orphaned daughter wasn’t who she really was.
Merlin stole a glance at Arthur. He wondered how the blond felt- he had found and lost a childhood friend in a single day. It was common knowledge that Gorlois and Vivienne Levy had a child, but it had never seemed important to find out who she was.
It was important though. That was the reason they were there that morning, and Morgana wasn’t.
~ ~ ~
‘I might learn to enjoy not playing football after all,’ Arthur said dully as they walked back to Merlin’s.
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do. During a match is the only time I can walk in the street with you. Camelot fans,’ he spat the word, ‘are safely in the pub.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Merlin sighed.
‘Why should you be?’
‘If you hadn’t been trying to make me happy…’
‘I was trying to make myself happy, Merlin. I wasn’t happy before. I had things on my mind, I hated myself for it. It was stupid, and now I know that. I just wish everyone else did. You know the official line on why I’m dropped? So I have time to deal with the media intrusion.’
‘It could help.’
‘Bollocks it could.’
They walked up the stairs in silence, and Merlin got out his keys. They still hadn’t talked about Morgana.
‘Why do you think Morgana did it?’ Arthur asked finally, once they were safely cocooned in the flat, a few stray hacks dodged outside the door. ‘You knew her better than I did.’
Arthur seemed sad about that. He had dim recollections of a dark-haired girl who used to sit with him in the stands, along with whoever’s mother was supposed to be looking after them that week. The two motherless children, passed from one footballer’s wife to the next. Their absent mothers had been all they had in common.
‘I don’t think I really knew her either, Arthur. She kept herself to herself. She’d apparently struggled with mental illness for years. I know she suffered with insomnia. That’s half the reason she ran the pub so well. She was awake at all hours.’
‘It must have been horrible,’ Arthur remarked. Merlin nodded.
‘It doesn’t excuse her, though. She had no argument with you.’
‘I had what was rightfully hers,’ he shrugged. ‘Gorlois wasn’t her real father.’
‘What?’
‘My father had an… affair… with her mother; it started long before she divorced Gorlois. Morgana was my half-sister. Gorlois could count, he knew he’d been the reserve keeper for Northern Ireland in the Mexico World Cup at the time, and he also knew what his supposed best friend was capable of. Still, he had a daughter, something he never thought he would get a second chance at after Vivienne put his first child up for adoption. So he let Morgana grow up none the wiser.’
‘When did she find out?’
‘When Gorlois died. He hadn’t left a will, and his sister proved Morgana wasn’t his real child. So, she inherited nothing. My father paid into a fund for her, but it really wasn’t much. Probably just enough to get that pub. Certainly nothing compared to my life.’
‘Shit.’
‘Indeed.’
Merlin stuck the radio on. Arthur didn’t have the strength to complain. He was sick of football, and that was a day he thought he’d never see.
It was the West Brom half of the Black Country derby. They couldn’t have been playing more than twenty minutes, and yet the scoreline was a miserable three nil to Albion.
‘I hate not being able to do anything,’ Arthur sighed as the fourth goal went in.
‘Me too. This is how all fans feel.’
‘Yes, Merlin, but I actually could do something.’
What could Merlin say? He could hardly tell him that, seeing as Camelot had never lost a match he had watched, he must have some sort of magical powers. He could hardly tell him that all he need do was picture a goal, and the ball would land just as he expected. Instead, he simply leant his head on Arthur’s shoulder.
They listened as things went from bad to worse for Camelot. With no defence, and no attack, they were powerless to prevent the humiliation of seven goals without reply. In the end, the final whistle felt like mercy.
‘Why can’t I play, Merlin?’ Arthur asked quietly.
‘It’s not up to me. If it were, you’d be playing, no question.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing.’
‘I know.’
‘How do I tell them that?’ Arthur pleaded, shuffling Merlin off his shoulder.
‘Who?’
‘The fans. There’s only one way a football fan is ever going to believe I can be good enough. If I prove it.’
‘On the pitch,’ Merlin sighed.
Arthur nodded.
‘What if I never play again?’ he asked, suddenly younger than Merlin had ever seen him.
‘You will. There’ll be a way.’
There had to be a way. Camelot without Arthur was nearly as heartbreaking as Arthur without Camelot.
~ ~ ~
Arthur turned off the engine, but stayed in the car. He was early to training, as usual, but he knew this wouldn’t be an ordinary training session.
This was his first training session back since he was outed. He had to face his teammates, who must have once thought him friends, and explain himself.
He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be explaining, either. He had turned it over in his head, but how could he explain something that was as natural to him as not eating carrots, or preferring 80s music? It was just his character, something about him, like anything else.
A small part of him was angry, angry that he should have to explain this. He was gay. Not bisexual, not experimenting, but gay. He wasn’t doing it for attention. He wasn’t being young and reckless. He was actually gay.
Maybe this would have been easier over the ‘phone. Still, the hacks had put paid to that as well. He had tried to turn on his mobile, but the second hundreds of texts came through from this or that journalist, he had to tear the battery out just to get it to shut up. He’d been cut off, forced into using only face-to-face communication, and it scared him.
He needed to get out of the car eventually. The other players would be turning up any minute, and he certainly didn’t want to be seen hiding in his Merc. He gathered up his courage, and stepped out.
He was already in his training kit, and began to jog around the perimeter of the practise pitch. On the other side of the chain-link, he could see a security guard arguing with a photographer. All of this because of him; it was ridiculous.
As Arthur rounded the corner, he could see a familiar figure jogging towards him. Lance. Thank God.
‘Arthur,’ the man nodded as he came within earshot. How could he stay so calm?
‘We need a plan,’ Arthur murmured as Lance came a little nearer. ‘This isn’t going to get better unless we stick together.’
Lance raised an eyebrow.
‘You need to talk to me first. I thought we were friends, Arthur. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You know what the dressing room’s like! You know what the game’s like. It’s just a joke to everyone. It’s not supposed to happen.’
‘Except it does, and you’d have to be an idiot to think there aren’t any gay footballers out there. Any other gay footballers, I should say. You are, aren’t you?’
‘Don’t you read the papers?’ Arthur asked bitterly. ‘Every male D-lister has had a piece of me, apparently.’
‘You know what I mean. I want to hear it from you.’
‘Yes, I’m gay. Not bisexual, not experimenting, properly one hundred per cent homosexual.’ He paused before asking, ‘did you know?’
Lance sighed.
‘I wish I’d thought. Never crossed my mind though, until…’
‘Until what?’
‘That snake, Valiant. I don’t know how he got you pegged, but he did. I’d bet any money it was him who stitched us both up.’
‘Can’t prove anything, though, Lance.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you think we’ll play again? Either of us?’
‘I don’t know,’ Lance admitted. ‘It’s an unprecedented situation. My contract runs for another year and a half. If it looks like I’ll never play again, I’ve still got the income, and I’ll keep an eye out for what I might do next.’
‘I only signed for a year,’ Arthur sighed. He’d known it was stupid at the time.
‘Shit. When do you run out?’
‘August second.’
That meant that Arthur would be out within months. Unless he could redeem himself soon, he would be disinherited, unemployed and outcast.
‘So we do need a plan,’ admitted Lance.
‘No, I need a plan.’
‘Arthur, you’re my best friend. I’ve known you since you were sixteen, and I know that football means more to you than anything. I know you wouldn’t let anything affect your game, and I won’t believe that you being gay or otherwise has made the slightest difference. I don’t think there’s a man on this team who’d believe that it has, not if they thought about it. We’re going to get ourselves out of this.’
‘Both of us?’ Arthur smiled.
‘Nope,’ grinned Lance, pointing at the figures who were assembling at the other end of the field. ‘All of us.’
‘Shit.’
Before Arthur knew it, Lance had broken into a run towards the rest of the team, and he had no choice but to follow. All eyes were on him as he slowed down in front of the group. Leon was there, Gwaine, Percival, Kai, Bedi, a few faces from the second team. He took a moment to get his breath back, hoping that somebody would speak. Nobody did.
‘I owe you an apology,’ Arthur began. ‘And not for being gay. I can’t help that any more than I can being a better shot than any of you.’
Murmurs of amusement.
‘Hardly,’ said Gwaine.
‘I should have told you, but I was scared. I was scared of losing my place in the team, but I think that might happen anyway. You are my team-mates; I count you as my friends and I should have trusted you. I’m sorry.’
Leon shook his hand.
‘Apology accepted.’
There were murmurs of agreement from the assembled group. Percy coughed nervously.
‘If it helps take the pressure off, Arthur, I’m happy to admit to being bisexual. Just don’t tell the gaffer. Or Val. I already told Leon-’
‘I am good with that sort of thing if anyone has anything else,’ Leon interrupted.
‘-And Gwaine found out,’ Percy continued as Gwaine nodded in agreement. ‘You’re all my friends too, and I trust you to keep this between yourselves. And if you don’t, you know I’m five inches taller than any of you, and, as typically calm and peaceful as I am, I will have no qualms about kicking the living shit out of you.’
There were a few smiles. Strong as he was, Percy was bluffing. He wasn’t capable of hurting anyone he considered a friend- but nor were they capable of betraying him.
As Arthur shook Percival’s hand, he suddenly realised that it might have been nice to have his friends’ support a few months earlier. Why he never asked for it he had no idea.
A shout came from the car park exit.
‘Team sheet, Leon!’
It was Uther. A few more players were arriving now, Monmouth, the goalkeepers and, sickeningly, Stephen Valiant. Arthur avoided his gaze.
Leon ran his eyes over the team sheet, and looked at Uther.
‘This is for Chelsea?’ he asked, unconvinced. ‘The FA Cup semi-final?’
‘They’re strong in defence,’ Uther explained. ‘A more experienced setup will probably serve us well.’
‘And by probably, you mean what?’ asked Leon.
‘We don’t expect to win, but we’ll do our best.’
‘Daniel,’ he read from the card. ‘Kai, Gaz, Hector. Me. Gwaine, Geoff, Lionel, Johnno, Luke.’
Mutterings. Lance and Arthur’s numbers had been skipped. Unless Leon was using a semi-random order, they weren’t in the team. They weren’t even on the bench.
‘Claudin, Percy, Stevie, Tom, Howel and Bedi,’ Leon finished. ‘Has anyone got any questions?’
Silence for a moment. Then, Geoff Monmouth coughed.
‘I can’t help but notice that either I or Tom is being expected to score on Saturday. Unless you’re expecting us to play together? Because I haven’t done a full ninety all season.’
‘You put yourself down, Geoff,’ Uther smiled.
‘No, Uther. I’m thirty four. I’ve scored six goals this season, seven in all competitions. You’re cutting your nose off to spite your face.’
‘I know you’ve been here a long time, but you forget who the manager is. Tom, think you can rise to the challenge?’
He turned to Tom Lincoln, seventeen years old and generally full of the headstrong self-belief that brings.
‘I’m flattered. Or rather, I would be if this was about me. I can’t take the lead either. And you know that.’
‘Well. You’re going to have to. That’s my team sheet, and it’s my decision who I want to play,’ Uther turned to go.
‘And it’s our decision to decide to play or not,’ Gwaine spoke up.
‘Au contraire, Mr Knight,’ Uther turned back slowly. ‘That’s breach of contract. If you decide not to play, the club has the option to fine you.’
Gwaine stood fast.
‘No. You don’t. We have the right to strike, as long as we take a vote on it. We don’t play unless Arthur and Lance do. If you really believed in this team, they’d be on that piece of paper,’ Gwaine looked about the group. ‘Who stands with me?’
‘I’m the team captain,’ asserted Leon. ‘I won’t let Camelot go in at reduced strength. I vote with Gwaine.’
‘I’ve already said where I stand,’ Geoff shrugged.
‘Me too,’ agreed Tom. ‘Even if it means I don’t play, if it means we have a chance, I’ll give that up.’
‘Arthur and Lance are my friends. They’re all our friends. I’m not going to turn my back on them,’ Percy said.
Bedi translated for Claudin and Lionel, before all three voted for the strike.
‘That’s half the team sheet,’ commented Kai Ordner. ‘If I vote to exclude myself unless Lance and Arthur are reinstated, that’s a majority. No rewrite, no match. And I vote for a strike.’
Uther stood in silent fury.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ breathed Valiant.
‘Geoff, Tristan, you’re out. Leon, pencil Arthur and Mr Dulac back on the list, will you?’
Tristan shook hands with Lance.
‘There’s no better man to take my place,’ he nodded.
‘Thanks. And I’m sorry,’ Lance replied.
‘Now, once we’ve all finished throwing tantrums,’ Uther seethed. ‘I want to see ten laps of the pitch. Now.’
It was worth it. For all of them, it was worth it.
~ ~ ~
Of course, Arthur and Lance had ended up on the bench. Tom Lincoln was trying, but aside from cup matches he had never started a full game. Camelot’s weakened right flank was also taking a punishing, Hector Morris’ lack of speed providing openings for three Chelsea goals.
As Drogba, Malouda and Lampard executed their finishes, goalkeeper Daniel became more and more animated, until neither Kai nor Bedi were willing to translate for him.
‘What’s he saying, Kai?’ Uther asked as the full back jogged forward after a scrambled clearance.
‘Let’s just say his mother would send him to his room if she found out. Essentially, we need someone on the right.’
Uther paced the technical area. He and Arthur hadn’t spoken since the papers did their worst. Arthur knew his father’s moods, and he had never seen him so angry. He wondered if they’d ever speak again.
In the dressing room at half time, the mood was palpable. Ten out of eleven players thought Arthur and Lance should have been on that pitch, and the eleventh was Valiant. Leon and Uther spent most of the break in animated discussion, and it didn’t take much to figure out why.
‘You’re on,’ Leon nodded at Arthur, before turning to Lance. ‘You too. This isn’t over yet.’
This wasn’t the time for a stirring team talk. They were three goals down, and it was serious business. Leon talked to them all in turn, restoring their self-belief.
They hadn’t been playing poorly because Arthur and Lance weren’t playing. They weren’t the only decent players on the team, by any means. The problem was that the other players knew that Arthur and Lance should have been there, and why their manager was letting them go into battle unprepared was beyond them. Uther cared less about Camelot than he did keeping his dominion free of undesirables, and it stung them.
Leon’s diplomacy brought them back to strength, and when he played a corner in shortly after the restart, it was the reinvigorated Lance who headed the ball in from the near post. Just five minutes later, Gwaine chanced a stunning 30-yard drive he never would have dreamed of going for were his confidence not at a high. It went in, and amazed Camelot fans found that they were very much back in the game.
~ ~ ~
With no pub to trick Gwen into attending, Merlin had to resort to honesty in his invitation to watch the F.A. Cup semi-final.
‘If they score again, will you stop being so tense?’ she asked after an hour and a half of watching Merlin bury himself in the scarf she had knitted him.
‘Why aren’t you nervous? Lance is out there. Gwen, there’s only two minutes left of the game.’
‘Merlin! Don’t worry.’
She pulled him into a hug, then thought.
‘Is this about Arthur or football?’
Merlin shrugged.
‘Both, maybe. No,’ he sighed. ‘It’s Arthur. If they lose now, he might never play again. It’s not just about football any more. It’s more important, so much more important.’
‘You’re growing up,’ Gwen smiled. ‘A year ago, you’d never have said that.’
Merlin wasn’t listening. Arthur was one-on-one with Chelsea goalkeeper Petr Cech, and full back Ashley Cole was bearing down on him.
‘Arthur!’ he shouted at the screen. It was ludicrous, but he wanted Arthur to hear him.
~ ~ ~
‘Arthur!’
Merlin’s voice resounded through Arthur’s head. Suddenly, he knew how to score. He feigned a shot, Cech dived, leaving him with just Cole to contend with. He stayed cool, dodging around the England international and firing the ball home.
The impossibility of what had just happened didn’t occur to him. A system full of adrenaline was the only explanation Arthur needed as the referee’s whistle signalled the end of normal time.
~ ~ ~
‘Hunith, can I ask you something?’
Gwen seemed worried, loitering in the kitchen doorway.
‘Go on,’ Hunith smiled.
‘Have you ever noticed something about Merlin’s… eyes?’
‘Yes,’ the older woman admitted, putting down her rolling pin. ‘What did you see?’
‘I’ve seen it before. Always thought it might be my imagination, but it’s not, is it? They turn gold.’
‘You’ve been his best friend for years. I suppose you were bound to notice eventually,’ Hunith sighed. ‘Merlin has magic. He doesn’t really know, but as a child he suspected. It’s not much, and it doesn’t happen very often. His eyes glow, and then things happen. Little things. Things that could be explained another way. Except it happens too often, and you reach the conclusion that there’s something else going on.’
‘Magic?’ Gwen repeated.
‘Only way I can explain it,’ she shrugged. ‘What did he do this time?’
Gwen thought.
‘Camelot scored a goal. Right at the end of the game,’ she realised.
Hunith chuckled.
‘He might be magic, but he’s still predictable.’
~ ~ ~
Arthur took a swig of water and stretched his aching limbs, ignoring the abuse being shrieked at him from the Chelsea stand by a couple of teenagers. A nearby steward did nothing.
‘We can’t let this go to penalties,’ Uther growled quietly to the assembled team. ‘I know you’re tired, but if you want to win this, it’ll be easier won in the next half hour than if it goes to penalties.’
Camelot’s takers were good, but nothing compared to Chelsea. Gwaine, Camelot’s dead ball expert, had already been subbed off back when it looked like the fight was over. There was small consolation in the fact that Didier Drogba was also unavailable for Chelsea, but unlike Camelot, Chelsea had a whole array of near-equal talent to choose from.
‘Do your best,’ Uther sighed. ‘If anything’s become clear in the last few days, it’s how much you want to win this. But so do they. And if we don’t make it through, I don’t want you to punish yourselves. You’ve all been heroic. All of you.’
Uther did not look at Arthur, but the young man felt as if his father’s speech had been directed at him. It was hardly reconciliation, but it was a start.
In less than a quarter of an hour, Valiant gave away a free kick, effortlessly sailed past the Camelot keeper by Chelsea midfielder Frank Lampard, and Camelot were back to where they were accustomed- on the losing team.
They weren’t letting go, however. Nodding to Leon, Arthur exchanged the ball with his captain at the restart, before dribbling nearly half the length of the pitch, dodging attempts by what seemed like half of Chelsea’s glittering lineup. His wages paled in comparison with these players, some earning nearly three times in a day what he earned in a week.
Faced with Chelsea captain John Terry he could go no further, but Leon was waiting. He crossed the ball in, and his own captain slid the ball into the bottom corner.
They were back in the game, but as time ticked away in the second half of extra time, the nightmare of penalties looked like it might come true. Percy was run ragged in defence, and their attacking strategy was more hopeful than refined.
Out of nowhere, Stephen Valiant stumbled upon a stray ball and dinked it past the ‘keeper. For a moment, nobody could believe it, but then the final whistle blew, and Camelot were headed for the first cup final in their history.
Arthur stumbled as Gwaine barrelled into him, having run from the touchline roaring with triumph. It was as if they had won the cup already. There were people to congratulate in every direction. Leon, for his perfect timing. Percy, for the sheer effort he used holding the defence together. Lance, who started the comeback.
Yet there was one man who, despite his personal failings, Arthur couldn’t get away with ignoring. Stephen Valiant. Arthur planned his route carefully, aiming to spend as little time with the vile man as possible.
As if it wasn’t hard enough to bring himself to do the right thing, Valiant blanked him as he approached. Arthur steeled himself. In theory, it should have been easy, but the thought that it was probably this man who had ruined his chance of a peaceful, secret relationship with Merlin- it hurt.
He clapped Valiant on the back.
‘Nice goal,’ he said, desperately choking down the anger that bubbled at his own lie.
Valiant wheeled around.
‘Don’t you fucking touch me, you poof.’
Arthur was stung. This was ridiculous. His lip curled.
‘I don’t even like you, Valerie, let alone want to stick my cock in you. I just thought we could be grown-up about this.’
‘Yeah? Well, back off. Your… perversion has got nothing to do with me. I’m not going to be part of your sick fantasies.’
Valiant walked away.
‘Don’t turn your back,’ Arthur mocked. ‘God knows what I’ll do.’
Valiant gritted his teeth.
~ ~ ~
‘Before I make a final decision on my team sheet for Wednesday, I need to speak to one of you privately,’ Uther announced at training the following Monday. ‘Arthur?’
It was the first time his father had even spoken to him directly since the story hit the papers. Part of Arthur’s heart leapt at the hope of reconciliation, but he wasn’t stupid. He walked to one side with Uther, waiting for the older man to speak.
‘Arthur, this is very difficult for me,’ he murmured. ‘There’s been a complaint.’
The word ‘complaint’ sounded like a euphemism for something altogether worse.
‘What about?’
‘You have allegedly, and obviously it’s just his word against yours, but you allegedly threatened another member of the team.’
‘Threatened?’ Arthur was surprised. ‘How?’
‘You’re my son, Arthur, don’t make me spell it out.’
‘I really don’t know what I’ve supposedly done.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ Uther growled, eyeing the other players, who were milling about the pitch. ‘The allegation is that you threatened sexual violence against another member of the team.’
‘What?’ Arthur protested. ‘Tell me this is a joke. Who? When?’
‘If it is a joke, it’s not very funny. On Saturday. And obviously I can’t tell you who that is, under the circumstances…’
‘The circumstances? So he can say what he wants about me, but I can’t know who he is?’
‘He says you threatened him. How am I to know you’re not going to carry that out?’
Arthur’s face fell.
‘You believe him?’
‘What am I supposed to think?’ snapped Uther. ‘I don’t know anything about you any more.’
‘You know I’m not like that!’
‘So what you’re saying is, the papers were lying, those pictures are fabricated?’
‘Oh, God. There’s a difference between sex and bloody rape!’
A series of emotions threatened to contort Uther’s features, but he held firm.
‘I never thought I’d have to think of my own son… as someone like that. So, excuse me if I don’t feel I know what you’re capable of any more.’
‘Someone like what?’ Arthur was incredulous. ‘Someone like what?’
‘Don’t make me say it, Arthur. You’re my son. You know I love you more than anything, but this is too much.’
His father’s love. Something Arthur had always wanted. At the back of his mind, he really wanted to believe it, but there was a problem.
‘Love is unconditional,’ Arthur looked his father square in the eye.
‘Of course, Arthur. I will love you, no matter what. But that doesn’t mean I have to let you make mistakes. It means I’ll be there for you when you do.’
‘Mistakes? Dad, what did I do?’
‘Here,’ Uther handed him the internal incident report.
Arthur’s eyes widened when he saw the offending phrase. He repeated his own words with disbelief.
‘Don’t turn your back; God knows what I’d do. Fuck.’
‘You see the problem?’ Uther asked.
‘It was a joke. A stupid joke.’
‘You can’t joke about rape. Especially not now everyone knows you… look that way,’ Uther watched his son come to terms with the report. ‘I need you to withdraw from matches for the rest of the season. Give the air time to clear. That way, there’s no need to take this further. This isn’t about… the other thing. Lance will play. Just keep your head down, Arthur.’
‘I’ll stay out of trouble,’ Arthur conceded.
‘Good man,’ Uther nodded.
‘I’ll stay out of trouble with Valiant, but not you. Why can’t you say it? Why all the euphemisms? The other thing. Looking that way. Mistakes. Someone like that. Why can’t you face me?’
‘Because, Arthur, you are my son. You are my only son. My only child, now, and the only family I have left. I know I failed Morgana, and I don’t like feeling like I failed you as well. That life, it isn’t the life I wanted for you. I didn’t think it was the life you wanted either. Arthur, I don’t want you to be unhappy. I don’t want this to be something you regret.’
Arthur let him walk away. What could he have said? He knew he could never regret following his heart, but he was just nineteen. It would seem so naïve, and that was not how he wanted Uther to see him. So he let it go for the time being. But he had a plan.
~ ~ ~
Merlin had to find himself a new pub. He was sick of hearing dismal Camelot results over the radio, and wanted to watch them live.
After having abuse shouted at him in the street for three weeks, he had resorted to his scarf-and-aviator combo again. True, the get-up still attracted raised eyebrows, but it was better than spit.
In the end, he settled on The Druids’ Arms, a shabby old-man type pub, with a moth-eaten Wolves scarf hanging in the window above a newer Camelot scarf. There was no big screen TV- in fact, all the televisions were of the old-fashioned CRT type, perched in each corner and eyed rigidly by grey men drinking warm beer.
It was already 1-0 to Blackburn.
‘Half of… Tetley,’ he said, attempting to fit in with the lager-shunning crowd. ‘What happened there?’
He gestured towards the nearest set.
‘I.D. first? And take off your glasses, you’re not fooling anyone. You are him, aren’t you? The bloke in the photos?’
‘Ah. I’ll go, if you don’t want me.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ the landlord smiled. ‘You’re one of us.’
‘One of…?’
‘Camelot fans, kid, not homosexuals. All I know is, we were doing a whole lot better before those photos came out- and don’t tell me you weren’t around long before that.’
Merlin nodded, flashing his provisional license.
‘It’s ridiculous, really,’ the landlord continued, pulling Merlin’s drink. ‘Some footballers cheat on their wives, sleep with prostitutes and do God knows what else, and they still play. Sad thing is, we probably need your man.’
‘We do,’ Merlin sighed, eyeing the score.
‘It was a fluke, the Blackburn goal. Still, we’ll have no reply. We just can’t get forward; we’re a bit toothless without him. It’s like they miss him.’
‘He misses it more.’
‘I’ll bet he does. Here’s your pint.’
‘Cheers.’
He’d asked for a half, and handed a few coins over as he eyed the glass warily. Clearly, a half was something you didn’t ask for in this place. He sighed, and settled in to watch absolutely nothing happen for the remaining hour of the game.
Not on the pitch anyway. In the stands, the fans were chanting for Arthur. Placards read ‘Artie come back’, and one person had even blown up a picture of Arthur, stuck a crown on it and captioned it ‘Arthur, Queen of Camelot’. Merlin felt that this was probably homophobic, but well-intentioned nonetheless.
God, Merlin hoped Arthur’s plan was going to work. Nobody would be happy if it didn’t.
Rating: R, but I'm being conservative.
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for S3. Warning for character death, homophobia, mentions of rape (which doesn't happen) and strong language.
Summary: Football AU, but I suppose if you've not picked it up yet, you're hardly going to ten chapters in. As things go from bad to worse, Arthur is forced to dig up old secrets. In trying to make things better, he inadvertently digs himself a hole, and time is running out on his career.
Disclaimer: I know I've not done this yet, but it's highly important that you do not confuse any BBC/Shine characters for my own. Also, all "real people" involved aren't meant to represent their rl counterparts in any way, except to fulfil the same function in this universe as they do in ours. Understood? Good: they're not real.
Catch up with old chapters here at my journal or here on AO3.
~ ~ ~
It wasn’t Merlin’s first funeral of course, but there’s no getting used to certain experiences. For a start, he wasn’t even sure how he was supposed to feel.
Betrayed was top of the list, naturally. That wasn’t unusual for a suicide, but in this case it was even worse. He wasn’t even sure he was supposed to be here. He felt somehow guilty, like he should have been paying closer attention. As if he could undo the events of a few days ago just by having better attention to detail. He couldn’t let himself rule it out. Maybe a life had been lost because he wasn’t fully on the ball.
The football metaphor stung a little. He wondered what else had happened in the name of football. For fuck’s sake. It was only kicking a little leather ball around. Maybe the whole world should grow up and forget about football.
He placed his hand over Gwen’s, if only to try and stem the tears that had silently traced their way down her features all morning. She glanced at him, nearly smiling, but she couldn’t bring herself to.
He wasn’t sure he felt sad, like one ought at a funeral. The thing about suicide is that the deceased made their own decision. You can only miss them, never pity them.
Merlin didn’t think Morgana ever wanted to be pitied. Perhaps that’s why she never mentioned who she really was… maybe Gorlois Levy’s orphaned daughter wasn’t who she really was.
Merlin stole a glance at Arthur. He wondered how the blond felt- he had found and lost a childhood friend in a single day. It was common knowledge that Gorlois and Vivienne Levy had a child, but it had never seemed important to find out who she was.
It was important though. That was the reason they were there that morning, and Morgana wasn’t.
~ ~ ~
‘I might learn to enjoy not playing football after all,’ Arthur said dully as they walked back to Merlin’s.
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do. During a match is the only time I can walk in the street with you. Camelot fans,’ he spat the word, ‘are safely in the pub.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Merlin sighed.
‘Why should you be?’
‘If you hadn’t been trying to make me happy…’
‘I was trying to make myself happy, Merlin. I wasn’t happy before. I had things on my mind, I hated myself for it. It was stupid, and now I know that. I just wish everyone else did. You know the official line on why I’m dropped? So I have time to deal with the media intrusion.’
‘It could help.’
‘Bollocks it could.’
They walked up the stairs in silence, and Merlin got out his keys. They still hadn’t talked about Morgana.
‘Why do you think Morgana did it?’ Arthur asked finally, once they were safely cocooned in the flat, a few stray hacks dodged outside the door. ‘You knew her better than I did.’
Arthur seemed sad about that. He had dim recollections of a dark-haired girl who used to sit with him in the stands, along with whoever’s mother was supposed to be looking after them that week. The two motherless children, passed from one footballer’s wife to the next. Their absent mothers had been all they had in common.
‘I don’t think I really knew her either, Arthur. She kept herself to herself. She’d apparently struggled with mental illness for years. I know she suffered with insomnia. That’s half the reason she ran the pub so well. She was awake at all hours.’
‘It must have been horrible,’ Arthur remarked. Merlin nodded.
‘It doesn’t excuse her, though. She had no argument with you.’
‘I had what was rightfully hers,’ he shrugged. ‘Gorlois wasn’t her real father.’
‘What?’
‘My father had an… affair… with her mother; it started long before she divorced Gorlois. Morgana was my half-sister. Gorlois could count, he knew he’d been the reserve keeper for Northern Ireland in the Mexico World Cup at the time, and he also knew what his supposed best friend was capable of. Still, he had a daughter, something he never thought he would get a second chance at after Vivienne put his first child up for adoption. So he let Morgana grow up none the wiser.’
‘When did she find out?’
‘When Gorlois died. He hadn’t left a will, and his sister proved Morgana wasn’t his real child. So, she inherited nothing. My father paid into a fund for her, but it really wasn’t much. Probably just enough to get that pub. Certainly nothing compared to my life.’
‘Shit.’
‘Indeed.’
Merlin stuck the radio on. Arthur didn’t have the strength to complain. He was sick of football, and that was a day he thought he’d never see.
It was the West Brom half of the Black Country derby. They couldn’t have been playing more than twenty minutes, and yet the scoreline was a miserable three nil to Albion.
‘I hate not being able to do anything,’ Arthur sighed as the fourth goal went in.
‘Me too. This is how all fans feel.’
‘Yes, Merlin, but I actually could do something.’
What could Merlin say? He could hardly tell him that, seeing as Camelot had never lost a match he had watched, he must have some sort of magical powers. He could hardly tell him that all he need do was picture a goal, and the ball would land just as he expected. Instead, he simply leant his head on Arthur’s shoulder.
They listened as things went from bad to worse for Camelot. With no defence, and no attack, they were powerless to prevent the humiliation of seven goals without reply. In the end, the final whistle felt like mercy.
‘Why can’t I play, Merlin?’ Arthur asked quietly.
‘It’s not up to me. If it were, you’d be playing, no question.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing.’
‘I know.’
‘How do I tell them that?’ Arthur pleaded, shuffling Merlin off his shoulder.
‘Who?’
‘The fans. There’s only one way a football fan is ever going to believe I can be good enough. If I prove it.’
‘On the pitch,’ Merlin sighed.
Arthur nodded.
‘What if I never play again?’ he asked, suddenly younger than Merlin had ever seen him.
‘You will. There’ll be a way.’
There had to be a way. Camelot without Arthur was nearly as heartbreaking as Arthur without Camelot.
~ ~ ~
Arthur turned off the engine, but stayed in the car. He was early to training, as usual, but he knew this wouldn’t be an ordinary training session.
This was his first training session back since he was outed. He had to face his teammates, who must have once thought him friends, and explain himself.
He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be explaining, either. He had turned it over in his head, but how could he explain something that was as natural to him as not eating carrots, or preferring 80s music? It was just his character, something about him, like anything else.
A small part of him was angry, angry that he should have to explain this. He was gay. Not bisexual, not experimenting, but gay. He wasn’t doing it for attention. He wasn’t being young and reckless. He was actually gay.
Maybe this would have been easier over the ‘phone. Still, the hacks had put paid to that as well. He had tried to turn on his mobile, but the second hundreds of texts came through from this or that journalist, he had to tear the battery out just to get it to shut up. He’d been cut off, forced into using only face-to-face communication, and it scared him.
He needed to get out of the car eventually. The other players would be turning up any minute, and he certainly didn’t want to be seen hiding in his Merc. He gathered up his courage, and stepped out.
He was already in his training kit, and began to jog around the perimeter of the practise pitch. On the other side of the chain-link, he could see a security guard arguing with a photographer. All of this because of him; it was ridiculous.
As Arthur rounded the corner, he could see a familiar figure jogging towards him. Lance. Thank God.
‘Arthur,’ the man nodded as he came within earshot. How could he stay so calm?
‘We need a plan,’ Arthur murmured as Lance came a little nearer. ‘This isn’t going to get better unless we stick together.’
Lance raised an eyebrow.
‘You need to talk to me first. I thought we were friends, Arthur. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You know what the dressing room’s like! You know what the game’s like. It’s just a joke to everyone. It’s not supposed to happen.’
‘Except it does, and you’d have to be an idiot to think there aren’t any gay footballers out there. Any other gay footballers, I should say. You are, aren’t you?’
‘Don’t you read the papers?’ Arthur asked bitterly. ‘Every male D-lister has had a piece of me, apparently.’
‘You know what I mean. I want to hear it from you.’
‘Yes, I’m gay. Not bisexual, not experimenting, properly one hundred per cent homosexual.’ He paused before asking, ‘did you know?’
Lance sighed.
‘I wish I’d thought. Never crossed my mind though, until…’
‘Until what?’
‘That snake, Valiant. I don’t know how he got you pegged, but he did. I’d bet any money it was him who stitched us both up.’
‘Can’t prove anything, though, Lance.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you think we’ll play again? Either of us?’
‘I don’t know,’ Lance admitted. ‘It’s an unprecedented situation. My contract runs for another year and a half. If it looks like I’ll never play again, I’ve still got the income, and I’ll keep an eye out for what I might do next.’
‘I only signed for a year,’ Arthur sighed. He’d known it was stupid at the time.
‘Shit. When do you run out?’
‘August second.’
That meant that Arthur would be out within months. Unless he could redeem himself soon, he would be disinherited, unemployed and outcast.
‘So we do need a plan,’ admitted Lance.
‘No, I need a plan.’
‘Arthur, you’re my best friend. I’ve known you since you were sixteen, and I know that football means more to you than anything. I know you wouldn’t let anything affect your game, and I won’t believe that you being gay or otherwise has made the slightest difference. I don’t think there’s a man on this team who’d believe that it has, not if they thought about it. We’re going to get ourselves out of this.’
‘Both of us?’ Arthur smiled.
‘Nope,’ grinned Lance, pointing at the figures who were assembling at the other end of the field. ‘All of us.’
‘Shit.’
Before Arthur knew it, Lance had broken into a run towards the rest of the team, and he had no choice but to follow. All eyes were on him as he slowed down in front of the group. Leon was there, Gwaine, Percival, Kai, Bedi, a few faces from the second team. He took a moment to get his breath back, hoping that somebody would speak. Nobody did.
‘I owe you an apology,’ Arthur began. ‘And not for being gay. I can’t help that any more than I can being a better shot than any of you.’
Murmurs of amusement.
‘Hardly,’ said Gwaine.
‘I should have told you, but I was scared. I was scared of losing my place in the team, but I think that might happen anyway. You are my team-mates; I count you as my friends and I should have trusted you. I’m sorry.’
Leon shook his hand.
‘Apology accepted.’
There were murmurs of agreement from the assembled group. Percy coughed nervously.
‘If it helps take the pressure off, Arthur, I’m happy to admit to being bisexual. Just don’t tell the gaffer. Or Val. I already told Leon-’
‘I am good with that sort of thing if anyone has anything else,’ Leon interrupted.
‘-And Gwaine found out,’ Percy continued as Gwaine nodded in agreement. ‘You’re all my friends too, and I trust you to keep this between yourselves. And if you don’t, you know I’m five inches taller than any of you, and, as typically calm and peaceful as I am, I will have no qualms about kicking the living shit out of you.’
There were a few smiles. Strong as he was, Percy was bluffing. He wasn’t capable of hurting anyone he considered a friend- but nor were they capable of betraying him.
As Arthur shook Percival’s hand, he suddenly realised that it might have been nice to have his friends’ support a few months earlier. Why he never asked for it he had no idea.
A shout came from the car park exit.
‘Team sheet, Leon!’
It was Uther. A few more players were arriving now, Monmouth, the goalkeepers and, sickeningly, Stephen Valiant. Arthur avoided his gaze.
Leon ran his eyes over the team sheet, and looked at Uther.
‘This is for Chelsea?’ he asked, unconvinced. ‘The FA Cup semi-final?’
‘They’re strong in defence,’ Uther explained. ‘A more experienced setup will probably serve us well.’
‘And by probably, you mean what?’ asked Leon.
‘We don’t expect to win, but we’ll do our best.’
‘Daniel,’ he read from the card. ‘Kai, Gaz, Hector. Me. Gwaine, Geoff, Lionel, Johnno, Luke.’
Mutterings. Lance and Arthur’s numbers had been skipped. Unless Leon was using a semi-random order, they weren’t in the team. They weren’t even on the bench.
‘Claudin, Percy, Stevie, Tom, Howel and Bedi,’ Leon finished. ‘Has anyone got any questions?’
Silence for a moment. Then, Geoff Monmouth coughed.
‘I can’t help but notice that either I or Tom is being expected to score on Saturday. Unless you’re expecting us to play together? Because I haven’t done a full ninety all season.’
‘You put yourself down, Geoff,’ Uther smiled.
‘No, Uther. I’m thirty four. I’ve scored six goals this season, seven in all competitions. You’re cutting your nose off to spite your face.’
‘I know you’ve been here a long time, but you forget who the manager is. Tom, think you can rise to the challenge?’
He turned to Tom Lincoln, seventeen years old and generally full of the headstrong self-belief that brings.
‘I’m flattered. Or rather, I would be if this was about me. I can’t take the lead either. And you know that.’
‘Well. You’re going to have to. That’s my team sheet, and it’s my decision who I want to play,’ Uther turned to go.
‘And it’s our decision to decide to play or not,’ Gwaine spoke up.
‘Au contraire, Mr Knight,’ Uther turned back slowly. ‘That’s breach of contract. If you decide not to play, the club has the option to fine you.’
Gwaine stood fast.
‘No. You don’t. We have the right to strike, as long as we take a vote on it. We don’t play unless Arthur and Lance do. If you really believed in this team, they’d be on that piece of paper,’ Gwaine looked about the group. ‘Who stands with me?’
‘I’m the team captain,’ asserted Leon. ‘I won’t let Camelot go in at reduced strength. I vote with Gwaine.’
‘I’ve already said where I stand,’ Geoff shrugged.
‘Me too,’ agreed Tom. ‘Even if it means I don’t play, if it means we have a chance, I’ll give that up.’
‘Arthur and Lance are my friends. They’re all our friends. I’m not going to turn my back on them,’ Percy said.
Bedi translated for Claudin and Lionel, before all three voted for the strike.
‘That’s half the team sheet,’ commented Kai Ordner. ‘If I vote to exclude myself unless Lance and Arthur are reinstated, that’s a majority. No rewrite, no match. And I vote for a strike.’
Uther stood in silent fury.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ breathed Valiant.
‘Geoff, Tristan, you’re out. Leon, pencil Arthur and Mr Dulac back on the list, will you?’
Tristan shook hands with Lance.
‘There’s no better man to take my place,’ he nodded.
‘Thanks. And I’m sorry,’ Lance replied.
‘Now, once we’ve all finished throwing tantrums,’ Uther seethed. ‘I want to see ten laps of the pitch. Now.’
It was worth it. For all of them, it was worth it.
~ ~ ~
Of course, Arthur and Lance had ended up on the bench. Tom Lincoln was trying, but aside from cup matches he had never started a full game. Camelot’s weakened right flank was also taking a punishing, Hector Morris’ lack of speed providing openings for three Chelsea goals.
As Drogba, Malouda and Lampard executed their finishes, goalkeeper Daniel became more and more animated, until neither Kai nor Bedi were willing to translate for him.
‘What’s he saying, Kai?’ Uther asked as the full back jogged forward after a scrambled clearance.
‘Let’s just say his mother would send him to his room if she found out. Essentially, we need someone on the right.’
Uther paced the technical area. He and Arthur hadn’t spoken since the papers did their worst. Arthur knew his father’s moods, and he had never seen him so angry. He wondered if they’d ever speak again.
In the dressing room at half time, the mood was palpable. Ten out of eleven players thought Arthur and Lance should have been on that pitch, and the eleventh was Valiant. Leon and Uther spent most of the break in animated discussion, and it didn’t take much to figure out why.
‘You’re on,’ Leon nodded at Arthur, before turning to Lance. ‘You too. This isn’t over yet.’
This wasn’t the time for a stirring team talk. They were three goals down, and it was serious business. Leon talked to them all in turn, restoring their self-belief.
They hadn’t been playing poorly because Arthur and Lance weren’t playing. They weren’t the only decent players on the team, by any means. The problem was that the other players knew that Arthur and Lance should have been there, and why their manager was letting them go into battle unprepared was beyond them. Uther cared less about Camelot than he did keeping his dominion free of undesirables, and it stung them.
Leon’s diplomacy brought them back to strength, and when he played a corner in shortly after the restart, it was the reinvigorated Lance who headed the ball in from the near post. Just five minutes later, Gwaine chanced a stunning 30-yard drive he never would have dreamed of going for were his confidence not at a high. It went in, and amazed Camelot fans found that they were very much back in the game.
~ ~ ~
With no pub to trick Gwen into attending, Merlin had to resort to honesty in his invitation to watch the F.A. Cup semi-final.
‘If they score again, will you stop being so tense?’ she asked after an hour and a half of watching Merlin bury himself in the scarf she had knitted him.
‘Why aren’t you nervous? Lance is out there. Gwen, there’s only two minutes left of the game.’
‘Merlin! Don’t worry.’
She pulled him into a hug, then thought.
‘Is this about Arthur or football?’
Merlin shrugged.
‘Both, maybe. No,’ he sighed. ‘It’s Arthur. If they lose now, he might never play again. It’s not just about football any more. It’s more important, so much more important.’
‘You’re growing up,’ Gwen smiled. ‘A year ago, you’d never have said that.’
Merlin wasn’t listening. Arthur was one-on-one with Chelsea goalkeeper Petr Cech, and full back Ashley Cole was bearing down on him.
‘Arthur!’ he shouted at the screen. It was ludicrous, but he wanted Arthur to hear him.
~ ~ ~
‘Arthur!’
Merlin’s voice resounded through Arthur’s head. Suddenly, he knew how to score. He feigned a shot, Cech dived, leaving him with just Cole to contend with. He stayed cool, dodging around the England international and firing the ball home.
The impossibility of what had just happened didn’t occur to him. A system full of adrenaline was the only explanation Arthur needed as the referee’s whistle signalled the end of normal time.
~ ~ ~
‘Hunith, can I ask you something?’
Gwen seemed worried, loitering in the kitchen doorway.
‘Go on,’ Hunith smiled.
‘Have you ever noticed something about Merlin’s… eyes?’
‘Yes,’ the older woman admitted, putting down her rolling pin. ‘What did you see?’
‘I’ve seen it before. Always thought it might be my imagination, but it’s not, is it? They turn gold.’
‘You’ve been his best friend for years. I suppose you were bound to notice eventually,’ Hunith sighed. ‘Merlin has magic. He doesn’t really know, but as a child he suspected. It’s not much, and it doesn’t happen very often. His eyes glow, and then things happen. Little things. Things that could be explained another way. Except it happens too often, and you reach the conclusion that there’s something else going on.’
‘Magic?’ Gwen repeated.
‘Only way I can explain it,’ she shrugged. ‘What did he do this time?’
Gwen thought.
‘Camelot scored a goal. Right at the end of the game,’ she realised.
Hunith chuckled.
‘He might be magic, but he’s still predictable.’
~ ~ ~
Arthur took a swig of water and stretched his aching limbs, ignoring the abuse being shrieked at him from the Chelsea stand by a couple of teenagers. A nearby steward did nothing.
‘We can’t let this go to penalties,’ Uther growled quietly to the assembled team. ‘I know you’re tired, but if you want to win this, it’ll be easier won in the next half hour than if it goes to penalties.’
Camelot’s takers were good, but nothing compared to Chelsea. Gwaine, Camelot’s dead ball expert, had already been subbed off back when it looked like the fight was over. There was small consolation in the fact that Didier Drogba was also unavailable for Chelsea, but unlike Camelot, Chelsea had a whole array of near-equal talent to choose from.
‘Do your best,’ Uther sighed. ‘If anything’s become clear in the last few days, it’s how much you want to win this. But so do they. And if we don’t make it through, I don’t want you to punish yourselves. You’ve all been heroic. All of you.’
Uther did not look at Arthur, but the young man felt as if his father’s speech had been directed at him. It was hardly reconciliation, but it was a start.
In less than a quarter of an hour, Valiant gave away a free kick, effortlessly sailed past the Camelot keeper by Chelsea midfielder Frank Lampard, and Camelot were back to where they were accustomed- on the losing team.
They weren’t letting go, however. Nodding to Leon, Arthur exchanged the ball with his captain at the restart, before dribbling nearly half the length of the pitch, dodging attempts by what seemed like half of Chelsea’s glittering lineup. His wages paled in comparison with these players, some earning nearly three times in a day what he earned in a week.
Faced with Chelsea captain John Terry he could go no further, but Leon was waiting. He crossed the ball in, and his own captain slid the ball into the bottom corner.
They were back in the game, but as time ticked away in the second half of extra time, the nightmare of penalties looked like it might come true. Percy was run ragged in defence, and their attacking strategy was more hopeful than refined.
Out of nowhere, Stephen Valiant stumbled upon a stray ball and dinked it past the ‘keeper. For a moment, nobody could believe it, but then the final whistle blew, and Camelot were headed for the first cup final in their history.
Arthur stumbled as Gwaine barrelled into him, having run from the touchline roaring with triumph. It was as if they had won the cup already. There were people to congratulate in every direction. Leon, for his perfect timing. Percy, for the sheer effort he used holding the defence together. Lance, who started the comeback.
Yet there was one man who, despite his personal failings, Arthur couldn’t get away with ignoring. Stephen Valiant. Arthur planned his route carefully, aiming to spend as little time with the vile man as possible.
As if it wasn’t hard enough to bring himself to do the right thing, Valiant blanked him as he approached. Arthur steeled himself. In theory, it should have been easy, but the thought that it was probably this man who had ruined his chance of a peaceful, secret relationship with Merlin- it hurt.
He clapped Valiant on the back.
‘Nice goal,’ he said, desperately choking down the anger that bubbled at his own lie.
Valiant wheeled around.
‘Don’t you fucking touch me, you poof.’
Arthur was stung. This was ridiculous. His lip curled.
‘I don’t even like you, Valerie, let alone want to stick my cock in you. I just thought we could be grown-up about this.’
‘Yeah? Well, back off. Your… perversion has got nothing to do with me. I’m not going to be part of your sick fantasies.’
Valiant walked away.
‘Don’t turn your back,’ Arthur mocked. ‘God knows what I’ll do.’
Valiant gritted his teeth.
~ ~ ~
‘Before I make a final decision on my team sheet for Wednesday, I need to speak to one of you privately,’ Uther announced at training the following Monday. ‘Arthur?’
It was the first time his father had even spoken to him directly since the story hit the papers. Part of Arthur’s heart leapt at the hope of reconciliation, but he wasn’t stupid. He walked to one side with Uther, waiting for the older man to speak.
‘Arthur, this is very difficult for me,’ he murmured. ‘There’s been a complaint.’
The word ‘complaint’ sounded like a euphemism for something altogether worse.
‘What about?’
‘You have allegedly, and obviously it’s just his word against yours, but you allegedly threatened another member of the team.’
‘Threatened?’ Arthur was surprised. ‘How?’
‘You’re my son, Arthur, don’t make me spell it out.’
‘I really don’t know what I’ve supposedly done.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ Uther growled, eyeing the other players, who were milling about the pitch. ‘The allegation is that you threatened sexual violence against another member of the team.’
‘What?’ Arthur protested. ‘Tell me this is a joke. Who? When?’
‘If it is a joke, it’s not very funny. On Saturday. And obviously I can’t tell you who that is, under the circumstances…’
‘The circumstances? So he can say what he wants about me, but I can’t know who he is?’
‘He says you threatened him. How am I to know you’re not going to carry that out?’
Arthur’s face fell.
‘You believe him?’
‘What am I supposed to think?’ snapped Uther. ‘I don’t know anything about you any more.’
‘You know I’m not like that!’
‘So what you’re saying is, the papers were lying, those pictures are fabricated?’
‘Oh, God. There’s a difference between sex and bloody rape!’
A series of emotions threatened to contort Uther’s features, but he held firm.
‘I never thought I’d have to think of my own son… as someone like that. So, excuse me if I don’t feel I know what you’re capable of any more.’
‘Someone like what?’ Arthur was incredulous. ‘Someone like what?’
‘Don’t make me say it, Arthur. You’re my son. You know I love you more than anything, but this is too much.’
His father’s love. Something Arthur had always wanted. At the back of his mind, he really wanted to believe it, but there was a problem.
‘Love is unconditional,’ Arthur looked his father square in the eye.
‘Of course, Arthur. I will love you, no matter what. But that doesn’t mean I have to let you make mistakes. It means I’ll be there for you when you do.’
‘Mistakes? Dad, what did I do?’
‘Here,’ Uther handed him the internal incident report.
Arthur’s eyes widened when he saw the offending phrase. He repeated his own words with disbelief.
‘Don’t turn your back; God knows what I’d do. Fuck.’
‘You see the problem?’ Uther asked.
‘It was a joke. A stupid joke.’
‘You can’t joke about rape. Especially not now everyone knows you… look that way,’ Uther watched his son come to terms with the report. ‘I need you to withdraw from matches for the rest of the season. Give the air time to clear. That way, there’s no need to take this further. This isn’t about… the other thing. Lance will play. Just keep your head down, Arthur.’
‘I’ll stay out of trouble,’ Arthur conceded.
‘Good man,’ Uther nodded.
‘I’ll stay out of trouble with Valiant, but not you. Why can’t you say it? Why all the euphemisms? The other thing. Looking that way. Mistakes. Someone like that. Why can’t you face me?’
‘Because, Arthur, you are my son. You are my only son. My only child, now, and the only family I have left. I know I failed Morgana, and I don’t like feeling like I failed you as well. That life, it isn’t the life I wanted for you. I didn’t think it was the life you wanted either. Arthur, I don’t want you to be unhappy. I don’t want this to be something you regret.’
Arthur let him walk away. What could he have said? He knew he could never regret following his heart, but he was just nineteen. It would seem so naïve, and that was not how he wanted Uther to see him. So he let it go for the time being. But he had a plan.
~ ~ ~
Merlin had to find himself a new pub. He was sick of hearing dismal Camelot results over the radio, and wanted to watch them live.
After having abuse shouted at him in the street for three weeks, he had resorted to his scarf-and-aviator combo again. True, the get-up still attracted raised eyebrows, but it was better than spit.
In the end, he settled on The Druids’ Arms, a shabby old-man type pub, with a moth-eaten Wolves scarf hanging in the window above a newer Camelot scarf. There was no big screen TV- in fact, all the televisions were of the old-fashioned CRT type, perched in each corner and eyed rigidly by grey men drinking warm beer.
It was already 1-0 to Blackburn.
‘Half of… Tetley,’ he said, attempting to fit in with the lager-shunning crowd. ‘What happened there?’
He gestured towards the nearest set.
‘I.D. first? And take off your glasses, you’re not fooling anyone. You are him, aren’t you? The bloke in the photos?’
‘Ah. I’ll go, if you don’t want me.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ the landlord smiled. ‘You’re one of us.’
‘One of…?’
‘Camelot fans, kid, not homosexuals. All I know is, we were doing a whole lot better before those photos came out- and don’t tell me you weren’t around long before that.’
Merlin nodded, flashing his provisional license.
‘It’s ridiculous, really,’ the landlord continued, pulling Merlin’s drink. ‘Some footballers cheat on their wives, sleep with prostitutes and do God knows what else, and they still play. Sad thing is, we probably need your man.’
‘We do,’ Merlin sighed, eyeing the score.
‘It was a fluke, the Blackburn goal. Still, we’ll have no reply. We just can’t get forward; we’re a bit toothless without him. It’s like they miss him.’
‘He misses it more.’
‘I’ll bet he does. Here’s your pint.’
‘Cheers.’
He’d asked for a half, and handed a few coins over as he eyed the glass warily. Clearly, a half was something you didn’t ask for in this place. He sighed, and settled in to watch absolutely nothing happen for the remaining hour of the game.
Not on the pitch anyway. In the stands, the fans were chanting for Arthur. Placards read ‘Artie come back’, and one person had even blown up a picture of Arthur, stuck a crown on it and captioned it ‘Arthur, Queen of Camelot’. Merlin felt that this was probably homophobic, but well-intentioned nonetheless.
God, Merlin hoped Arthur’s plan was going to work. Nobody would be happy if it didn’t.