FIC: It's not the end of the world (but you can see it from here) (Merlin, 1/6)
Title: It's not the end of the world (but you can see it from here)
Author: Cori Lannam (corilannam)
Film prompt: 2012 for reel_merlin Round 3
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17/18+
Word Count: ~33,000
Warnings/spoilers: APOCALYPSE. Worldwide death and destruction. Character death (not Merlin or Arthur). Imprudent barebacking. Character name spoilers through series 2.
Summary: Arthur, Prince of Wales, finds it hard to accept that he and Merlin have no future. Then he finds out that neither does anyone else.
Notes: Sincere thanks go to chelseafrew, who showered me with commas and put up with my whining for several months; stellarmeadow, who helped me avoid a near miss with a nervous breakdown; hanelissar, my Britpicker extraordinaire, who encourages my love of the semicolon. And of course, anna_zee, who has the magical ability to look at a draft and tell me exactly what's wrong with it and how to fix it, and also dealt with far more of my writing neuroses than any friend should have to bear.
All comments and critiques welcomed. I would love to hear about what you liked or didn't like!
2010
Arthur lifted his arm and tilted it as subtly as he could toward the light of the chandelier until he had a glimpse of the heavy gold watch on his wrist. Half past ten, and if anything, the supposedly intimate reception seemed to have grown into a full-fledged royal shindig.
Across the ballroom, beneath a portrait of Arthur's great-great-great-grandfather, his father stood speaking with the Australian ambassador. Arthur had expected him to retire at least half an hour before, but Uther showed no signs of detaching himself. On the contrary, the conversation seemed unusually intense for what was normally a dry diplomatic event.
And one could not possibly leave before the King, even if one was the Prince of Wales.
He did not sigh as he turned to find the Bulgarian ambassador's chief of staff sidling up to him, the next in the endless train of people eager for a moment with royalty. She smiled, he smiled, a palace photographer snapped their picture. He shook her hand and lifted his other hand to lightly touch her shoulder. As she lit up with joy, he managed one more glimpse at his watch.
Before the next hovering well-wisher could make a move, a slender arm twined through his with a familiarity only family could claim. "Morgana," Arthur greeted through his tight smile. "What are you doing?"
His half-sister continued moving toward the edge of the room, towing him along with little choice in the matter if he didn't want some unflattering photos. Her own smile was easy and unmoving as she spoke through her teeth. "I'm offering you a deal."
"What kind of deal?" Suspicion was a normal and natural part of their relationship, particularly when Morgana approached him for anything. Still, he didn't mind the distraction.
"You tell me who she is, and I'll cover for you with your father for the rest of the night."
His heart thudded once and sent a cold flush through his body. "Exactly what kind of cover do you think I need, Morgana?" He kept his voice and expression genially neutral, the public face they both understood.
"You've looked at your watch at least ten times in the last half hour," she replied, sounding remarkably like his governess when she'd reprimanded him ever so gently for fidgeting in the public view. "And you keep looking at His Majesty the King as though willing him into a sudden fit of narcolepsy."
He did not. Did he? He ground his teeth in anger at himself as the familiar creep of danger, secrecy at all costs, moved up his back, stiffening his spine as it went.
"Don't pretend you're not as bored as I am," he deflected. "Father never stays at parties this late. We're always free to do as we please by half ten at the outside."
"England played Australia at rugby last week."
"Shit." It was a measure of his distraction over the last couple weeks that he had forgotten about the match entirely. He glanced over at his father again, still arguing vehemently with the ambassador. Another man, whom Arthur did not recognize, had joined them. Two discreetly armed guards stood at a few feet away, warding off any interruptions with steely looks.
"Yes. They could be hours yet. Which you should have known." She leaned closer, eyes glittering under chandelier stars. "So who is she?"
His eyes flicked to the side, avoiding hers. He couldn't tell her about a woman; he wouldn't tell her about Merlin.
"Fine, keep your secrets." Her chin lifted. She started to move away, but his hand snapped out to grip her slim wrist.
"Morgana," he said, helpless. It had been nearly two weeks. He would give almost anything for what she was offering--just not what she was asking. "Please."
The word tasted like sawdust, but her eyes widened and softened. "The great Prince Arthur saying please. It must be true love. Well, far be it from me to stand in the way."
His eyes fluttered with relief before he composed himself. "I appreciate the generosity."
"It won't come free, but I'll let you postpone the collection for now." She turned away again, looking back at him over her silk-clad shoulder. "Go on, then. Ask Gwen to get your car; she'll be discreet. I'll tell Uther you stepped out to discuss one of your charities."
He nearly flinched before realizing it was just a lucky hit. Of course, she could not have guessed or her price would have been a great deal higher. "Thank you," he offered, the coin of humility a fair enough price to pay.
Then, while the international elite fluttered around Morgana like gussied-up moths to a disdainful flame, he slipped out into the dim corridors of Buckingham Palace to find Gwen.
***
2007
He had met Merlin three years ago through charity work. At first glance, in fact, he had assumed Merlin was some kind of charity case himself.
Arthur had been at a loose end since a terrorist threat had brought his military service to an abrupt and humiliating end two months before. He had raged all the way from Kabul to London, but his father had cut him down colder than a sniper's bullet as soon as he was off the plane.
"The benefit of your presence there no longer outweighs the risk to your life or your unit," Uther had said, matter of fact, dismissive. "Your place is here."
"I'm their captain, my place is with my men!" Even as he fired back, he knew he had lost the battle, apparently to be his last.
"You are the future King. That may not mean much to the general populace anymore, but I promise you, it means a great deal to me." Uther looked at him for the first time, pinning him with the full obligation of his ancestry. "You will occupy yourself with royal work. The time has come to put away your playthings."
His men were not playthings; the innocent Afghanis they had been trying to protect were not game pieces to be discarded. Crown Prince Uther had come back from war weighed down with medals for heroic bravery in the defense of his people. That he considered Arthur's service unnecessary, a childish impracticality they could no longer afford to indulge, was the greatest slap in the face Uther had ever given him in a lifetime of casual disregard.
"Your Highness, there are a number of issues which could benefit from your attention," Leon murmured a week into the royal sulk. "Your mother's former projects, for instance."
The Lady Ygraine, in her too-brief reign as queen, had been patron to a number of causes close to her heart. After her death, Uther had bequeathed her patronages to the tiny prince she left behind. As Arthur came to manhood, he had largely ignored the portfolio of charitable and artistic organizations he had inherited, except for the odd appearance or supportive letter. He already had enough of his mother's life to make up for.
But he had never been a man to sit idle. Leon had become Uther's chief of staff while Arthur was in Afghanistan, and they had not met until his return. Even in the short time since, Arthur had learned to listen to the steady presence who also handled the prince's limited affairs of state until Arthur chose to establish his own office.
That had never seemed worth doing, as he had fled into the service before his official coming of age and investiture as Prince of Wales. Now perhaps it was time.
"Quite right," he said and pulled out his cell phone.
His father was skiing with the German Chancellor. Uther answered on the second ring. Even on the Alpine slopes, his Blackberry was never far from his hands.
"I'm establishing a proper office at Clarence House," Arthur told his father without preamble or room for abnegation. "And I'm keeping Leon."
He hung up on Uther's chuckle; this sort of bravado always won Uther's good-natured approval. Leon gave a small smile, not seeming to mind his place as a pawn in royal family politics.
"I've put together extensive files on each of the organizations," he began, but Arthur shook his head.
"I want to meet the people and hear about the work from them. You can't take the measure of something from a file."
"I'll arrange it, sir," Leon replied with a deferential nod that hid the lingering smile. A day later, Leon had taken out a long-term loan on Guinevere Smith, Morgana's chief aide, and the new project had begun.
So Arthur met with a group of grandmothers who had been revolutionizing child care for working mothers in Britain and were now setting their sights on the nutritional content of school lunches. He met with a pair of sallow-faced accountants who were all that was left of the once-militant Parliamentary Financial Accountability Campaign. And he met with a legion of alleged arts groups supporting alleged artists whose work must have meant something to the Lady Ygraine Gorlois, but meant very little to her grown son.
"There's nothing here I can really sink my teeth into," he complained to Leon a few weeks later. "And they don't seem overeager for my input, either. Most of them just seem slightly puzzled as to why I'm suddenly taking a personal interest in what they do."
"We can arrange it so that you needn't trouble them again, sir," Leon agreed, then handed Arthur one last file. "In the meantime, you'll find that we've saved the most promising for last. They'll be here at the end of the week to meet with you."
"Now this might be more like it," Arthur muttered as he skimmed the file. "At least I've heard of MSF."
Though by the end of the week, he was not convinced that they would have any use for him, either. As he strode through Clarence House on the way to meet with the final set of representatives, he wondered if there was any point in hoping for it.
Then he turned the corner and collided with something solid that send him arse over elbow in a shower of papers. He landed with his face planted in the carpet runner. "Oomph," he heard himself saying right before he started to cough. Someone had been overdoing the carpet shampoo.
"Oh, God," said an unfamiliar voice from the vicinity of his knee. It was followed by the sound of papers suffering irreparable damage as someone crawled over them. "I am so sorry, I really am."
More papers crinkled under his palms as Arthur pushed himself up from the carpet. "So am I," he said and bit back a groan as his neck protested. "Really."
The other person was bent over gathering up the scattered papers and stuffing them into a bent file folder. As Arthur got to his feet, all he could see was a suit-clad backside--a rather nice one, despite the ill fit of the suit, though it only partially dampened Arthur's irritation.
"I was rushing because I have a meeting with the prince--Prince Arthur," the man added as though the country had a surplus of princes running about.
"What luck," Arthur muttered, picking up a stray page and looking at the logo with a sigh. So much for the glamour.
"The late queen was one of our first patrons, back when she was still Princess of Wales, and a lot more useful than the current Prince, if you ask me," the man babbled as he straightened up and turned around to face Arthur. "Oh, could you hand me that? Cheers. Anyway, the queen was--"
Arthur looked at him with resigned amusement as the man got his first look at Arthur's face and swallowed hard. Wide blue eyes looked him up and down and back again. He looked less intimidated or mortified and more like someone had just offered him a fine meal--or an excellent pornographic film.
Then Arthur met those eyes directly and felt as if the breath had been knocked from him again. The fine planes of his face and the sensual curve of his lips suddenly came into focus. The man was young, beautiful in an awkward way, and completely wrong for the sensations the sight of him evoked.
Oh, brilliant. This had not been the thing he was looking for. He had left this part of himself behind when he left the safety of his regiment. Arthur had sworn to himself never to think of it again, and this man, this boy, comes here with those eyes and those lips, looking at Arthur like no one ever dared.
He shook himself out of the spell. "Go on," he said, holding out the final missing paper. "The queen was what?"
The man's mouth snapped shut, though he still stared at Arthur. He took the paper with an unsteady hand. "Er, she was--well, apparently your mother."
"Well done," Arthur drawled, sarcasm hiding the discomfort he felt under the frank blue gaze. He realized he had forgotten to let go of the paper and snatched his hand back.
He got a sudden grin for his trouble, completely unabashed. The man stuck his free hand out in an overly familiar manner, as though they were now friends. "Merlin Emrys, MSF-UK."
Arthur looked down at the hand and raised his eyebrows. He had never refused to shake anyone's hand before, no matter how little he cared for their person, but the urge to provoke this Merlin overcame his breeding. "And a scholar in the history of our late queen as well, it seems. Well, let us hope your presentation is better than your introduction if you want to keep her son's support."
He expected fear and an unattractive attempt at pacification. Instead, he saw anger flare up in Merlin's eyes. "I think our reputation and work speak for themselves," Merlin retorted with a heat Arthur had rarely received from anyone not related to him. "How many Nobel prizes has your royal attitude won you lately?"
Arthur gaped in disbelief. Not even the most intimate of his relatives, school friends, or military comrades had ever dared to speak to him that way. A thrill of adrenaline coursed through him, eager to ignite the sparks he had trained himself to smother.
Just as he opened his mouth to return fire, the quick thump-thump of sensible heels over thin carpet made them both turn their heads just as Gwen tore around the same corner that had taken Arthur out.
"There you are," she said when she spotted Merlin. "Why didn't you follow me?"
Arthur cleared his throat again. He was not used to being overlooked twice in the space of five minutes.
As he expected, Gwen's eyes snapped to him, then dropped in automatic obeisance. "Excuse me, Your Highness. I was just bringing Dr. Emrys to the conference room."
Doctor? Somehow it had not occurred to Arthur that this odd creature would hold an actual degree, despite working for an organization with the word in the title. It only made him more attractive, which only made Arthur more frustrated with himself.
"Sorry. I got distracted by that painting with the dog, then I took a wrong turn trying to catch up with you." Merlin offered another of those cheerfully idiotic grins, begging the obvious question of how someone so mentally defective could have obtained a degree in anything. "Might have been a couple of wrong turns, actually."
"You had better be on your way, then," Arthur said with careful neutrality. "I've heard the prince hates to be kept waiting."
Merlin gave him a quizzical look, almost disappointed, but reliable Gwen nodded and motioned Merlin to follow her. "Of course, sir. This way, Doctor."
Arthur kept his face blank until, with a last confused look over his shoulder, Dr. Merlin Emrys vanished through the double doors at the end of the corridor. Then Arthur was free to grimace and rub between his eyes where a headache was looming.
He really should not do this. But damn it all, there would be one part of Arthur’s life that someone else did not control. He would have one thing for himself.
Ten minutes after being mowed down in his own house by a long-limbed tornado, Arthur had recovered his royal aplomb and was sat in his customary leather chair at the head of the gleaming mahogany conference table. Leon sat beside him and Gwen on Leon's other side.
At the other end of the table, Merlin was whispering to a rather scruffy Frenchman who had been introduced as Lancelot du Lac, a close working partner of Dr. Emrys. Arthur was not at all certain that he cared for Frenchmen in general, nor Lancelot du Lac in particular.
"As I'm sure Your Royal Highness is aware," du Lac began, sounding nervous, which grated on Arthur's nerves, "Medicins Sans Frontiers, or in English--"
"Doctors without Borders, yes, I'm aware," Arthur interrupted. He was also aware he sounded peevish, which visibly increased du Lac's anxiety.
Merlin just flashed a brief, triumphant grin down the table at him, then gravely slid his portfolio down to Gwen. She glanced through it briefly with a raised eyebrow and passed it to Leon, who did the same before sliding it in front of Arthur.
He opened the folder of what he assumed had once been an impressive professional presentation before it had been scattered across a floor, trampled, and rather haphazardly reassembled. Arthur glanced up as he flicked over a crumpled page. Merlin offered a tiny shrug. Du Lac looked ill.
Arthur looked down at the size ten and a half shoe print on the next page. He was fairly sure it had not been made by his own custom-made shoes, but it was hard to be certain short of calling in Scotland Yard.
Du Lac cleared his throat. "Of course, Your Highness. And I'm sure you're also aware that MSF was founded in 1971, and the UK office was opened shortly before the Lady Ygraine Gorlois was crowned Princess of Wales."
Arthur flipped a few more pages and stopped on a full-page picture of his mother, smiling and still looking every inch a princess even though she was dusty and surrounded by sweaty relief workers and their patients. "She always wanted to make a difference," he murmured as though it were a dearly held memory rather than something he had been told by a thousand reverent people about a mother he had never met.
"Yes, she was involved in establishing several of our first sites," du Lac offered, looking relieved to be on firmer ground. "She enjoyed taking an active involvement in our work."
"You could do the same," Merlin jumped in, as though anyone not styled His Majesty could tell Arthur what to do. Yet his eyes lit up such that Arthur had to remind himself it was not meant for him personally. Many people glowed in the reflective light of royalty.
Leon made a small, disapproving noise in his throat, and Merlin's face fell. "Right," he said. "I guess you're pretty busy and all."
"I don't see why I couldn't make a visit or two." He would have done it anyway, Arthur told himself even as he spoke. "You work in the field, Merlin?"
"Lance and I have been working in South Africa the last few months," Merlin answered. The light was back in his eyes. "Before that, we were helping to operate a clinic in Kenya, but we were able to cease operations there late last year."
"Cease operations?" Arthur asked.
"As much as possible, the work is done by doctors and nurses from that particular country. Our ultimate goal at every site is to eventually hand over operations to the community." A different kind of light shone in du Lac's eyes, his back stiffening into a posture Arthur recognized.
"You were in the military?" he asked.
Du Lac nodded. "Five years after my medical degree, but I left to begin working with MSF, in France and then through the UK office. I wanted to help the victims of war, not create new ones."
"You didn't consider it part of your military duty to protect the innocent?" Arthur returned, his voice and temper gone sharp. He would find it difficult to work with anyone who had what Arthur had always wanted and walked away from it as though it meant nothing.
"Less so than I wanted it to be," du Lac replied with a quiet that took the wind right out of Arthur's sails. "I found a different way to serve. Please, Your Highness, let us tell you about what we're doing."
As the man continued to speak, Arthur could say nothing more against him. In fact, he was damnably inspiring. Arthur felt it in his bones, the urge to go to war against all the evil of the world, in whatever form he found it. Restoring the health of communities seemed like a worthy battle to give one’s life to.
Lancelot du Lac certainly looked every bit the heroic warrior, but Arthur could not keep his eyes off the man beside him. Merlin looked back at him, curious and intense. There was another conversation happening, another battle as they tried to figure out what to do about each other. A warm flush spread through Arthur’s belly that had nothing to do with charity.
Once, near the end, Merlin turned briefly to interject something into Lancelot’s story, leaving Arthur cold. When he looked back, the heat slotted back into place, and Arthur knew exactly what he was going to do.
When they were done, everyone in the room sat looking at him expectantly. Merlin, Lancelot, and even Guinevere looked hopeful, while Leon looked bemused and resigned. Arthur gave a slow nod, that strange reluctant excitement still sparking in his gut and heating his blood.
"I want to know more. This time you can tell me," he added, inclining his head toward Merlin, who bit his lip to suppress a grin. Lancelot looked relieved to be let off the hook.
"Sir, shall I schedule another briefing?" Leon clicked his Blackberry to bring up Arthur's schedule. "Perhaps week after next we could find half an--"
"No, just clear my evening," Arthur said. Even as he looked toward Merlin, his common sense screamed that this was not at all what he should be doing. He ignored it; nothing about Arthur had ever been common. "Have dinner with me."
"Of course, Your Highness," Merlin answered with an awkward attempt at deference that told Arthur that Merlin was about to cost him a small fortune in steak.
***
Ten minutes after leaving his father’s reception, Arthur pulled up around the back of Merlin's building, where the car couldn't be seen from the street. As he got out, he looked up: the windows were lit. A thrill went through him as strong as had been the very first time he had gone to Merlin, though then he had crossed continents for the privilege.
He found the key on his key ring without looking, let himself in and jogged up the stairs. Two weeks since he had seen Merlin--one state visit to Japan for Arthur, followed in unfortunate overlap by an international development conference that had stolen Merlin away to Prague for the rest of the very long fortnight.
It had been too long since he had even heard Merlin's voice. After a flurry of giddy phone calls and texts, filled with professional intoxication, he had heard almost nothing from Merlin for the rest of the week. Then this morning: a single text, saying that Merlin was on his way to the airport. Arthur had replied with a smiley face. He was trying not to cling.
Merlin had every right to enjoy himself with his colleagues. Arthur understood that intellectually, even if he did not have many colleagues of his own to compare. Nor would he mind when Merlin came home lit up with excitement from all the people he had met and all the good things they were doing.
He wanted to hear all about the work, but mostly he wanted to hear Merlin's voice and see his face. He wanted to touch Merlin's skin, lose himself deep in Merlin's body, and then he wanted to fall asleep in Merlin's bed where all the troubles of the world could not reach him.
All the lights in the flat were on when Arthur let himself in, welcoming him into the warmth. The trainers kicked off by the door and the jacket flung across the coffee table were the only immediate signs of Merlin's presence. Arthur heard footsteps and rustling from further inside the flat. He smiled to himself and let the door close softly behind him.
His hand slipped briefly into his pocket to feel the weight of the gift he had gotten Merlin in Kyoto. It was a pendant, heavy on a masculine chain, of the sort sold to Western tourists with more cash than taste, which meant there was an even chance Merlin would either love it or hate it.
The reporters had been barred from the shop, but he had smiled into their cameras as he stepped out onto the pavement. As he expected, it wasn’t long before word spread that Prince Arthur had purchased jewellery in the form of the Kanji character for love.
Arthur found Merlin in the bedroom, right where he wanted him. Merlin was walking back and forth between the closet and the open suitcase on the bed, muttering to himself as he unpacked. Arthur folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door jamb.
He studied the tense line of Merlin's back. It must have been an unpleasant trip, though Arthur had discreetly made sure Merlin was upgraded to first class when he got to the airport.
"What am I doing? Oh, my God," Merlin muttered and carried some trousers back from the closet to the suitcase. He still had not noticed Arthur, and Arthur was tired of that.
"Really, Merlin," he said and smirked as Merlin jumped and spun around to face him. Trouser legs went flying like silly string around him. "Trust you to muck something as simple as unpacking a suitcase. You're doing it backward."
He expected Merlin to light up, or at least to fire back a jibe about how Arthur had never had to pack or unpack anything for himself--which was untrue. But Merlin just stood and gaped at him as though shocked at Arthur's presence in his bedroom even after a love affair of several years.
"Arthur," he said after a few seconds. "I thought you were at your father's party."
Arthur unfolded his arms and spread his hands with a smile. "And yet, here I am."
Merlin returned the smile, but it looked more nervous than happy. Arthur felt a smidgen of uncertainty for the first time. Merlin was still not jumping into Arthur's arms, still not kissing him with two weeks’ worth of pent-up passion, still not pulling him out of his clothes and onto the bed.
He frowned. Merlin's gaze flicked to the suitcase, then back to Arthur, casual in a way that transparently meant the exact opposite. Arthur looked past him, looked closer.
"Merlin," he said slowly, seeing the pile of khaki shorts and t-shirts he knew Merlin had not taken to Prague. "Would you like to explain what's happening here?"
Merlin's shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes. Arthur remembered the single text message from the morning--no embellishments of affection or anticipation. A ball of ice settled in his gut. He had thought Merlin was just tired.
"My apologies if I've spoilt your plans." There seemed to be a disconnect between the words and Arthur's brain, between him and what he now knew was happening. "I assume I was supposed to find an empty flat and a note?"
Wordlessly, Merlin reached around to his back pocket and pulled out a creased envelope with Arthur's initials on it. He held it out, and Arthur took it.
Then he crumpled it into a ball and threw it as hard as he could at Merlin's head.
Merlin ducked, unfortunately, and held up his hands as if to deflect Arthur's unreasonable temper. "I thought it would be easier. I thought if I saw you again, I wouldn't be able to go."
"Go where?" He sounded helpless and stupid, and he hated himself for it. "What, Africa?"
Merlin's head jerked on his neck in a parody of a nod. His eyes were getting wet, as if he were the one with the right to cry. "I don't want to leave you. I don’t."
In an instant Arthur move forward and seized him by the shoulders. "Then why? You owe me that much."
Merlin looked back at him, so close Arthur could see the damp clumping of his eyelashes. "Because I'm not happy, but I didn't understand why until I went to the conference."
Arthur's fingers were cramping around Merlin's shoulders, but he only tightened his grip. The words hurt more than his fingers. "Because of me."
"No! It's not about you, Arthur." Merlin tried a smile, but it was growing weaker with each attempt. "You're not even a prat anymore. At least eighty percent of the time. Maybe seventy-five."
"If you’re leaving me, then it’s about me." He could certainly go on the internet anytime and read a laundry list of his personal failings. He had never given it much heed before.
Merlin shook his head. "I can't live your life, Arthur."
"I never asked--" he started to protest until Merlin shook his head harder.
"No, you're right. I'm not living your life, I'm living in the shadow of your life. I thought I could be happy with that, but when I talked with all those people who were doing what I used to do... I can't spend the rest of my life being your--your mistress, Arthur."
Ten minutes ago Arthur would have teased with a casual insult and waited for Merlin to laugh himself out of his mood. Now he felt his future hinging on saying exactly what he meant.
"I always meant to--" He stopped himself and started again. "You know I'll marry you right now. We'll wake up a registrar."
"Arthur--"
"I'll call my father. He won't dare tell me no, and if he does, we'll appeal to Parliament. Who else is there to succeed him?" Arthur felt his mouth tightening in a mad grin. "I've figured it all out, Merlin. I've had a plan for ages now."
"I know you have." Merlin laughed with a distinct edge of hysteria. "That's exactly what I'm terrified of. I know what you were trying to do in Japan."
"Merlin. You're not making any sense. As usual." Arthur frowned in confusion, until he remembered the silk pouch in his pocket and the love token inside.
Merlin drew back, taking a full step away. "I can’t marry you, Arthur. I can’t be your consort and go around pretending I’m royalty. I can’t live that life for the rest of mine. I was never meant to."
"Not your destiny?" His voice sounded sharp, but inside he felt small. I thought I was your destiny, he wanted to say, but never would.
"Whatever you want to call it, I’m not doing what I’m supposed to be doing." He held Arthur’s gaze as he kept shaking his head, panicky but resolute.
"You always say that it’s the local doctors who really run things," he shot back. "They don’t need you. You don’t belong there, Merlin."
Merlin’s face went cold. "And I belong here? At least there I’m useful to someone."
As opposed to Arthur, who served little purpose in the modern world except as an outdated vestige of a historical legacy less and less relevant by the minute. His jaw clenched. Of all people, he had thought Merlin saw him as something more.
"You’re useful here," he persevered. "You raise the money that buys the medicine and equipment they need to do their jobs."
"But I’m not very good at it." Merlin gave a short laugh. "Believe it or not, Arthur, I was damn good at my job before. I built relationships and made commitments that I didn’t have the right to break just because a prince gave me a wink one day."
"I see," Arthur said, because he could think of no other response to hearing the risk he had taken, the devotion he had given, reduced to so little.
Merlin bit his lip and gave him an apologetic look. "I didn't mean it like that. But Arthur, the people I work with there see well-meaning Westerners come and go all the time. Rock stars, politicians, kids on their gap year-yeah, even royalty. They play with the children, they take pictures, they raise some money, and they leave. Don’t get me wrong, it does help."
"Why, thank you," he muttered.
"But the local staff you’re dismissing -- it’s their home, their people. They can’t just get on a plane and forget about it until it’s time to write the next check. And yeah, they do amazing things, but they still need people who will stay and fight with them and not give up when it gets tough. I thought you’d understand that, Captain Pendragon."
The hell of it was, he did. He did not want to listen, because it hurt and made him feel so small that he would still take Merlin away from those people if he could, but he could not pretend he did not understand.
"We could still be together," he started, stubborn to the last against fading hope. "You could still go--"
"No, I couldn’t. It wouldn’t work for either of us, and you know it." Merlin’s breathing was ragged and choked, and Arthur hated him just a little for being the one who could cry. "I love you, Arthur, but we were never meant to have a future together."
Arthur turned away for a moment, unable to look at Merlin as he gathered himself for one last assault. "Merlin-"
"Merlin?" called a voice from the living room, followed by the slam of the front door.
Arthur stiffened and turned to look at Merlin, who ducked his head with a sigh. "Back here, Lance," Merlin called.
A second later Lancelot du Lac appeared in the doorway of Merlin’s bedroom, holding the jacket Merlin had left on the coffee table. "Merlin, are you ready? The flight leaves - oh, excuse me, Your Highness."
Arthur just stared at him. Lancelot du Lac, who felt free to waltz into Merlin’s flat without so much as ringing the bell. Lancelot du Lac, who stood ready to collect his prize, holding Merlin’s coat as though it was his privilege. Arthur had already lost before he even knew there was an enemy to fight.
"Yes, I see," he said and moved toward the door.
"Arthur!" Merlin said sharply. "Arthur, wait."
There seemed to be nothing else to wait for, but he did stop and turn back to Merlin. His hand slid into his pocket and pulled out the silk pouch he had carried from the other side of the world. "I almost forgot," he said. "Brought you this. You can take it with you, if you like."
"Arthur, no," Merlin started. The pain on his face was sweet salve to Arthur’s anger.
Merlin tried to back away, but Arthur seized his hand and lifted it. He pressed the pouch into Merlin’s palm, then one by one, closed his fingers around it. "Really. You deserve it, after everything you’ve been through."
Then he turned and walked away, clapping Lancelot on the shoulder as he passed him at the doorway. "Bon voyage," he said with a casual bonhomie. "I’ll be down there for the Cup next week. Maybe I’ll drop by and take some photos."
He made it back to the car before the hollow feeling in his stomach turned to actual sharp pain. Above him, the lights of Merlin’s flat still shone, even when he squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could. For the first time, he wished he had not driven himself.
But he could not stay here, with those lights over his head and Merlin coming out the door at any moment. He put the car into gear and drove back to the life Merlin had not been able to bear the thought of joining.
He and Merlin had no future.
Two weeks later, he found out that neither did anyone else.
***
Part 2
Author: Cori Lannam (corilannam)
Film prompt: 2012 for reel_merlin Round 3
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17/18+
Word Count: ~33,000
Warnings/spoilers: APOCALYPSE. Worldwide death and destruction. Character death (not Merlin or Arthur). Imprudent barebacking. Character name spoilers through series 2.
Summary: Arthur, Prince of Wales, finds it hard to accept that he and Merlin have no future. Then he finds out that neither does anyone else.
Notes: Sincere thanks go to chelseafrew, who showered me with commas and put up with my whining for several months; stellarmeadow, who helped me avoid a near miss with a nervous breakdown; hanelissar, my Britpicker extraordinaire, who encourages my love of the semicolon. And of course, anna_zee, who has the magical ability to look at a draft and tell me exactly what's wrong with it and how to fix it, and also dealt with far more of my writing neuroses than any friend should have to bear.
All comments and critiques welcomed. I would love to hear about what you liked or didn't like!
2010
Arthur lifted his arm and tilted it as subtly as he could toward the light of the chandelier until he had a glimpse of the heavy gold watch on his wrist. Half past ten, and if anything, the supposedly intimate reception seemed to have grown into a full-fledged royal shindig.
Across the ballroom, beneath a portrait of Arthur's great-great-great-grandfather, his father stood speaking with the Australian ambassador. Arthur had expected him to retire at least half an hour before, but Uther showed no signs of detaching himself. On the contrary, the conversation seemed unusually intense for what was normally a dry diplomatic event.
And one could not possibly leave before the King, even if one was the Prince of Wales.
He did not sigh as he turned to find the Bulgarian ambassador's chief of staff sidling up to him, the next in the endless train of people eager for a moment with royalty. She smiled, he smiled, a palace photographer snapped their picture. He shook her hand and lifted his other hand to lightly touch her shoulder. As she lit up with joy, he managed one more glimpse at his watch.
Before the next hovering well-wisher could make a move, a slender arm twined through his with a familiarity only family could claim. "Morgana," Arthur greeted through his tight smile. "What are you doing?"
His half-sister continued moving toward the edge of the room, towing him along with little choice in the matter if he didn't want some unflattering photos. Her own smile was easy and unmoving as she spoke through her teeth. "I'm offering you a deal."
"What kind of deal?" Suspicion was a normal and natural part of their relationship, particularly when Morgana approached him for anything. Still, he didn't mind the distraction.
"You tell me who she is, and I'll cover for you with your father for the rest of the night."
His heart thudded once and sent a cold flush through his body. "Exactly what kind of cover do you think I need, Morgana?" He kept his voice and expression genially neutral, the public face they both understood.
"You've looked at your watch at least ten times in the last half hour," she replied, sounding remarkably like his governess when she'd reprimanded him ever so gently for fidgeting in the public view. "And you keep looking at His Majesty the King as though willing him into a sudden fit of narcolepsy."
He did not. Did he? He ground his teeth in anger at himself as the familiar creep of danger, secrecy at all costs, moved up his back, stiffening his spine as it went.
"Don't pretend you're not as bored as I am," he deflected. "Father never stays at parties this late. We're always free to do as we please by half ten at the outside."
"England played Australia at rugby last week."
"Shit." It was a measure of his distraction over the last couple weeks that he had forgotten about the match entirely. He glanced over at his father again, still arguing vehemently with the ambassador. Another man, whom Arthur did not recognize, had joined them. Two discreetly armed guards stood at a few feet away, warding off any interruptions with steely looks.
"Yes. They could be hours yet. Which you should have known." She leaned closer, eyes glittering under chandelier stars. "So who is she?"
His eyes flicked to the side, avoiding hers. He couldn't tell her about a woman; he wouldn't tell her about Merlin.
"Fine, keep your secrets." Her chin lifted. She started to move away, but his hand snapped out to grip her slim wrist.
"Morgana," he said, helpless. It had been nearly two weeks. He would give almost anything for what she was offering--just not what she was asking. "Please."
The word tasted like sawdust, but her eyes widened and softened. "The great Prince Arthur saying please. It must be true love. Well, far be it from me to stand in the way."
His eyes fluttered with relief before he composed himself. "I appreciate the generosity."
"It won't come free, but I'll let you postpone the collection for now." She turned away again, looking back at him over her silk-clad shoulder. "Go on, then. Ask Gwen to get your car; she'll be discreet. I'll tell Uther you stepped out to discuss one of your charities."
He nearly flinched before realizing it was just a lucky hit. Of course, she could not have guessed or her price would have been a great deal higher. "Thank you," he offered, the coin of humility a fair enough price to pay.
Then, while the international elite fluttered around Morgana like gussied-up moths to a disdainful flame, he slipped out into the dim corridors of Buckingham Palace to find Gwen.
***
2007
He had met Merlin three years ago through charity work. At first glance, in fact, he had assumed Merlin was some kind of charity case himself.
Arthur had been at a loose end since a terrorist threat had brought his military service to an abrupt and humiliating end two months before. He had raged all the way from Kabul to London, but his father had cut him down colder than a sniper's bullet as soon as he was off the plane.
"The benefit of your presence there no longer outweighs the risk to your life or your unit," Uther had said, matter of fact, dismissive. "Your place is here."
"I'm their captain, my place is with my men!" Even as he fired back, he knew he had lost the battle, apparently to be his last.
"You are the future King. That may not mean much to the general populace anymore, but I promise you, it means a great deal to me." Uther looked at him for the first time, pinning him with the full obligation of his ancestry. "You will occupy yourself with royal work. The time has come to put away your playthings."
His men were not playthings; the innocent Afghanis they had been trying to protect were not game pieces to be discarded. Crown Prince Uther had come back from war weighed down with medals for heroic bravery in the defense of his people. That he considered Arthur's service unnecessary, a childish impracticality they could no longer afford to indulge, was the greatest slap in the face Uther had ever given him in a lifetime of casual disregard.
"Your Highness, there are a number of issues which could benefit from your attention," Leon murmured a week into the royal sulk. "Your mother's former projects, for instance."
The Lady Ygraine, in her too-brief reign as queen, had been patron to a number of causes close to her heart. After her death, Uther had bequeathed her patronages to the tiny prince she left behind. As Arthur came to manhood, he had largely ignored the portfolio of charitable and artistic organizations he had inherited, except for the odd appearance or supportive letter. He already had enough of his mother's life to make up for.
But he had never been a man to sit idle. Leon had become Uther's chief of staff while Arthur was in Afghanistan, and they had not met until his return. Even in the short time since, Arthur had learned to listen to the steady presence who also handled the prince's limited affairs of state until Arthur chose to establish his own office.
That had never seemed worth doing, as he had fled into the service before his official coming of age and investiture as Prince of Wales. Now perhaps it was time.
"Quite right," he said and pulled out his cell phone.
His father was skiing with the German Chancellor. Uther answered on the second ring. Even on the Alpine slopes, his Blackberry was never far from his hands.
"I'm establishing a proper office at Clarence House," Arthur told his father without preamble or room for abnegation. "And I'm keeping Leon."
He hung up on Uther's chuckle; this sort of bravado always won Uther's good-natured approval. Leon gave a small smile, not seeming to mind his place as a pawn in royal family politics.
"I've put together extensive files on each of the organizations," he began, but Arthur shook his head.
"I want to meet the people and hear about the work from them. You can't take the measure of something from a file."
"I'll arrange it, sir," Leon replied with a deferential nod that hid the lingering smile. A day later, Leon had taken out a long-term loan on Guinevere Smith, Morgana's chief aide, and the new project had begun.
So Arthur met with a group of grandmothers who had been revolutionizing child care for working mothers in Britain and were now setting their sights on the nutritional content of school lunches. He met with a pair of sallow-faced accountants who were all that was left of the once-militant Parliamentary Financial Accountability Campaign. And he met with a legion of alleged arts groups supporting alleged artists whose work must have meant something to the Lady Ygraine Gorlois, but meant very little to her grown son.
"There's nothing here I can really sink my teeth into," he complained to Leon a few weeks later. "And they don't seem overeager for my input, either. Most of them just seem slightly puzzled as to why I'm suddenly taking a personal interest in what they do."
"We can arrange it so that you needn't trouble them again, sir," Leon agreed, then handed Arthur one last file. "In the meantime, you'll find that we've saved the most promising for last. They'll be here at the end of the week to meet with you."
"Now this might be more like it," Arthur muttered as he skimmed the file. "At least I've heard of MSF."
Though by the end of the week, he was not convinced that they would have any use for him, either. As he strode through Clarence House on the way to meet with the final set of representatives, he wondered if there was any point in hoping for it.
Then he turned the corner and collided with something solid that send him arse over elbow in a shower of papers. He landed with his face planted in the carpet runner. "Oomph," he heard himself saying right before he started to cough. Someone had been overdoing the carpet shampoo.
"Oh, God," said an unfamiliar voice from the vicinity of his knee. It was followed by the sound of papers suffering irreparable damage as someone crawled over them. "I am so sorry, I really am."
More papers crinkled under his palms as Arthur pushed himself up from the carpet. "So am I," he said and bit back a groan as his neck protested. "Really."
The other person was bent over gathering up the scattered papers and stuffing them into a bent file folder. As Arthur got to his feet, all he could see was a suit-clad backside--a rather nice one, despite the ill fit of the suit, though it only partially dampened Arthur's irritation.
"I was rushing because I have a meeting with the prince--Prince Arthur," the man added as though the country had a surplus of princes running about.
"What luck," Arthur muttered, picking up a stray page and looking at the logo with a sigh. So much for the glamour.
"The late queen was one of our first patrons, back when she was still Princess of Wales, and a lot more useful than the current Prince, if you ask me," the man babbled as he straightened up and turned around to face Arthur. "Oh, could you hand me that? Cheers. Anyway, the queen was--"
Arthur looked at him with resigned amusement as the man got his first look at Arthur's face and swallowed hard. Wide blue eyes looked him up and down and back again. He looked less intimidated or mortified and more like someone had just offered him a fine meal--or an excellent pornographic film.
Then Arthur met those eyes directly and felt as if the breath had been knocked from him again. The fine planes of his face and the sensual curve of his lips suddenly came into focus. The man was young, beautiful in an awkward way, and completely wrong for the sensations the sight of him evoked.
Oh, brilliant. This had not been the thing he was looking for. He had left this part of himself behind when he left the safety of his regiment. Arthur had sworn to himself never to think of it again, and this man, this boy, comes here with those eyes and those lips, looking at Arthur like no one ever dared.
He shook himself out of the spell. "Go on," he said, holding out the final missing paper. "The queen was what?"
The man's mouth snapped shut, though he still stared at Arthur. He took the paper with an unsteady hand. "Er, she was--well, apparently your mother."
"Well done," Arthur drawled, sarcasm hiding the discomfort he felt under the frank blue gaze. He realized he had forgotten to let go of the paper and snatched his hand back.
He got a sudden grin for his trouble, completely unabashed. The man stuck his free hand out in an overly familiar manner, as though they were now friends. "Merlin Emrys, MSF-UK."
Arthur looked down at the hand and raised his eyebrows. He had never refused to shake anyone's hand before, no matter how little he cared for their person, but the urge to provoke this Merlin overcame his breeding. "And a scholar in the history of our late queen as well, it seems. Well, let us hope your presentation is better than your introduction if you want to keep her son's support."
He expected fear and an unattractive attempt at pacification. Instead, he saw anger flare up in Merlin's eyes. "I think our reputation and work speak for themselves," Merlin retorted with a heat Arthur had rarely received from anyone not related to him. "How many Nobel prizes has your royal attitude won you lately?"
Arthur gaped in disbelief. Not even the most intimate of his relatives, school friends, or military comrades had ever dared to speak to him that way. A thrill of adrenaline coursed through him, eager to ignite the sparks he had trained himself to smother.
Just as he opened his mouth to return fire, the quick thump-thump of sensible heels over thin carpet made them both turn their heads just as Gwen tore around the same corner that had taken Arthur out.
"There you are," she said when she spotted Merlin. "Why didn't you follow me?"
Arthur cleared his throat again. He was not used to being overlooked twice in the space of five minutes.
As he expected, Gwen's eyes snapped to him, then dropped in automatic obeisance. "Excuse me, Your Highness. I was just bringing Dr. Emrys to the conference room."
Doctor? Somehow it had not occurred to Arthur that this odd creature would hold an actual degree, despite working for an organization with the word in the title. It only made him more attractive, which only made Arthur more frustrated with himself.
"Sorry. I got distracted by that painting with the dog, then I took a wrong turn trying to catch up with you." Merlin offered another of those cheerfully idiotic grins, begging the obvious question of how someone so mentally defective could have obtained a degree in anything. "Might have been a couple of wrong turns, actually."
"You had better be on your way, then," Arthur said with careful neutrality. "I've heard the prince hates to be kept waiting."
Merlin gave him a quizzical look, almost disappointed, but reliable Gwen nodded and motioned Merlin to follow her. "Of course, sir. This way, Doctor."
Arthur kept his face blank until, with a last confused look over his shoulder, Dr. Merlin Emrys vanished through the double doors at the end of the corridor. Then Arthur was free to grimace and rub between his eyes where a headache was looming.
He really should not do this. But damn it all, there would be one part of Arthur’s life that someone else did not control. He would have one thing for himself.
Ten minutes after being mowed down in his own house by a long-limbed tornado, Arthur had recovered his royal aplomb and was sat in his customary leather chair at the head of the gleaming mahogany conference table. Leon sat beside him and Gwen on Leon's other side.
At the other end of the table, Merlin was whispering to a rather scruffy Frenchman who had been introduced as Lancelot du Lac, a close working partner of Dr. Emrys. Arthur was not at all certain that he cared for Frenchmen in general, nor Lancelot du Lac in particular.
"As I'm sure Your Royal Highness is aware," du Lac began, sounding nervous, which grated on Arthur's nerves, "Medicins Sans Frontiers, or in English--"
"Doctors without Borders, yes, I'm aware," Arthur interrupted. He was also aware he sounded peevish, which visibly increased du Lac's anxiety.
Merlin just flashed a brief, triumphant grin down the table at him, then gravely slid his portfolio down to Gwen. She glanced through it briefly with a raised eyebrow and passed it to Leon, who did the same before sliding it in front of Arthur.
He opened the folder of what he assumed had once been an impressive professional presentation before it had been scattered across a floor, trampled, and rather haphazardly reassembled. Arthur glanced up as he flicked over a crumpled page. Merlin offered a tiny shrug. Du Lac looked ill.
Arthur looked down at the size ten and a half shoe print on the next page. He was fairly sure it had not been made by his own custom-made shoes, but it was hard to be certain short of calling in Scotland Yard.
Du Lac cleared his throat. "Of course, Your Highness. And I'm sure you're also aware that MSF was founded in 1971, and the UK office was opened shortly before the Lady Ygraine Gorlois was crowned Princess of Wales."
Arthur flipped a few more pages and stopped on a full-page picture of his mother, smiling and still looking every inch a princess even though she was dusty and surrounded by sweaty relief workers and their patients. "She always wanted to make a difference," he murmured as though it were a dearly held memory rather than something he had been told by a thousand reverent people about a mother he had never met.
"Yes, she was involved in establishing several of our first sites," du Lac offered, looking relieved to be on firmer ground. "She enjoyed taking an active involvement in our work."
"You could do the same," Merlin jumped in, as though anyone not styled His Majesty could tell Arthur what to do. Yet his eyes lit up such that Arthur had to remind himself it was not meant for him personally. Many people glowed in the reflective light of royalty.
Leon made a small, disapproving noise in his throat, and Merlin's face fell. "Right," he said. "I guess you're pretty busy and all."
"I don't see why I couldn't make a visit or two." He would have done it anyway, Arthur told himself even as he spoke. "You work in the field, Merlin?"
"Lance and I have been working in South Africa the last few months," Merlin answered. The light was back in his eyes. "Before that, we were helping to operate a clinic in Kenya, but we were able to cease operations there late last year."
"Cease operations?" Arthur asked.
"As much as possible, the work is done by doctors and nurses from that particular country. Our ultimate goal at every site is to eventually hand over operations to the community." A different kind of light shone in du Lac's eyes, his back stiffening into a posture Arthur recognized.
"You were in the military?" he asked.
Du Lac nodded. "Five years after my medical degree, but I left to begin working with MSF, in France and then through the UK office. I wanted to help the victims of war, not create new ones."
"You didn't consider it part of your military duty to protect the innocent?" Arthur returned, his voice and temper gone sharp. He would find it difficult to work with anyone who had what Arthur had always wanted and walked away from it as though it meant nothing.
"Less so than I wanted it to be," du Lac replied with a quiet that took the wind right out of Arthur's sails. "I found a different way to serve. Please, Your Highness, let us tell you about what we're doing."
As the man continued to speak, Arthur could say nothing more against him. In fact, he was damnably inspiring. Arthur felt it in his bones, the urge to go to war against all the evil of the world, in whatever form he found it. Restoring the health of communities seemed like a worthy battle to give one’s life to.
Lancelot du Lac certainly looked every bit the heroic warrior, but Arthur could not keep his eyes off the man beside him. Merlin looked back at him, curious and intense. There was another conversation happening, another battle as they tried to figure out what to do about each other. A warm flush spread through Arthur’s belly that had nothing to do with charity.
Once, near the end, Merlin turned briefly to interject something into Lancelot’s story, leaving Arthur cold. When he looked back, the heat slotted back into place, and Arthur knew exactly what he was going to do.
When they were done, everyone in the room sat looking at him expectantly. Merlin, Lancelot, and even Guinevere looked hopeful, while Leon looked bemused and resigned. Arthur gave a slow nod, that strange reluctant excitement still sparking in his gut and heating his blood.
"I want to know more. This time you can tell me," he added, inclining his head toward Merlin, who bit his lip to suppress a grin. Lancelot looked relieved to be let off the hook.
"Sir, shall I schedule another briefing?" Leon clicked his Blackberry to bring up Arthur's schedule. "Perhaps week after next we could find half an--"
"No, just clear my evening," Arthur said. Even as he looked toward Merlin, his common sense screamed that this was not at all what he should be doing. He ignored it; nothing about Arthur had ever been common. "Have dinner with me."
"Of course, Your Highness," Merlin answered with an awkward attempt at deference that told Arthur that Merlin was about to cost him a small fortune in steak.
***
Ten minutes after leaving his father’s reception, Arthur pulled up around the back of Merlin's building, where the car couldn't be seen from the street. As he got out, he looked up: the windows were lit. A thrill went through him as strong as had been the very first time he had gone to Merlin, though then he had crossed continents for the privilege.
He found the key on his key ring without looking, let himself in and jogged up the stairs. Two weeks since he had seen Merlin--one state visit to Japan for Arthur, followed in unfortunate overlap by an international development conference that had stolen Merlin away to Prague for the rest of the very long fortnight.
It had been too long since he had even heard Merlin's voice. After a flurry of giddy phone calls and texts, filled with professional intoxication, he had heard almost nothing from Merlin for the rest of the week. Then this morning: a single text, saying that Merlin was on his way to the airport. Arthur had replied with a smiley face. He was trying not to cling.
Merlin had every right to enjoy himself with his colleagues. Arthur understood that intellectually, even if he did not have many colleagues of his own to compare. Nor would he mind when Merlin came home lit up with excitement from all the people he had met and all the good things they were doing.
He wanted to hear all about the work, but mostly he wanted to hear Merlin's voice and see his face. He wanted to touch Merlin's skin, lose himself deep in Merlin's body, and then he wanted to fall asleep in Merlin's bed where all the troubles of the world could not reach him.
All the lights in the flat were on when Arthur let himself in, welcoming him into the warmth. The trainers kicked off by the door and the jacket flung across the coffee table were the only immediate signs of Merlin's presence. Arthur heard footsteps and rustling from further inside the flat. He smiled to himself and let the door close softly behind him.
His hand slipped briefly into his pocket to feel the weight of the gift he had gotten Merlin in Kyoto. It was a pendant, heavy on a masculine chain, of the sort sold to Western tourists with more cash than taste, which meant there was an even chance Merlin would either love it or hate it.
The reporters had been barred from the shop, but he had smiled into their cameras as he stepped out onto the pavement. As he expected, it wasn’t long before word spread that Prince Arthur had purchased jewellery in the form of the Kanji character for love.
Arthur found Merlin in the bedroom, right where he wanted him. Merlin was walking back and forth between the closet and the open suitcase on the bed, muttering to himself as he unpacked. Arthur folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door jamb.
He studied the tense line of Merlin's back. It must have been an unpleasant trip, though Arthur had discreetly made sure Merlin was upgraded to first class when he got to the airport.
"What am I doing? Oh, my God," Merlin muttered and carried some trousers back from the closet to the suitcase. He still had not noticed Arthur, and Arthur was tired of that.
"Really, Merlin," he said and smirked as Merlin jumped and spun around to face him. Trouser legs went flying like silly string around him. "Trust you to muck something as simple as unpacking a suitcase. You're doing it backward."
He expected Merlin to light up, or at least to fire back a jibe about how Arthur had never had to pack or unpack anything for himself--which was untrue. But Merlin just stood and gaped at him as though shocked at Arthur's presence in his bedroom even after a love affair of several years.
"Arthur," he said after a few seconds. "I thought you were at your father's party."
Arthur unfolded his arms and spread his hands with a smile. "And yet, here I am."
Merlin returned the smile, but it looked more nervous than happy. Arthur felt a smidgen of uncertainty for the first time. Merlin was still not jumping into Arthur's arms, still not kissing him with two weeks’ worth of pent-up passion, still not pulling him out of his clothes and onto the bed.
He frowned. Merlin's gaze flicked to the suitcase, then back to Arthur, casual in a way that transparently meant the exact opposite. Arthur looked past him, looked closer.
"Merlin," he said slowly, seeing the pile of khaki shorts and t-shirts he knew Merlin had not taken to Prague. "Would you like to explain what's happening here?"
Merlin's shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes. Arthur remembered the single text message from the morning--no embellishments of affection or anticipation. A ball of ice settled in his gut. He had thought Merlin was just tired.
"My apologies if I've spoilt your plans." There seemed to be a disconnect between the words and Arthur's brain, between him and what he now knew was happening. "I assume I was supposed to find an empty flat and a note?"
Wordlessly, Merlin reached around to his back pocket and pulled out a creased envelope with Arthur's initials on it. He held it out, and Arthur took it.
Then he crumpled it into a ball and threw it as hard as he could at Merlin's head.
Merlin ducked, unfortunately, and held up his hands as if to deflect Arthur's unreasonable temper. "I thought it would be easier. I thought if I saw you again, I wouldn't be able to go."
"Go where?" He sounded helpless and stupid, and he hated himself for it. "What, Africa?"
Merlin's head jerked on his neck in a parody of a nod. His eyes were getting wet, as if he were the one with the right to cry. "I don't want to leave you. I don’t."
In an instant Arthur move forward and seized him by the shoulders. "Then why? You owe me that much."
Merlin looked back at him, so close Arthur could see the damp clumping of his eyelashes. "Because I'm not happy, but I didn't understand why until I went to the conference."
Arthur's fingers were cramping around Merlin's shoulders, but he only tightened his grip. The words hurt more than his fingers. "Because of me."
"No! It's not about you, Arthur." Merlin tried a smile, but it was growing weaker with each attempt. "You're not even a prat anymore. At least eighty percent of the time. Maybe seventy-five."
"If you’re leaving me, then it’s about me." He could certainly go on the internet anytime and read a laundry list of his personal failings. He had never given it much heed before.
Merlin shook his head. "I can't live your life, Arthur."
"I never asked--" he started to protest until Merlin shook his head harder.
"No, you're right. I'm not living your life, I'm living in the shadow of your life. I thought I could be happy with that, but when I talked with all those people who were doing what I used to do... I can't spend the rest of my life being your--your mistress, Arthur."
Ten minutes ago Arthur would have teased with a casual insult and waited for Merlin to laugh himself out of his mood. Now he felt his future hinging on saying exactly what he meant.
"I always meant to--" He stopped himself and started again. "You know I'll marry you right now. We'll wake up a registrar."
"Arthur--"
"I'll call my father. He won't dare tell me no, and if he does, we'll appeal to Parliament. Who else is there to succeed him?" Arthur felt his mouth tightening in a mad grin. "I've figured it all out, Merlin. I've had a plan for ages now."
"I know you have." Merlin laughed with a distinct edge of hysteria. "That's exactly what I'm terrified of. I know what you were trying to do in Japan."
"Merlin. You're not making any sense. As usual." Arthur frowned in confusion, until he remembered the silk pouch in his pocket and the love token inside.
Merlin drew back, taking a full step away. "I can’t marry you, Arthur. I can’t be your consort and go around pretending I’m royalty. I can’t live that life for the rest of mine. I was never meant to."
"Not your destiny?" His voice sounded sharp, but inside he felt small. I thought I was your destiny, he wanted to say, but never would.
"Whatever you want to call it, I’m not doing what I’m supposed to be doing." He held Arthur’s gaze as he kept shaking his head, panicky but resolute.
"You always say that it’s the local doctors who really run things," he shot back. "They don’t need you. You don’t belong there, Merlin."
Merlin’s face went cold. "And I belong here? At least there I’m useful to someone."
As opposed to Arthur, who served little purpose in the modern world except as an outdated vestige of a historical legacy less and less relevant by the minute. His jaw clenched. Of all people, he had thought Merlin saw him as something more.
"You’re useful here," he persevered. "You raise the money that buys the medicine and equipment they need to do their jobs."
"But I’m not very good at it." Merlin gave a short laugh. "Believe it or not, Arthur, I was damn good at my job before. I built relationships and made commitments that I didn’t have the right to break just because a prince gave me a wink one day."
"I see," Arthur said, because he could think of no other response to hearing the risk he had taken, the devotion he had given, reduced to so little.
Merlin bit his lip and gave him an apologetic look. "I didn't mean it like that. But Arthur, the people I work with there see well-meaning Westerners come and go all the time. Rock stars, politicians, kids on their gap year-yeah, even royalty. They play with the children, they take pictures, they raise some money, and they leave. Don’t get me wrong, it does help."
"Why, thank you," he muttered.
"But the local staff you’re dismissing -- it’s their home, their people. They can’t just get on a plane and forget about it until it’s time to write the next check. And yeah, they do amazing things, but they still need people who will stay and fight with them and not give up when it gets tough. I thought you’d understand that, Captain Pendragon."
The hell of it was, he did. He did not want to listen, because it hurt and made him feel so small that he would still take Merlin away from those people if he could, but he could not pretend he did not understand.
"We could still be together," he started, stubborn to the last against fading hope. "You could still go--"
"No, I couldn’t. It wouldn’t work for either of us, and you know it." Merlin’s breathing was ragged and choked, and Arthur hated him just a little for being the one who could cry. "I love you, Arthur, but we were never meant to have a future together."
Arthur turned away for a moment, unable to look at Merlin as he gathered himself for one last assault. "Merlin-"
"Merlin?" called a voice from the living room, followed by the slam of the front door.
Arthur stiffened and turned to look at Merlin, who ducked his head with a sigh. "Back here, Lance," Merlin called.
A second later Lancelot du Lac appeared in the doorway of Merlin’s bedroom, holding the jacket Merlin had left on the coffee table. "Merlin, are you ready? The flight leaves - oh, excuse me, Your Highness."
Arthur just stared at him. Lancelot du Lac, who felt free to waltz into Merlin’s flat without so much as ringing the bell. Lancelot du Lac, who stood ready to collect his prize, holding Merlin’s coat as though it was his privilege. Arthur had already lost before he even knew there was an enemy to fight.
"Yes, I see," he said and moved toward the door.
"Arthur!" Merlin said sharply. "Arthur, wait."
There seemed to be nothing else to wait for, but he did stop and turn back to Merlin. His hand slid into his pocket and pulled out the silk pouch he had carried from the other side of the world. "I almost forgot," he said. "Brought you this. You can take it with you, if you like."
"Arthur, no," Merlin started. The pain on his face was sweet salve to Arthur’s anger.
Merlin tried to back away, but Arthur seized his hand and lifted it. He pressed the pouch into Merlin’s palm, then one by one, closed his fingers around it. "Really. You deserve it, after everything you’ve been through."
Then he turned and walked away, clapping Lancelot on the shoulder as he passed him at the doorway. "Bon voyage," he said with a casual bonhomie. "I’ll be down there for the Cup next week. Maybe I’ll drop by and take some photos."
He made it back to the car before the hollow feeling in his stomach turned to actual sharp pain. Above him, the lights of Merlin’s flat still shone, even when he squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could. For the first time, he wished he had not driven himself.
But he could not stay here, with those lights over his head and Merlin coming out the door at any moment. He put the car into gear and drove back to the life Merlin had not been able to bear the thought of joining.
He and Merlin had no future.
Two weeks later, he found out that neither did anyone else.
***
Part 2