FIC: It's not the end of the world (but you can see it from here) (Merlin, 2/6)
Continued from Part 1
2007
That first night after the presentation they went to dinner at what Arthur liked to call his local pub. It was actually an exclusive nightclub run by the sons of a Saudi oil magnate. Arthur liked two things about it: they served better food than Uther's own chef, and they had a very comfortable VIP room that could be emptied of VIPs whenever the Prince of Wales wanted a quiet dinner.
Relatively quiet, anyway--the club music provided a distant background throb as Arthur threw his head back and laughed. "You are such a liar, Merlin. There's no way even a Frenchman could run that fast."
"No, it's true," Merlin managed to protest around a mouthful of his second filet mignon. "I swear."
"I've never seen such a thing." Arthur leaned back into the plush padding of the booth, swirling his scotch around the glass and smirking. His jacket was off, his sleeves were rolled up, and he felt good. "And remember, I’ve attended every Olympic Games since I was born."
"Yes, but!" Merlin knocked back his own scotch, coughed a bit, then leaned forward to grin at Arthur. "You've never seen a Frenchman running with a stampeding elephant behind him."
"Now that is a fair point, I grant." Arthur drained his own glass and leaned forward in the same posture. He wanted to get closer to Merlin. This was not close enough, but it was a start. "I’m amazed they let either of you out without a keeper."
"Ector, our chief national physician, said the same thing. In fairness, he did tell us what to do if we met different kinds of animals, but it was a long time before I could keep it all straight."
"And where was your friend Ector while you were bumbling your way around the country?"
"Filming a health bulletin for the television stations. He dropped out of film school to study medicine." Merlin refilled his glass and gulped it down. "Wound up the greatest infectious disease specialist to come of Nairobi in a decade, but put a film camera in his hands and he gets this manic gleam in his eye."
"Actually, the Minister of Education is exactly the same way," Arthur confided. "So you didn’t want to be in the movie?"
"They didn’t need us." Merlin shrugged. "So we figured we’d take some of the new vaccine shipment up to one of our sister sites."
"I hardly dare ask if you made it, or if there’s a very well-vaccinated elephant still roaming the plains."
Merlin grinned at him from inches away, then leaned a little closer, dopey-drunk and happy. It was clear that someone needed to cut him off--probably both of them--but the alcohol made it so much easier to meet across the gulf of society. The throb of the music was getting into Arthur's blood, slow and sexual.
After a moment of looking at Merlin, he saw how Merlin was looking back. He studied Arthur's eyes, then dropped his gaze just enough to trace the outline of Arthur's lips. If Arthur had doubted his instincts, he would have known then that Merlin shared his intentions.
Almost nose to nose with his new friend, Arthur huffed and shook his head to ease the mood. "Who would have thought from looking at you that you’d seen so much action?"
Merlin leaned back slowly, blinking as though making his way back from another place, then shrugged. "Nothing to the action you've seen, I'm sure," he said, not seeming to notice the wince that Arthur was too scotch-slow to repress.
"Yes, well, that's behind me now." Arthur picked up the bottle. His hand was not wobbling yet, so he refilled their glasses again. "Time to move on, or so I've been told."
"All these stories you've been telling me." Merlin waved his glass precariously between them as he chased his words. "You love the service so much. Why would you leave it?"
Arthur stared at him for a long, unblinking moment. "In short: terrorists liked me a bit too much. Don't you read the papers?"
Merlin shifted in his seat, looking almost guilty. "Not really," he mumbled through another mouthful of scotch. "They're pretty out of date by the time we get them. And...well, nothing, never mind."
"And you have better things to do than read about the antics of a bunch of spoiled royals," Arthur finished for him. He was torn between gratitude and annoyance at having found someone for whom Arthur's personal crises were not actual news.
"Yes, exactly," Merlin replied, then gave Arthur a suspicious sidelong glance. "Wait, are you taking the piss?"
"No, merely marvelling at the profound lack of respect you're showing your future sovereign."
Merlin spluttered, then glared. "And here I was trying to be nice to you. That'll be the last of that, let me tell you."
"Should I arrange for the hangman now, or give you a little more rope first?" Arthur took another drink to hide his grin. He had not had this much fun in ages.
"I'm pretty sure you haven't had the authority to execute anyone for quite a few years now," Merlin said, but he gave Arthur another of those sidelong looks as though he was not entirely sure.
Arthur gave a slow, considering nod. "It's true, I am but a private citizen. But a private citizen with a great deal of money and a shocking lack of legal accountability."
"Just when I was thinking you weren't quite as much of a prat as I thought."
"What happened to being nice to me?" The scotch had spread its warmth through his limbs, sensual and unconcerned. He leaned forward again and let himself enjoy looking at Merlin. "Go on, then. Be nice to me."
Merlin returned his gaze, this time with no lack of surety. The moment built until Arthur caught his breath--but Merlin dropped his head before Arthur could do anything more foolish than he already had. Then Merlin's long fingers wrapped around Arthur's wrist. He would have bridled at the impropriety if he were not feeling so tender and if Merlin had not looked up at him with that same tenderness in his gaze.
"It's not like I have any idea what your life is like," Merlin said. "But I know what it's like to have passion for what you do. It's like you're meant to be exactly where you are. Like it's your destiny, yeah?"
"Yeah," Arthur replied after swallowing. "Something like that."
"So I know how I'd feel if someone took that away from me." Merlin gave a shrug and sat back, releasing Arthur’s wrist. "And I may not keep up with the royal gossip, but I know they say you were a fine commander. Your men must have loved you. I think I would."
Arthur drew in a quick breath and hoped the burn in his cheeks was not visible in the low light. "A half hour meeting and three quarters of a bottle of single malt, and you think you're a better judge of my abilities than my father and the Privy Council?"
"Well, it is a very good malt." Merlin tipped his head back with a smile and closed his eyes, the line of his throat curving white and vulnerable. "I know these things. Whatever reasons they had, they weren't good enough. Not as good as you."
The burn in his face spread to his chest; vehemently, he blamed it on the drink. Merlin was clearly a simple fool. Arthur wanted to snap that at him, but so little in his life was simple, he could not bring himself to drive this away. Such simple faith, in him--in Arthur or the prince, it hardly mattered--was something he wanted to keep and jealously guard.
He cleared his throat, reached for Merlin's glass, and pulled it out of his reach. "I think it's obvious that someone has had enough."
Merlin made a playful grab for the rest of the bottle, going along with Arthur's change of subject. "Well more than enough, I think," he admitted when Arthur rescued the bottle. "Gaius always used to say I couldn't even walk past a pub or I'd wind up dancing on the bar."
Arthur ducked his head to hide his delight at that image. He did not entirely hide the snicker in his voice. "Gaius? Uncommon name these days. Who's Gaius?"
"My advisor at Cambridge," Merlin replied, still looking longingly at the bottle Arthur was cradling protectively.
"At--you mean Gaius-- the head of the medical school was your advisor?" Arthur stopped and pointed an accusing finger at Merlin's chest. "Wait, you were at Cambridge? You didn't tell me that."
"You didn't ask for my CV." Merlin tried to brush it off with a show of negligent modesty, but his shoulders straightened and his eyes held a glitter of pride.
"But so was I. We're of an age, you must have been there at the same time as I was."
"Yes, I was. And yes, I knew who you were. Everyone did." Deprived of his glass, Merlin picked up his fork and busied himself scraping the last of the potatoes from his plate. "You'll have to excuse me if I was a bit busy trying not to get thrown out for breaking the lab equipment. I must have forgotten to come swear my fealty."
The idea of Merlin kneeling before him sent a rush of heat through Arthur, though he had to admit he probably would not have taken much notice of someone like Merlin at the time. He had been busy himself, determined to be first in everything, and equally determined not to succumb to any thoughts of extracurricular experimentation. That had not come until later.
"And here I thought you were just a flake who skived off for Africa halfway through your foundation years," he said with a smile.
"I have a perfectly good medical degree," Merlin protested, still licking his fork obscenely. "These potatoes are amazing. What's in them, heroin?"
"White truffles."
"Oh, of course." Merlin snorted, but licked the fork one more time. "Anyway, you’re not far off. I was just finishing when I realized I wanted to practice medicine. I just didn't want to do it like that. Then I met Lance."
"And then you met Lance," Arthur repeated with a sour note, though Merlin did not seem to notice.
"He told me all about the work he was doing, in Pakistan at the time, and next thing I knew, I was on a plane. Everyone thought I was mad, but I've never looked back."
Arthur remembered his own training, his own first flight into a bigger world. His fist clenched tighter around the bottle. The strange kinship between them made his heart and his groin ache with separate but inextricable feeling.
"We'd better get you home before you wind up betrothed to that fork," he said. "Where do you live?"
"South Africa." Merlin grinned easily enough that Arthur could not tell if he was disappointed the evening was ending. "But I'm staying in a hotel on the high street. We have a flight back in the morning."
He shook his head slowly, as though saddened by a realization. "Clearly you can’t be left to your own devices or you’ll never make it. I’d best take you home with me, just in case."
Merlin’s grin widened. "That’s very charitable of you, Your Highness. You’re a prince among men."
He nodded and slid out of the booth. "Indeed, I am, Merlin."
When they stumbled back to Clarence House, Arthur avoided the handful of night staff and pulled Merlin straight back to Arthur’s apartments, and then Arthur’s bedroom. The night was hot, and the air clung damp around them, even in the darkened rooms. Arthur had started leaving the air conditioner off after being told off by an energy conservation group. He repressed the urge to apologise; Merlin would probably approve.
They stopped just inside the door, giving Merlin a chance to look around in the dim light. Arthur looked around as well, trying to see it through Merlin’s eyes. It was cozy enough, despite the age and expense of the furnishings. He rarely allowed the domestic servants inside, thus avoiding the over-polished look of the public rooms. Still, he was rather wishing he had moved the pile of laundry before he had left this morning.
Merlin was also examining the pile with a thoughtful look. "I think we had better just get our clothes off now, hadn’t we?" he said after a moment. "I don’t want to end up ripping something I can’t afford to replace."
Arousal flared in Arthur’s body. "Yes," he replied simply. "I think we had better."
Then they stood and looked at each other across the final bit of space between them. Now that he knew he could have this, have Merlin, Arthur felt no need to rush to it. He was enjoying these moments of wanting, knowing that the person he wanted also wanted him. Most people would be surprised at how rare that was for the most eligible bachelor in the world.
"To be honest, I never really saw what the fuss was about you," Merlin said, which was a surprising turn on. "But I might have an inkling now."
"I can only hope to live up to your expectations," Arthur replied, then leaned in to meet his mouth as Merlin stepped into his arms.
One kiss melted into the next as they stood there, getting used to the touch of each other’s hands and mouths, the feel of each other’s embrace. Eventually, Merlin drew Arthur the rest of the way to the bed. They kicked off their shoes and knelt on the mattress as Merlin pulled off first Arthur’s shirt, then his own.
The touch of skin made kissing even better: the rub of Merlin’s chest, the bold caress of his hands on Arthur’s ribs, the warmth of his neck under Arthur’s cradling fingers. They began to sweat where their bodies pressed together, prickly and slick. The night settled around them, hot and sticky, silent except for the soft sounds they tried to muffle.
As good as skin against skin felt, even better was the growing bulge below Merlin’s waist and the way it rubbed him through the layers of cloth remaining. Every rub made him kiss Merlin harder, until at last he needed to lay Merlin down, stretch him out along the bed and pull his trousers from his hips.
The length of Merlin’s cock was clearly visible through his briefs, hard against his belly and the swollen head peeking just above the waistband. Arthur sucked it into his mouth for a moment to make Merlin’s hips arch up before he pulled the briefs down and tossed them aside.
He crawled back up Merlin’s body and settled atop him even as Merlin reached to pull him back down to his mouth. One hand slid under to cradle Merlin’s head as they kissed. The other slipped between them for another feel of Merlin’s cock, long and thick and a perfect match for the hardness still straining Arthur’s trousers.
The head was still damp from Arthur’s mouth, but it was not enough wetness to stroke him properly. He broke away from Merlin’s mouth to kiss his jaw, his ear. "Lube?" Merlin said hopefully. "Lube would feel good."
Arthur kissed Merlin’s cheek and the corner of his lips before sinking back into his mouth with a groan. Merlin’s hands held Arthur’s head in place while he kissed his fill, but finally he let go and gestured impatiently to the nightstand.
Arthur leaned over and rummaged until he came up with the bottle he kept for his personal use. "Can’t wait to get this all over you," he murmured against Merlin’s lips, but Merlin stopped him with a playful tug at his belt.
"Better get the rest off while you still can," he said. "I’m not doing your laundry if you get it all over your trousers."
"And you call yourself a service organization," Arthur pretended to gripe as he sat up long enough to wriggle out of the last of his clothing and kick it away.
When his erection sprang free, he could not help giving himself a few tugs until Merlin protested by shoving the lube bottle back into his hand. "Don’t get distracted."
"Pushy," Arthur scolded, but obediently got his hand nice and slick before settling back into Merlin’s arms. His hand closed around Merlin’s cock to stroke as they kissed. Sometimes he gripped both their cocks together for a few strokes, but always let himself slip free to rest against Merlin’s thigh. He wanted to last well past Merlin’s first orgasm.
Merlin’s hands wandered over Arthur’s back, then stilled in favour of kissing harder as Arthur twisted and rubbed until Merlin cried his name and came in beautiful ropey spurts all over Arthur’s hand and both their bellies. Arthur let go of Merlin’s cock and pressed him down into the mattress, tongue probing to catch every cry of the pleasure Arthur had given him.
It did not last long enough before Merlin calmed enough to caress Arthur instead of clutching at him. They kissed and touched, Merlin’s body languid now under the tension of Arthur’s unrelieved arousal.
"Do you know where else lube would feel good right now?" Merlin whispered into the heavy night air as Arthur sucked at the skin of his shoulder. He lifted one leg around Arthur’s waist as a hint.
Arthur laughed and rolled them until Merlin could lie half-draped over him with his leg hitched up around Arthur’s hip. Plenty of slick remained in the bottle, so Arthur poured it generously over his fingers and into the crease of Merlin’s arse.
Merlin gave him a few more kisses as Arthur played with his arse, but groaned and buried his face into Arthur’s neck as Arthur began toying deeper inside him. Two fingers probed and crooked, chasing away relaxation until Merlin pressed hard again against Arthur’s stomach.
"Please tell me you have condoms." The last word choked off on a groan as Merlin clenched hard around Arthur’s fingers and wrapped his leg around Arthur’s thighs.
Arthur still his fingers before pulling free, feeling his face burn. "I...haven’t ever needed them here."
Merlin opened his eyes and stared at him in disbelief. "What the hell kind of heartthrob are you, anyway?" he demanded and kissed Arthur twice as hard as before.
All logic said he ought to be content with Merlin’s hands and mouth this first time. But with the memory of Merlin’s arse tight and sweet around his fingers, he could not help but push Merlin over onto his back and bear down on him with all his weight to kiss him with clear intent.
"This is insane, we can't," Merlin muttered against his mouth, but he kissed back, wrapping his legs around Arthur's waist. "Bad, bad idea."
"Then tell me to stop," Arthur said before doing his best to sap Merlin's willpower with his mouth and hands, until they were both completely slick and ready.
Merlin's response was to move his legs fully onto Arthur’s shoulders. He fell back against the pillow, panting and looking up at Arthur, waiting for what had to happen next. Arthur kissed his calf as he positioned himself, so grateful that Merlin needed this, too.
He sank into Merlin until there was nothing but flesh and sweat between them. They both groaned at the union, the pain and pleasure of it. Arthur fucked carefully at first, then harder as they found their rhythm.
Merlin writhed beneath him and clutched at Arthur’s skin, the bed, and anything he could reach. He nearly brought down a bedpost on their heads before Arthur finally surrendered to his release and gave Merlin his.
The warmth of the night forced them to sleep with space between them, until they woke and reached for each other again. Arthur came inside Merlin twice more that night, once deep in his body and once spilling into Merlin’s mouth while Arthur was still loose and shivering from Merlin’s own claim upon him.
He woke as the room began to lighten in the dim predawn. Merlin still slept beside him, snuffling a little in his sleep. Arthur smiled and watched him until he could no longer avoid getting up.
By the time Merlin woke, Arthur had washed and finished dressing. Merlin sat up and frowned at him. "Why aren’t you in bed?" was Arthur’s translation of Merlin’s words that were more yawn than actual human speech.
"Time to go," he replied. He wanted to let Merlin see his reluctance, but his public face was taking over, ready to go out and be what someone else wanted him to be once more. "I have a breakfast engagement. Go ahead and sleep a little more if you want. I’ll arrange for a car to take you to the airport later."
Before Merlin could protest again, there was a sharp rap at the door. "One minute," Arthur called.
"Give me a second, I’ll walk out with you," Merlin said, groping around for his pants.
Arthur bit back a grin and shook his head. "Better not. One look at that hair and there won’t be any mystery left as to why you spent the night."
Merlin patted fitfully at his head. "Right. Okay," he said and bit his lip, obviously unsure what he ought to say next. Lovemaking had come so easily to them; there had been no need to talk about it before.
And there was no time to talk about it now. Arthur pulled a small white card from his wallet, of fine stock but with no other distinguishing marks except for a phone number printed in plain black numerals. He handed it to Merlin.
"That’s my personal mobile number. When you make it back to London next, I’d like to talk to you again."
"Right. Talk." Merlin’s lips curled, though his cheeks were glowing red.
Arthur grinned, slid his sunglasses on, and walked back out to what was supposed to be his real life.
***
After the secret end to their secret relationship, Arthur buried himself for a while in all the charities that had gotten lost in Merlin’s shadow for so long. The crusading grannies, in particular, were a great comfort. At least he was of use to somebody.
When the phone call came from the King’s aide de camp, Arthur was happy enough to agree to an urgent meeting at the palace. Perhaps his father had a new task Arthur could throw himself into. Uther had been looking grey and drawn of late; Arthur would be glad to take whatever burden he could from him.
He got to Buckingham and found Morgana waiting outside Uther’s study. "You had the summons, too?" he said as he sauntered up to stand beside her, careful not to look her in the eye. He had been avoiding her and hoped she had not noticed.
"Yes, but I only came to gather three dimensional proof of your existence," she retorted, then pulled out her phone. "I actually called my service provider yesterday because while my outbox had over a dozen texts with your name on them, my inbox had none at all. Look at that, isn’t it peculiar?"
"Leave it, Morgana," he said and tipped his head back against the wall.
Her shoe made a single click on the marble floor as she stepped into his personal space. He could see her piercing gaze in his peripheral vision, but he kept his own gaze firmly on the ceiling.
"You do not look like a man who's been holed up with his lady love," she said. "She's dumped you, hasn't she? Oh, Arthur, what did you do?"
"Too little, too late, it seems," he said. He had not hid his wince, and he did not care. Part of him wanted to blurt it all out, just to be able to tell someone, anyone, what had happened to him. He wondered what she would say.
The scrape and creak of the door saved him. He and Morgana turned in unison, then Arthur looked in surprise at who was serving as Uther’s doorman.
"Prime Minister." Morgana recovered first with a smile that was at least as genuine as professional. Geoffrey Monmouth had been one of Uther’s closest comrades since before either Morgana or Arthur had been born and long before he became Prime Minister.
"Come in, children," he said, addressing them with a tenderness Arthur had not heard since he actually was a child. "We’re ready for you now."
He stood back to let them precede him into Uther’s study. The King was behind his desk, head bowed and fingers steepled before him as though preparing to give the Christmas address. Arthur’s step faltered as he got a look at Uther’s face. He had seen his father less than a fortnight ago, but Uther looked as he had aged a year for every day.
As they entered, Uther looked up and regarded them with the same strange tenderness that had been in Geoffrey’s voice, though his face was grey and haggard. "Arthur, Morgana," he said gently. "Please sit."
Arthur nodded as he took his usual chair. "Sir," he said, then turned his head and raised his eyebrows at the man standing a few feet away from Uther’s desk, next to a projector and screen that had been set up in front of the bookcases.
It was, he was fairly certain, the same man who had been speaking with Uther and the Australian ambassador at the reception that night. Slight of stature, dark skinned in a dark suit, he looked nearly as tired as the King and Prime Minister, but he smiled and gave a polite nod to Arthur and Morgana.
"This is Dr. Adrian Helmsley," Uther said. "A special scientific advisor to the President of the United States."
"It was he who discovered the... phenomenon we are discussing," the Prime Minister added. "He was kind enough to come and brief us in person about what we are facing."
Next to Arthur, Morgana made a questioning noise in her throat. They exchanged glances; this was dramatic staging, even for Uther. Arthur had thought himself beyond caring about much, but he felt a cold knot settle in his stomach.
Dr. Helmsley gave a short smile. "Actually, a close colleague in India discovered the initial signs last year. Since then, I’ve been leading a commission of the world’s top scientists to develop a fuller picture of what we’re looking at and how to plan for it."
"This is all very intriguing," Morgana said lightly. "But what does a natural phenomenon have to do with us?"
Helmsley smiled again, tighter as he clicked on the projector. "Everything, my lady. The phenomenon is called Earth Crust Displacement."
As Helmsley continued to speak, so calm and scientific, Arthur felt his look of polite interest freezing on his face. His mind froze as well, as though refusing to process what he was hearing would make it untrue.
Earth Crust Displacement: the planet tearing itself apart, continent by continent.
Earthquakes that would level cities and nations. Tsunamis that would send every land mass deep beneath the seas.
The total annihilation of human civilization less than two years hence.
When Helmsley finished his presentation, he clicked the projector off again. The cessation of the noise left them in heavy silence, except for the tiny panicked hitches in Morgana’s breath.
Arthur turned stiffly to his father. "Is this a joke?"
"No, Arthur," Uther said with more gentleness than Arthur had heard from him since his childhood.
It was that, more than all the graphs and numbers, which convinced him. He stiffened his back to keep from swaying in his chair. "How long have you known about this?"
Uther seemed to gather himself. "The Prime Minister informed me as soon as the American government informed him. And now I am informing you, because you will both have important roles in the coming months."
"Yes, you said you were planning for it." Morgana pulled herself straighter in her chair, narrowed gaze locked like a laser on Helmsley. "What is your plan? How are we going to stop this?"
Arthur forced himself to breathe. Of course, there had to be a way to keep this from happening. A missile to the centre of the earth, a sonic vibration, Doctor bloody Who, something. That was always what happened in the cinema, wasn’t it?
"I’m sorry, Lady Morgana. There is no way to stop it." For an instant, Helmsley’s composure fractured, and Arthur caught a glimpse of the fear beneath. "Our goal is only the continuation of our species and civilization."
"The G8 nations have joined together to build a small group of ships which will be capable of surviving the coming onslaught," Geoffrey said. "They are calling them ‘Arks,’ for obvious reasons."
The rest of the explanation washed over Arthur like a dream. The arks would be filled with people carefully selected for their genetics, their skills, or their bankrolls, along with all the great works of art, literature, science, and nature. A microcosm of humanity, a seed in the storm hoping to find somewhere to take root and flower once more.
As for the rest of humanity, the only goal was to keep them ignorant of what was coming for as long as possible.
"We must keep order," Uther said. "Arthur, Morgana, your public presence will be crucial in this effort. You will also have great responsibility in planning the preservation of our own culture and society."
"Culture and society?" Morgana repeated, sounding as dazed as Arthur felt. "What about the people? What happens to them? What do we tell our friends?"
"You tell them nothing," Uther snapped. "Revealing this information to any unauthorized person carries an automatic sentence of death."
Morgana recoiled. Geoffrey stepped over and laid a calming hand on her shoulder. "The young lady has had quite a shock, your majesty."
For the first time in his life, Arthur saw his father look immediately contrite. "Of course. My apologies, my dear. My concern is for your safety above all."
Helmsley gathered up his papers and computer. "I should leave you to discuss this with your family, Your Majesty."
Uther held up a hand. "One moment, Doctor. We have a last item of business before you leave."
"Ah. Yes, of course." Helmsley stepped closer to the desk as Uther pulled out a leather-bound portfolio.
When he opened it, Arthur saw it contained a single sheet of paper. At the top was a simple line in his father’s handwriting: Uther R. Below Uther’s name, in the same hand, Arthur saw his own name, and Morgana’s.
Uther pushed the folder to the front of the desk, facing Arthur and Morgana. He laid his heavy gold pen across the paper. "As a private citizen, I have purchased passage aboard the Commonwealth ark for our family. In addition, you will each choose one person to accompany you."
Arthur and Morgana looked at each other, then stared back at the paper. "Anyone?" Morgana asked, though there could be no suspense about her choice.
"Anyone. I will not question your choice of companion."
Morgana let out a long sigh, stood and moved to the desk. She picked up the pen and bent over the paper, writing with quick, sharp strokes. When she was done, she handed the pen to Arthur, then turned and crossed to stand by the window that looked out into the gardens.
Arthur rose slowly and stepped up to the paper. He felt no surprise at all to see Guinevere Smith written next to Morgana’s name. Nor did he feel any surprise when he bent without hesitation to write Dr. Merlin Emrys next to his own.
Merlin had chosen the world over Arthur, but it made no difference in the end. If Arthur could have only one person in the world, save one person from what was coming, then it was no choice at all. He would pluck Merlin back out of the world whether he liked it or not.
He laid the pen down and stepped back from the desk.
He had always wondered how much his father the King knew of Arthur’s proclivities, of his dabbling during his military service and his more blatant affair with Merlin. Uther had always kept a careful eye on his heir apparent, but had never said a word to him, direct or veiled, about his love life.
Even now, Uther merely looked down at the name, then back at Arthur with an equanimity that neither implied nor denied suspicion. Arthur felt his own paranoia prickling along the back of his neck.
"Merlin’s a doctor working in disaster relief," he said and regretted it instantly.
Morgana turned around to stare at him, and her eyes grew round. Her lips moved silently. Oh, Arthur.
He turned his head away, wanting nothing from her.
Geoffrey came up behind him and squeezed his shoulder. "It’s all right, my dear boy. You’re meant to have a friend with you. You need no other reason for your choice. Everyone knows how close you are to the lad."
That had been the beauty of it, after all. The first photographs of them together had been published the morning after they met and on a regular basis thereafter. The papers had seemed charmed by Arthur’s fast friendship with a common boy. They had fallen over themselves to praise Arthur’s involvement and ongoing support of the mission of MSF. No one had ever thought anything more of it than that.
"Exactly right, Geoffrey," Uther said and reached for the short, precious list. The portfolio closed with a heavy thump as Uther handed it to Helmsley. "You will see this gets to the appropriate people, Doctor?"
"Of course, Your Majesty. Your Highness, my lady, Mr. Prime Minister." Helmsley nodded to each of them, then went out with Geoffrey.
"I understand you will need time to come to terms with this," Uther said when they were alone. "I can give you a day to yourselves, but no more than that. There is so much to be done, and we have so little time."
With that, they were dismissed. Arthur moved like an automaton as he left the King, Morgana close behind him. A day was nothing. Even now, he still felt trapped in a nightmare from which he wanted badly to waken.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Morgana grabbed Arthur’s arm. "What are we going to do?"
He turned and stared at her blankly. "Do?"
"For the people," she said, impatient with his lack of comprehension. "Arthur, we have to do something. The people of this country are our responsibility."
"What do you suggest, Morgana?" As he spoke, he felt the numbness wearing off, leaving him in a haze of amorphous anger. "You heard what they said in there. All we can do is carry out the plan they’ve made."
"I don’t accept that. We have to tell people, at the very least. They have a right to know."
"Keep your voice down," he hissed, seizing her wrist and pulling her further down the corridor. His father’s voice echoed in his mind: automatic sentence of death. "Even if we could, it would only cause mass panic, which wouldn’t help anyone."
"Maybe people could work together and find a way to stop it," she returned. "Maybe if everyone works on nothing else for two years, we can save everyone."
For a moment, he almost believed she could be right. But Arthur had been raised with a ruthlessly practical view of life: what could be done, what should be done, what must be done. There was little room for heroism in the modern monarchy. He was suddenly furious with her for making him feel like he should be capable of more than he could possibly do.
Panic also welled up in his chest alongside the anger. He looked for the numbness again, longing to sink back into it, but it was gone. "I can’t talk to you about this right now," he said and pushed past her, ignoring her call behind him.
Every person he passed in the corridors of the palace inclined their head in respect as he passed. Every person he passed, he wondered, would they get a ticket for the ark? Did they even know? Did this aide know, or that secretary, or the guards at the door?
By the time he reached the nearest exit, he was nearly running. He got off the grounds without anyone stopping him, and he kept going until he was amongst the trees of St. James Park. A few tourists did double takes as he passed, then seemed to decide that he could not be who he obviously was.
All he could think of was the fact that every person he passed was going to die.
He found himself crumpling onto a bench hidden by the trees. In two years’ time, these trees would be gone. The bench would be gone, the park would be gone; the palace and the city would be swallowed by the earth or swept away by the sea.
Arthur’s name and his blood were rooted deep in Great Britain, in the land and stones and continuity of civilization. What part of him did not belong to Britain, he had given to Merlin.
A tiny hiccup of laughter bubbled up in his throat. Merlin had left him to go save the world, not knowing that the world was already scheduled to end. He had left Arthur to go heal people who were going to die anyway. All the guilt and grief, and in the end, none of it would make a shred of difference.
The laughter kept bubbling up until it boiled over. Arthur sat on his hidden bench and laughed himself sick as his doomed subjects walked the paths of their own destinies just beyond the trees.
***
Part 3
2007
That first night after the presentation they went to dinner at what Arthur liked to call his local pub. It was actually an exclusive nightclub run by the sons of a Saudi oil magnate. Arthur liked two things about it: they served better food than Uther's own chef, and they had a very comfortable VIP room that could be emptied of VIPs whenever the Prince of Wales wanted a quiet dinner.
Relatively quiet, anyway--the club music provided a distant background throb as Arthur threw his head back and laughed. "You are such a liar, Merlin. There's no way even a Frenchman could run that fast."
"No, it's true," Merlin managed to protest around a mouthful of his second filet mignon. "I swear."
"I've never seen such a thing." Arthur leaned back into the plush padding of the booth, swirling his scotch around the glass and smirking. His jacket was off, his sleeves were rolled up, and he felt good. "And remember, I’ve attended every Olympic Games since I was born."
"Yes, but!" Merlin knocked back his own scotch, coughed a bit, then leaned forward to grin at Arthur. "You've never seen a Frenchman running with a stampeding elephant behind him."
"Now that is a fair point, I grant." Arthur drained his own glass and leaned forward in the same posture. He wanted to get closer to Merlin. This was not close enough, but it was a start. "I’m amazed they let either of you out without a keeper."
"Ector, our chief national physician, said the same thing. In fairness, he did tell us what to do if we met different kinds of animals, but it was a long time before I could keep it all straight."
"And where was your friend Ector while you were bumbling your way around the country?"
"Filming a health bulletin for the television stations. He dropped out of film school to study medicine." Merlin refilled his glass and gulped it down. "Wound up the greatest infectious disease specialist to come of Nairobi in a decade, but put a film camera in his hands and he gets this manic gleam in his eye."
"Actually, the Minister of Education is exactly the same way," Arthur confided. "So you didn’t want to be in the movie?"
"They didn’t need us." Merlin shrugged. "So we figured we’d take some of the new vaccine shipment up to one of our sister sites."
"I hardly dare ask if you made it, or if there’s a very well-vaccinated elephant still roaming the plains."
Merlin grinned at him from inches away, then leaned a little closer, dopey-drunk and happy. It was clear that someone needed to cut him off--probably both of them--but the alcohol made it so much easier to meet across the gulf of society. The throb of the music was getting into Arthur's blood, slow and sexual.
After a moment of looking at Merlin, he saw how Merlin was looking back. He studied Arthur's eyes, then dropped his gaze just enough to trace the outline of Arthur's lips. If Arthur had doubted his instincts, he would have known then that Merlin shared his intentions.
Almost nose to nose with his new friend, Arthur huffed and shook his head to ease the mood. "Who would have thought from looking at you that you’d seen so much action?"
Merlin leaned back slowly, blinking as though making his way back from another place, then shrugged. "Nothing to the action you've seen, I'm sure," he said, not seeming to notice the wince that Arthur was too scotch-slow to repress.
"Yes, well, that's behind me now." Arthur picked up the bottle. His hand was not wobbling yet, so he refilled their glasses again. "Time to move on, or so I've been told."
"All these stories you've been telling me." Merlin waved his glass precariously between them as he chased his words. "You love the service so much. Why would you leave it?"
Arthur stared at him for a long, unblinking moment. "In short: terrorists liked me a bit too much. Don't you read the papers?"
Merlin shifted in his seat, looking almost guilty. "Not really," he mumbled through another mouthful of scotch. "They're pretty out of date by the time we get them. And...well, nothing, never mind."
"And you have better things to do than read about the antics of a bunch of spoiled royals," Arthur finished for him. He was torn between gratitude and annoyance at having found someone for whom Arthur's personal crises were not actual news.
"Yes, exactly," Merlin replied, then gave Arthur a suspicious sidelong glance. "Wait, are you taking the piss?"
"No, merely marvelling at the profound lack of respect you're showing your future sovereign."
Merlin spluttered, then glared. "And here I was trying to be nice to you. That'll be the last of that, let me tell you."
"Should I arrange for the hangman now, or give you a little more rope first?" Arthur took another drink to hide his grin. He had not had this much fun in ages.
"I'm pretty sure you haven't had the authority to execute anyone for quite a few years now," Merlin said, but he gave Arthur another of those sidelong looks as though he was not entirely sure.
Arthur gave a slow, considering nod. "It's true, I am but a private citizen. But a private citizen with a great deal of money and a shocking lack of legal accountability."
"Just when I was thinking you weren't quite as much of a prat as I thought."
"What happened to being nice to me?" The scotch had spread its warmth through his limbs, sensual and unconcerned. He leaned forward again and let himself enjoy looking at Merlin. "Go on, then. Be nice to me."
Merlin returned his gaze, this time with no lack of surety. The moment built until Arthur caught his breath--but Merlin dropped his head before Arthur could do anything more foolish than he already had. Then Merlin's long fingers wrapped around Arthur's wrist. He would have bridled at the impropriety if he were not feeling so tender and if Merlin had not looked up at him with that same tenderness in his gaze.
"It's not like I have any idea what your life is like," Merlin said. "But I know what it's like to have passion for what you do. It's like you're meant to be exactly where you are. Like it's your destiny, yeah?"
"Yeah," Arthur replied after swallowing. "Something like that."
"So I know how I'd feel if someone took that away from me." Merlin gave a shrug and sat back, releasing Arthur’s wrist. "And I may not keep up with the royal gossip, but I know they say you were a fine commander. Your men must have loved you. I think I would."
Arthur drew in a quick breath and hoped the burn in his cheeks was not visible in the low light. "A half hour meeting and three quarters of a bottle of single malt, and you think you're a better judge of my abilities than my father and the Privy Council?"
"Well, it is a very good malt." Merlin tipped his head back with a smile and closed his eyes, the line of his throat curving white and vulnerable. "I know these things. Whatever reasons they had, they weren't good enough. Not as good as you."
The burn in his face spread to his chest; vehemently, he blamed it on the drink. Merlin was clearly a simple fool. Arthur wanted to snap that at him, but so little in his life was simple, he could not bring himself to drive this away. Such simple faith, in him--in Arthur or the prince, it hardly mattered--was something he wanted to keep and jealously guard.
He cleared his throat, reached for Merlin's glass, and pulled it out of his reach. "I think it's obvious that someone has had enough."
Merlin made a playful grab for the rest of the bottle, going along with Arthur's change of subject. "Well more than enough, I think," he admitted when Arthur rescued the bottle. "Gaius always used to say I couldn't even walk past a pub or I'd wind up dancing on the bar."
Arthur ducked his head to hide his delight at that image. He did not entirely hide the snicker in his voice. "Gaius? Uncommon name these days. Who's Gaius?"
"My advisor at Cambridge," Merlin replied, still looking longingly at the bottle Arthur was cradling protectively.
"At--you mean Gaius-- the head of the medical school was your advisor?" Arthur stopped and pointed an accusing finger at Merlin's chest. "Wait, you were at Cambridge? You didn't tell me that."
"You didn't ask for my CV." Merlin tried to brush it off with a show of negligent modesty, but his shoulders straightened and his eyes held a glitter of pride.
"But so was I. We're of an age, you must have been there at the same time as I was."
"Yes, I was. And yes, I knew who you were. Everyone did." Deprived of his glass, Merlin picked up his fork and busied himself scraping the last of the potatoes from his plate. "You'll have to excuse me if I was a bit busy trying not to get thrown out for breaking the lab equipment. I must have forgotten to come swear my fealty."
The idea of Merlin kneeling before him sent a rush of heat through Arthur, though he had to admit he probably would not have taken much notice of someone like Merlin at the time. He had been busy himself, determined to be first in everything, and equally determined not to succumb to any thoughts of extracurricular experimentation. That had not come until later.
"And here I thought you were just a flake who skived off for Africa halfway through your foundation years," he said with a smile.
"I have a perfectly good medical degree," Merlin protested, still licking his fork obscenely. "These potatoes are amazing. What's in them, heroin?"
"White truffles."
"Oh, of course." Merlin snorted, but licked the fork one more time. "Anyway, you’re not far off. I was just finishing when I realized I wanted to practice medicine. I just didn't want to do it like that. Then I met Lance."
"And then you met Lance," Arthur repeated with a sour note, though Merlin did not seem to notice.
"He told me all about the work he was doing, in Pakistan at the time, and next thing I knew, I was on a plane. Everyone thought I was mad, but I've never looked back."
Arthur remembered his own training, his own first flight into a bigger world. His fist clenched tighter around the bottle. The strange kinship between them made his heart and his groin ache with separate but inextricable feeling.
"We'd better get you home before you wind up betrothed to that fork," he said. "Where do you live?"
"South Africa." Merlin grinned easily enough that Arthur could not tell if he was disappointed the evening was ending. "But I'm staying in a hotel on the high street. We have a flight back in the morning."
He shook his head slowly, as though saddened by a realization. "Clearly you can’t be left to your own devices or you’ll never make it. I’d best take you home with me, just in case."
Merlin’s grin widened. "That’s very charitable of you, Your Highness. You’re a prince among men."
He nodded and slid out of the booth. "Indeed, I am, Merlin."
When they stumbled back to Clarence House, Arthur avoided the handful of night staff and pulled Merlin straight back to Arthur’s apartments, and then Arthur’s bedroom. The night was hot, and the air clung damp around them, even in the darkened rooms. Arthur had started leaving the air conditioner off after being told off by an energy conservation group. He repressed the urge to apologise; Merlin would probably approve.
They stopped just inside the door, giving Merlin a chance to look around in the dim light. Arthur looked around as well, trying to see it through Merlin’s eyes. It was cozy enough, despite the age and expense of the furnishings. He rarely allowed the domestic servants inside, thus avoiding the over-polished look of the public rooms. Still, he was rather wishing he had moved the pile of laundry before he had left this morning.
Merlin was also examining the pile with a thoughtful look. "I think we had better just get our clothes off now, hadn’t we?" he said after a moment. "I don’t want to end up ripping something I can’t afford to replace."
Arousal flared in Arthur’s body. "Yes," he replied simply. "I think we had better."
Then they stood and looked at each other across the final bit of space between them. Now that he knew he could have this, have Merlin, Arthur felt no need to rush to it. He was enjoying these moments of wanting, knowing that the person he wanted also wanted him. Most people would be surprised at how rare that was for the most eligible bachelor in the world.
"To be honest, I never really saw what the fuss was about you," Merlin said, which was a surprising turn on. "But I might have an inkling now."
"I can only hope to live up to your expectations," Arthur replied, then leaned in to meet his mouth as Merlin stepped into his arms.
One kiss melted into the next as they stood there, getting used to the touch of each other’s hands and mouths, the feel of each other’s embrace. Eventually, Merlin drew Arthur the rest of the way to the bed. They kicked off their shoes and knelt on the mattress as Merlin pulled off first Arthur’s shirt, then his own.
The touch of skin made kissing even better: the rub of Merlin’s chest, the bold caress of his hands on Arthur’s ribs, the warmth of his neck under Arthur’s cradling fingers. They began to sweat where their bodies pressed together, prickly and slick. The night settled around them, hot and sticky, silent except for the soft sounds they tried to muffle.
As good as skin against skin felt, even better was the growing bulge below Merlin’s waist and the way it rubbed him through the layers of cloth remaining. Every rub made him kiss Merlin harder, until at last he needed to lay Merlin down, stretch him out along the bed and pull his trousers from his hips.
The length of Merlin’s cock was clearly visible through his briefs, hard against his belly and the swollen head peeking just above the waistband. Arthur sucked it into his mouth for a moment to make Merlin’s hips arch up before he pulled the briefs down and tossed them aside.
He crawled back up Merlin’s body and settled atop him even as Merlin reached to pull him back down to his mouth. One hand slid under to cradle Merlin’s head as they kissed. The other slipped between them for another feel of Merlin’s cock, long and thick and a perfect match for the hardness still straining Arthur’s trousers.
The head was still damp from Arthur’s mouth, but it was not enough wetness to stroke him properly. He broke away from Merlin’s mouth to kiss his jaw, his ear. "Lube?" Merlin said hopefully. "Lube would feel good."
Arthur kissed Merlin’s cheek and the corner of his lips before sinking back into his mouth with a groan. Merlin’s hands held Arthur’s head in place while he kissed his fill, but finally he let go and gestured impatiently to the nightstand.
Arthur leaned over and rummaged until he came up with the bottle he kept for his personal use. "Can’t wait to get this all over you," he murmured against Merlin’s lips, but Merlin stopped him with a playful tug at his belt.
"Better get the rest off while you still can," he said. "I’m not doing your laundry if you get it all over your trousers."
"And you call yourself a service organization," Arthur pretended to gripe as he sat up long enough to wriggle out of the last of his clothing and kick it away.
When his erection sprang free, he could not help giving himself a few tugs until Merlin protested by shoving the lube bottle back into his hand. "Don’t get distracted."
"Pushy," Arthur scolded, but obediently got his hand nice and slick before settling back into Merlin’s arms. His hand closed around Merlin’s cock to stroke as they kissed. Sometimes he gripped both their cocks together for a few strokes, but always let himself slip free to rest against Merlin’s thigh. He wanted to last well past Merlin’s first orgasm.
Merlin’s hands wandered over Arthur’s back, then stilled in favour of kissing harder as Arthur twisted and rubbed until Merlin cried his name and came in beautiful ropey spurts all over Arthur’s hand and both their bellies. Arthur let go of Merlin’s cock and pressed him down into the mattress, tongue probing to catch every cry of the pleasure Arthur had given him.
It did not last long enough before Merlin calmed enough to caress Arthur instead of clutching at him. They kissed and touched, Merlin’s body languid now under the tension of Arthur’s unrelieved arousal.
"Do you know where else lube would feel good right now?" Merlin whispered into the heavy night air as Arthur sucked at the skin of his shoulder. He lifted one leg around Arthur’s waist as a hint.
Arthur laughed and rolled them until Merlin could lie half-draped over him with his leg hitched up around Arthur’s hip. Plenty of slick remained in the bottle, so Arthur poured it generously over his fingers and into the crease of Merlin’s arse.
Merlin gave him a few more kisses as Arthur played with his arse, but groaned and buried his face into Arthur’s neck as Arthur began toying deeper inside him. Two fingers probed and crooked, chasing away relaxation until Merlin pressed hard again against Arthur’s stomach.
"Please tell me you have condoms." The last word choked off on a groan as Merlin clenched hard around Arthur’s fingers and wrapped his leg around Arthur’s thighs.
Arthur still his fingers before pulling free, feeling his face burn. "I...haven’t ever needed them here."
Merlin opened his eyes and stared at him in disbelief. "What the hell kind of heartthrob are you, anyway?" he demanded and kissed Arthur twice as hard as before.
All logic said he ought to be content with Merlin’s hands and mouth this first time. But with the memory of Merlin’s arse tight and sweet around his fingers, he could not help but push Merlin over onto his back and bear down on him with all his weight to kiss him with clear intent.
"This is insane, we can't," Merlin muttered against his mouth, but he kissed back, wrapping his legs around Arthur's waist. "Bad, bad idea."
"Then tell me to stop," Arthur said before doing his best to sap Merlin's willpower with his mouth and hands, until they were both completely slick and ready.
Merlin's response was to move his legs fully onto Arthur’s shoulders. He fell back against the pillow, panting and looking up at Arthur, waiting for what had to happen next. Arthur kissed his calf as he positioned himself, so grateful that Merlin needed this, too.
He sank into Merlin until there was nothing but flesh and sweat between them. They both groaned at the union, the pain and pleasure of it. Arthur fucked carefully at first, then harder as they found their rhythm.
Merlin writhed beneath him and clutched at Arthur’s skin, the bed, and anything he could reach. He nearly brought down a bedpost on their heads before Arthur finally surrendered to his release and gave Merlin his.
The warmth of the night forced them to sleep with space between them, until they woke and reached for each other again. Arthur came inside Merlin twice more that night, once deep in his body and once spilling into Merlin’s mouth while Arthur was still loose and shivering from Merlin’s own claim upon him.
He woke as the room began to lighten in the dim predawn. Merlin still slept beside him, snuffling a little in his sleep. Arthur smiled and watched him until he could no longer avoid getting up.
By the time Merlin woke, Arthur had washed and finished dressing. Merlin sat up and frowned at him. "Why aren’t you in bed?" was Arthur’s translation of Merlin’s words that were more yawn than actual human speech.
"Time to go," he replied. He wanted to let Merlin see his reluctance, but his public face was taking over, ready to go out and be what someone else wanted him to be once more. "I have a breakfast engagement. Go ahead and sleep a little more if you want. I’ll arrange for a car to take you to the airport later."
Before Merlin could protest again, there was a sharp rap at the door. "One minute," Arthur called.
"Give me a second, I’ll walk out with you," Merlin said, groping around for his pants.
Arthur bit back a grin and shook his head. "Better not. One look at that hair and there won’t be any mystery left as to why you spent the night."
Merlin patted fitfully at his head. "Right. Okay," he said and bit his lip, obviously unsure what he ought to say next. Lovemaking had come so easily to them; there had been no need to talk about it before.
And there was no time to talk about it now. Arthur pulled a small white card from his wallet, of fine stock but with no other distinguishing marks except for a phone number printed in plain black numerals. He handed it to Merlin.
"That’s my personal mobile number. When you make it back to London next, I’d like to talk to you again."
"Right. Talk." Merlin’s lips curled, though his cheeks were glowing red.
Arthur grinned, slid his sunglasses on, and walked back out to what was supposed to be his real life.
***
After the secret end to their secret relationship, Arthur buried himself for a while in all the charities that had gotten lost in Merlin’s shadow for so long. The crusading grannies, in particular, were a great comfort. At least he was of use to somebody.
When the phone call came from the King’s aide de camp, Arthur was happy enough to agree to an urgent meeting at the palace. Perhaps his father had a new task Arthur could throw himself into. Uther had been looking grey and drawn of late; Arthur would be glad to take whatever burden he could from him.
He got to Buckingham and found Morgana waiting outside Uther’s study. "You had the summons, too?" he said as he sauntered up to stand beside her, careful not to look her in the eye. He had been avoiding her and hoped she had not noticed.
"Yes, but I only came to gather three dimensional proof of your existence," she retorted, then pulled out her phone. "I actually called my service provider yesterday because while my outbox had over a dozen texts with your name on them, my inbox had none at all. Look at that, isn’t it peculiar?"
"Leave it, Morgana," he said and tipped his head back against the wall.
Her shoe made a single click on the marble floor as she stepped into his personal space. He could see her piercing gaze in his peripheral vision, but he kept his own gaze firmly on the ceiling.
"You do not look like a man who's been holed up with his lady love," she said. "She's dumped you, hasn't she? Oh, Arthur, what did you do?"
"Too little, too late, it seems," he said. He had not hid his wince, and he did not care. Part of him wanted to blurt it all out, just to be able to tell someone, anyone, what had happened to him. He wondered what she would say.
The scrape and creak of the door saved him. He and Morgana turned in unison, then Arthur looked in surprise at who was serving as Uther’s doorman.
"Prime Minister." Morgana recovered first with a smile that was at least as genuine as professional. Geoffrey Monmouth had been one of Uther’s closest comrades since before either Morgana or Arthur had been born and long before he became Prime Minister.
"Come in, children," he said, addressing them with a tenderness Arthur had not heard since he actually was a child. "We’re ready for you now."
He stood back to let them precede him into Uther’s study. The King was behind his desk, head bowed and fingers steepled before him as though preparing to give the Christmas address. Arthur’s step faltered as he got a look at Uther’s face. He had seen his father less than a fortnight ago, but Uther looked as he had aged a year for every day.
As they entered, Uther looked up and regarded them with the same strange tenderness that had been in Geoffrey’s voice, though his face was grey and haggard. "Arthur, Morgana," he said gently. "Please sit."
Arthur nodded as he took his usual chair. "Sir," he said, then turned his head and raised his eyebrows at the man standing a few feet away from Uther’s desk, next to a projector and screen that had been set up in front of the bookcases.
It was, he was fairly certain, the same man who had been speaking with Uther and the Australian ambassador at the reception that night. Slight of stature, dark skinned in a dark suit, he looked nearly as tired as the King and Prime Minister, but he smiled and gave a polite nod to Arthur and Morgana.
"This is Dr. Adrian Helmsley," Uther said. "A special scientific advisor to the President of the United States."
"It was he who discovered the... phenomenon we are discussing," the Prime Minister added. "He was kind enough to come and brief us in person about what we are facing."
Next to Arthur, Morgana made a questioning noise in her throat. They exchanged glances; this was dramatic staging, even for Uther. Arthur had thought himself beyond caring about much, but he felt a cold knot settle in his stomach.
Dr. Helmsley gave a short smile. "Actually, a close colleague in India discovered the initial signs last year. Since then, I’ve been leading a commission of the world’s top scientists to develop a fuller picture of what we’re looking at and how to plan for it."
"This is all very intriguing," Morgana said lightly. "But what does a natural phenomenon have to do with us?"
Helmsley smiled again, tighter as he clicked on the projector. "Everything, my lady. The phenomenon is called Earth Crust Displacement."
As Helmsley continued to speak, so calm and scientific, Arthur felt his look of polite interest freezing on his face. His mind froze as well, as though refusing to process what he was hearing would make it untrue.
Earth Crust Displacement: the planet tearing itself apart, continent by continent.
Earthquakes that would level cities and nations. Tsunamis that would send every land mass deep beneath the seas.
The total annihilation of human civilization less than two years hence.
When Helmsley finished his presentation, he clicked the projector off again. The cessation of the noise left them in heavy silence, except for the tiny panicked hitches in Morgana’s breath.
Arthur turned stiffly to his father. "Is this a joke?"
"No, Arthur," Uther said with more gentleness than Arthur had heard from him since his childhood.
It was that, more than all the graphs and numbers, which convinced him. He stiffened his back to keep from swaying in his chair. "How long have you known about this?"
Uther seemed to gather himself. "The Prime Minister informed me as soon as the American government informed him. And now I am informing you, because you will both have important roles in the coming months."
"Yes, you said you were planning for it." Morgana pulled herself straighter in her chair, narrowed gaze locked like a laser on Helmsley. "What is your plan? How are we going to stop this?"
Arthur forced himself to breathe. Of course, there had to be a way to keep this from happening. A missile to the centre of the earth, a sonic vibration, Doctor bloody Who, something. That was always what happened in the cinema, wasn’t it?
"I’m sorry, Lady Morgana. There is no way to stop it." For an instant, Helmsley’s composure fractured, and Arthur caught a glimpse of the fear beneath. "Our goal is only the continuation of our species and civilization."
"The G8 nations have joined together to build a small group of ships which will be capable of surviving the coming onslaught," Geoffrey said. "They are calling them ‘Arks,’ for obvious reasons."
The rest of the explanation washed over Arthur like a dream. The arks would be filled with people carefully selected for their genetics, their skills, or their bankrolls, along with all the great works of art, literature, science, and nature. A microcosm of humanity, a seed in the storm hoping to find somewhere to take root and flower once more.
As for the rest of humanity, the only goal was to keep them ignorant of what was coming for as long as possible.
"We must keep order," Uther said. "Arthur, Morgana, your public presence will be crucial in this effort. You will also have great responsibility in planning the preservation of our own culture and society."
"Culture and society?" Morgana repeated, sounding as dazed as Arthur felt. "What about the people? What happens to them? What do we tell our friends?"
"You tell them nothing," Uther snapped. "Revealing this information to any unauthorized person carries an automatic sentence of death."
Morgana recoiled. Geoffrey stepped over and laid a calming hand on her shoulder. "The young lady has had quite a shock, your majesty."
For the first time in his life, Arthur saw his father look immediately contrite. "Of course. My apologies, my dear. My concern is for your safety above all."
Helmsley gathered up his papers and computer. "I should leave you to discuss this with your family, Your Majesty."
Uther held up a hand. "One moment, Doctor. We have a last item of business before you leave."
"Ah. Yes, of course." Helmsley stepped closer to the desk as Uther pulled out a leather-bound portfolio.
When he opened it, Arthur saw it contained a single sheet of paper. At the top was a simple line in his father’s handwriting: Uther R. Below Uther’s name, in the same hand, Arthur saw his own name, and Morgana’s.
Uther pushed the folder to the front of the desk, facing Arthur and Morgana. He laid his heavy gold pen across the paper. "As a private citizen, I have purchased passage aboard the Commonwealth ark for our family. In addition, you will each choose one person to accompany you."
Arthur and Morgana looked at each other, then stared back at the paper. "Anyone?" Morgana asked, though there could be no suspense about her choice.
"Anyone. I will not question your choice of companion."
Morgana let out a long sigh, stood and moved to the desk. She picked up the pen and bent over the paper, writing with quick, sharp strokes. When she was done, she handed the pen to Arthur, then turned and crossed to stand by the window that looked out into the gardens.
Arthur rose slowly and stepped up to the paper. He felt no surprise at all to see Guinevere Smith written next to Morgana’s name. Nor did he feel any surprise when he bent without hesitation to write Dr. Merlin Emrys next to his own.
Merlin had chosen the world over Arthur, but it made no difference in the end. If Arthur could have only one person in the world, save one person from what was coming, then it was no choice at all. He would pluck Merlin back out of the world whether he liked it or not.
He laid the pen down and stepped back from the desk.
He had always wondered how much his father the King knew of Arthur’s proclivities, of his dabbling during his military service and his more blatant affair with Merlin. Uther had always kept a careful eye on his heir apparent, but had never said a word to him, direct or veiled, about his love life.
Even now, Uther merely looked down at the name, then back at Arthur with an equanimity that neither implied nor denied suspicion. Arthur felt his own paranoia prickling along the back of his neck.
"Merlin’s a doctor working in disaster relief," he said and regretted it instantly.
Morgana turned around to stare at him, and her eyes grew round. Her lips moved silently. Oh, Arthur.
He turned his head away, wanting nothing from her.
Geoffrey came up behind him and squeezed his shoulder. "It’s all right, my dear boy. You’re meant to have a friend with you. You need no other reason for your choice. Everyone knows how close you are to the lad."
That had been the beauty of it, after all. The first photographs of them together had been published the morning after they met and on a regular basis thereafter. The papers had seemed charmed by Arthur’s fast friendship with a common boy. They had fallen over themselves to praise Arthur’s involvement and ongoing support of the mission of MSF. No one had ever thought anything more of it than that.
"Exactly right, Geoffrey," Uther said and reached for the short, precious list. The portfolio closed with a heavy thump as Uther handed it to Helmsley. "You will see this gets to the appropriate people, Doctor?"
"Of course, Your Majesty. Your Highness, my lady, Mr. Prime Minister." Helmsley nodded to each of them, then went out with Geoffrey.
"I understand you will need time to come to terms with this," Uther said when they were alone. "I can give you a day to yourselves, but no more than that. There is so much to be done, and we have so little time."
With that, they were dismissed. Arthur moved like an automaton as he left the King, Morgana close behind him. A day was nothing. Even now, he still felt trapped in a nightmare from which he wanted badly to waken.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Morgana grabbed Arthur’s arm. "What are we going to do?"
He turned and stared at her blankly. "Do?"
"For the people," she said, impatient with his lack of comprehension. "Arthur, we have to do something. The people of this country are our responsibility."
"What do you suggest, Morgana?" As he spoke, he felt the numbness wearing off, leaving him in a haze of amorphous anger. "You heard what they said in there. All we can do is carry out the plan they’ve made."
"I don’t accept that. We have to tell people, at the very least. They have a right to know."
"Keep your voice down," he hissed, seizing her wrist and pulling her further down the corridor. His father’s voice echoed in his mind: automatic sentence of death. "Even if we could, it would only cause mass panic, which wouldn’t help anyone."
"Maybe people could work together and find a way to stop it," she returned. "Maybe if everyone works on nothing else for two years, we can save everyone."
For a moment, he almost believed she could be right. But Arthur had been raised with a ruthlessly practical view of life: what could be done, what should be done, what must be done. There was little room for heroism in the modern monarchy. He was suddenly furious with her for making him feel like he should be capable of more than he could possibly do.
Panic also welled up in his chest alongside the anger. He looked for the numbness again, longing to sink back into it, but it was gone. "I can’t talk to you about this right now," he said and pushed past her, ignoring her call behind him.
Every person he passed in the corridors of the palace inclined their head in respect as he passed. Every person he passed, he wondered, would they get a ticket for the ark? Did they even know? Did this aide know, or that secretary, or the guards at the door?
By the time he reached the nearest exit, he was nearly running. He got off the grounds without anyone stopping him, and he kept going until he was amongst the trees of St. James Park. A few tourists did double takes as he passed, then seemed to decide that he could not be who he obviously was.
All he could think of was the fact that every person he passed was going to die.
He found himself crumpling onto a bench hidden by the trees. In two years’ time, these trees would be gone. The bench would be gone, the park would be gone; the palace and the city would be swallowed by the earth or swept away by the sea.
Arthur’s name and his blood were rooted deep in Great Britain, in the land and stones and continuity of civilization. What part of him did not belong to Britain, he had given to Merlin.
A tiny hiccup of laughter bubbled up in his throat. Merlin had left him to go save the world, not knowing that the world was already scheduled to end. He had left Arthur to go heal people who were going to die anyway. All the guilt and grief, and in the end, none of it would make a shred of difference.
The laughter kept bubbling up until it boiled over. Arthur sat on his hidden bench and laughed himself sick as his doomed subjects walked the paths of their own destinies just beyond the trees.
***
Part 3