The Meaning of Courage 4a/7
Title: The Meaning of Courage 4a/6
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you try anyway." - Atticus, To Kill a Mockingbird
In which Arthur co-ordinates his outfits, Merlin has a revelation, Morgana insists on spending lots of money on things she doesn't need, and Gwen questions her ability to make friends with normal people.
Warnings: Strong language. Kind of.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Merlin. It all belongs to the mighty BBC. I do own the plot though. I also don't own Hollister. If I did, they'd have proper lights.
Beta'd by: The lovely lasvegas_lights. Thank you for being awesome and putting up with my sheer lazyness.. :D
A/N: I apologise for the massive wait. ): What with results and college enrollment and general insane-ness, it's been hard to get much written. So, I've split this part in two. All will be explained in the second part. :D
"Morgana!" Arthur shouted, staring dismally into the pile of clothes he had thrown on his bed. "Morgana!"
"What?" Morgana spun around on his desk chair, hands folded delicately on her stomach. "Why the shouting? I'm just here!" She frowned.
"I have no clothes! No clothes!" Arthur threw part of the pile of laundry in the air in exasperation; roughly pulling a stray pair of jeans off his shoulder that had inconsiderately landed there.
"No clothes?" Morgana let out a small bark of laughter. "Arthur, you have more clothes than me, and that's saying something!"
"Okay, so, maybe I do have lots of clothes." Arthur sighed and perched precariously on the edge of his bed - the only bit that wasn't covered in the contents of his wardrobe. Morgana raised an eyebrow slowly. "Fine, I have too many clothes."
"Then what's the catastrophic problem that you dragged me out of pregnant-lady yoga for?"
"Pregnant-lady yoga?" Arthur parroted, finally turning his attention away from his "dilemma". "Leon told me you were sat on the sofa with a bag of Doritos watching Jeremy Kyle re-runs."
"That is pregnant-lady yoga." Morgana said matter-of-factly. "I'm not supposed to exert myself."
"Getting a cab is not exactly exerting yourself."
"I had to walk from the cab to your flat." She unfolded her arms over her stomach, idly inspecting her immaculate fingernails.
"And that was what, two hundred metres?" Arthur snorted, bracing his feet on the floor in an attempt to balance himself. I was nearly eleven o'clock and he still hadn't gotten dressed - he'd sat for three hours merely in boxers and a t-shirt, fretting about what to wear. He'd spent the previous evening debating whether it would be a good idea to invite Merlin out for coffee after his morning lecture or not, and he'd wanted to look perfect (in an effort to impress Merlin so much he would instantly say yes).
"So," Morgana breathed elegantly changing the subject. "Why the sudden worries about your outfit? You don't normally care how awful you look."
Had Morgana not been pregnant, Arthur would have thrown something at her. A very hard something. But, as it was, Morgana was pregnant, and therefore it would be frowned upon if he were to throw harmful things in her direction. Like a clock, for example. Or a mobile phone. Arthur weighed up a pair of balled-up socks in his hand, thinking about how satisfying it would be to get them in Morgana's face.
"All jokes aside, Arthur, why are you so worried about clothes all of a sudden?"
"I want to impress someone."
"Right…" They sat in silence for a moment until Morgana tutted loudly. "Would you care to expand on that? Who on Earth is this 'someone'?"
Arthur looked down at the socks in his hand, absent-mindedly picking at a loose thread. "Merlin."
Morgana blinked. "I thought he hated you."
"He did." Arthur said cheerfully, looking back up at Morgana with a wide grin. "And now he doesn't."
"Of course. How stupid of me." She rolled her eyes. Suddenly, she kicked Arthur's shin - hard. "Tell me what's going on, you idiot!"
"Ow! Jesus Christ, Morgana, what the hell was that for?" Clutching his leg (Winter boots hurt, goddamit), he gave up following all ethical rules and flung the socks at her. They flew over her shoulder and almost knocked over her glass of water, (to her disgust, the doctor had advised her to give up tea during her pregnancy. The phrase, "Its torture!" was becoming a common occurrence in every conversation.) but he still felt a little bit better for it.
"When a girl asks you about who you're impressing, you don't just give them a name! You need to expand and tell me everything!" She gestured wildly with her hands, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "God, you are such a man." She hissed, as if it were an insult.
"Well, obviously." He frowned, leaning back on the clothes on his bed. They were surprisingly comfortable. He sighed heavily. "I wanted to ask him out for coffee or something, and I figured that because he's as stroppy as you sometimes," He ignored the death-glare she shot in his direction. "I'd make an effort to look good, because going dressed like this," He gestured to his half-naked self vaguely. "Is bound to annoy him."
Morgana nodded slowly, looking far too wise for her own good. She heaved herself to her feet, shoved Arthur off the bed and began to rummage through the pile of clothes. "Well, if you're trying to impress him, wear these," She threw a pair of dark jeans at him. He only just managed to catch them before they were in his face. "And this. It'll bring out the colour of your eyes." A light blue t-shirt came flying at him next (he vaguely remembered Leon giving him it for his birthday earlier in the year. "It's Hollister," he'd said, as if Hollister was the only acceptable brand of clothing to wear. "People like that."). "And wear this over the top. It looks sophisticated. Sort of." Morgana handed him the black suit jacket he'd worn to her engagement party.
"Um. Thanks." He stood awkwardly in the middle of his room.
"Have you showered today?"
"Yes."
"Right. Go and change then. And shave!" She called after him, sitting down at his desk again.
"I already have!"
"Shave again."
Arthur exited the bathroom five minutes later, after having not shaved again (once was enough, thanks). Morgana sat quietly for a moment, before nodding once.
"You'll do."
*****
Merlin's morning had been interesting, to say the least. He'd been woken up by his phone ringing loudly (if it was a message from Arthur again, Merlin was going to kill him.). He'd debated not answering it, and was leaning very strongly toward leaving it and going back to sleep, when he'd thought about who it could be - if it was his mother, and he didn't answer, she'd panic and think he was dead (Hunith was known for over-reacting), and he'd never hear the end of it. Groaning, he'd grabbed his mobile, flipped it open, and wedged it between the pillow and his head (Mainly so he wouldn't have to hold it, because he was lazy like that.).
"Hello?"
"Ah, Merlin. Finally. What took you so long to answer?"
"Freya?" He'd sat up at the sound of her voice, eyebrows creasing in concern. Freya was his mother's next door neighbour, and Merlin had grown up with her and her older brother, Will, (Who had been his best friend forever) and she only ever called him in an emergency - Hunith was a very proud woman, and would only ever tell Merlin about things if it involved him, so Merlin had convinced Freya to keep him in the loop, and let him know whenever something happened. "What's wrong?"
"It's your Mum. Now, don't get all panicky and insist on coming home - she's with Mum." Merlin relaxed a little at that - if anyone could look after his mother when he wasn't there, it was Will's mother.
"What happened?"
"Your father," Freya spat the word out as if it had tasted bad. "Came around to your mum's a few days ago. Everything was pretty quiet, so no one really thought anything of it - although Mum had a lot to say about it." Will's mother's hatred for Merlin's father was well known throughout the village. He'd messed Hunith around far too many times, and as a true friend, Francesca had boycotted Balinor at every possibility.
Merlin had clenched his fist at his side, quietly fuming. How dare he come back? After what he'd done? The bastard! As much as he'd hated to admit it, Merlin was a little angry with his mother for taking him back.
"They were arguing for most of last night - I think the whole village heard them. Mum said he left early this morning, and…." She trailed off.
"And? And what?"
"It looked like he'd been on the drink again."
Merlin'd swore. Loudly. "She's alright though? He didn't-" He cut off quickly - Hunith had made him promise not to tell anyone about that.
Freya hadn't commented on his faltered sentence, and Merlin had been thankful for that. "A little shaken up. There's been a lot of crying. From what I can gather, he said some downright nasty shit."
"Bastard! Tell her I'm coming home - I'll be back as soon as I can."
"She said you'd say that. And she also told me to make you promise not to come home until the holidays."
"But-"
"But nothing." Freya's tone had been firm. "We've got her here. Everything's under control. Mum's looking after her, and if I'm honest, I don't think your mum wants you to see her like this."
"You're sure she'll be okay with you? Can I not talk to her?"
"She's sleeping. Look, just ring her up this evening. Honestly, she'll be fine. You can trust us."
Merlin had talked to Will about it in their Art session (In college, they'd decided that, as best friends, it would only be appropriate to got to University together, and Will had been determined to get into Oxford with Merlin, despite having no interest in taking Art beyond A-level. "It's all impressionist shit," he'd said, when they'd applied. "It's a complete waste of time, mate, but I might as well.") And he'd offered to go back to Ealdor and "beat the crap out of the bastard". Merlin had unwillingly declined.
As if his day couldn't get much worse, he'd gone into the Art session thinking he was pretty prepared for the Christmas deadline, only to be told that he was, in fact, very behind. Even Will had done more than him - which was just wrong, and Hell was probably freezing over.
He walked out of the art studio in a foul mood, his thoughts entirely focused on how much work he had to do in the three remaining weeks of term, and how much satisfaction he would get out of killing his father. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he only noticed Arthur when he walked into him. If it hadn't been for Arthur's quick reflexes, Merlin would have lost another box of pencils to gravity, and all of his work would have been thrown across the floor.
"Careful, Merlin!" To Merlin's shock, Arthur's tone wasn't even slightly annoyed.
"Sorry! I wasn't concentrating." Looking Arthur up and down in what he hoped was a subtle way (but probably wasn't), he wasn't surprised that Arthur looked amazing (even thought Morgana always had something to say about how he dressed, everyone else on the planet firmly believed that Arthur could wear anything and pull it off.)
"I noticed. You're going to your room, yeah?"
"Yeah…" Merlin frowned a little as Arthur proceeded to carry the majority of Merlin's almost-dropped Art supplies down the corridor (not that he was particularly complaining - his supplies were bloody heavy, but still.). He quickly hurried after him, waving off Will's look of 'Um, what just happened?' with a quick, "I'll tell you later."
"So, Merlin," Arthur began, when Merlin had caught up with him. Oh God, Merlin thought. That sounds ominous - I can't deal with this as well right now. "How're you?"
Oh. "I'm good?" At Merlin's uncertain tone, Arthur gave him a questioning, yet withering, look. "Okay, so I'm not good. I'm actually pretty shit."
"Really? What's wrong?" Arthur turned his head to look at him, concerned about his tone. Merlin sounded genuinely down.
Merlin let out a heavy sigh, sticking his hands in his pockets. "It's a bit of a long story, actually."
Feeling that now would be an excellent time to ask, Arthur made a point of checking his watch (he didn't want Merlin to know that he'd made sure he didn't have anything to do that day so he could ask Merlin out. It would completely ruin his appearance.) "I've got time. Fancy getting a coffee and you can tell me about it?"
Arthur couldn't help but feel very proud of himself when Merlin smiled that small, subtle smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, that did strange things to Arthur's mind and that he couldn't stop thinking about, and nodded. "Coffee would be great."
It wasn't quite the scenario that Arthur had had in mind, but it would do. Seeing the way that Merlin's shoulders relaxed at the prospect of talking, Arthur smiled. Yes, it would do.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you try anyway." - Atticus, To Kill a Mockingbird
In which Arthur co-ordinates his outfits, Merlin has a revelation, Morgana insists on spending lots of money on things she doesn't need, and Gwen questions her ability to make friends with normal people.
Warnings: Strong language. Kind of.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Merlin. It all belongs to the mighty BBC. I do own the plot though. I also don't own Hollister. If I did, they'd have proper lights.
Beta'd by: The lovely lasvegas_lights. Thank you for being awesome and putting up with my sheer lazyness.. :D
A/N: I apologise for the massive wait. ): What with results and college enrollment and general insane-ness, it's been hard to get much written. So, I've split this part in two. All will be explained in the second part. :D
"Morgana!" Arthur shouted, staring dismally into the pile of clothes he had thrown on his bed. "Morgana!"
"What?" Morgana spun around on his desk chair, hands folded delicately on her stomach. "Why the shouting? I'm just here!" She frowned.
"I have no clothes! No clothes!" Arthur threw part of the pile of laundry in the air in exasperation; roughly pulling a stray pair of jeans off his shoulder that had inconsiderately landed there.
"No clothes?" Morgana let out a small bark of laughter. "Arthur, you have more clothes than me, and that's saying something!"
"Okay, so, maybe I do have lots of clothes." Arthur sighed and perched precariously on the edge of his bed - the only bit that wasn't covered in the contents of his wardrobe. Morgana raised an eyebrow slowly. "Fine, I have too many clothes."
"Then what's the catastrophic problem that you dragged me out of pregnant-lady yoga for?"
"Pregnant-lady yoga?" Arthur parroted, finally turning his attention away from his "dilemma". "Leon told me you were sat on the sofa with a bag of Doritos watching Jeremy Kyle re-runs."
"That is pregnant-lady yoga." Morgana said matter-of-factly. "I'm not supposed to exert myself."
"Getting a cab is not exactly exerting yourself."
"I had to walk from the cab to your flat." She unfolded her arms over her stomach, idly inspecting her immaculate fingernails.
"And that was what, two hundred metres?" Arthur snorted, bracing his feet on the floor in an attempt to balance himself. I was nearly eleven o'clock and he still hadn't gotten dressed - he'd sat for three hours merely in boxers and a t-shirt, fretting about what to wear. He'd spent the previous evening debating whether it would be a good idea to invite Merlin out for coffee after his morning lecture or not, and he'd wanted to look perfect (in an effort to impress Merlin so much he would instantly say yes).
"So," Morgana breathed elegantly changing the subject. "Why the sudden worries about your outfit? You don't normally care how awful you look."
Had Morgana not been pregnant, Arthur would have thrown something at her. A very hard something. But, as it was, Morgana was pregnant, and therefore it would be frowned upon if he were to throw harmful things in her direction. Like a clock, for example. Or a mobile phone. Arthur weighed up a pair of balled-up socks in his hand, thinking about how satisfying it would be to get them in Morgana's face.
"All jokes aside, Arthur, why are you so worried about clothes all of a sudden?"
"I want to impress someone."
"Right…" They sat in silence for a moment until Morgana tutted loudly. "Would you care to expand on that? Who on Earth is this 'someone'?"
Arthur looked down at the socks in his hand, absent-mindedly picking at a loose thread. "Merlin."
Morgana blinked. "I thought he hated you."
"He did." Arthur said cheerfully, looking back up at Morgana with a wide grin. "And now he doesn't."
"Of course. How stupid of me." She rolled her eyes. Suddenly, she kicked Arthur's shin - hard. "Tell me what's going on, you idiot!"
"Ow! Jesus Christ, Morgana, what the hell was that for?" Clutching his leg (Winter boots hurt, goddamit), he gave up following all ethical rules and flung the socks at her. They flew over her shoulder and almost knocked over her glass of water, (to her disgust, the doctor had advised her to give up tea during her pregnancy. The phrase, "Its torture!" was becoming a common occurrence in every conversation.) but he still felt a little bit better for it.
"When a girl asks you about who you're impressing, you don't just give them a name! You need to expand and tell me everything!" She gestured wildly with her hands, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "God, you are such a man." She hissed, as if it were an insult.
"Well, obviously." He frowned, leaning back on the clothes on his bed. They were surprisingly comfortable. He sighed heavily. "I wanted to ask him out for coffee or something, and I figured that because he's as stroppy as you sometimes," He ignored the death-glare she shot in his direction. "I'd make an effort to look good, because going dressed like this," He gestured to his half-naked self vaguely. "Is bound to annoy him."
Morgana nodded slowly, looking far too wise for her own good. She heaved herself to her feet, shoved Arthur off the bed and began to rummage through the pile of clothes. "Well, if you're trying to impress him, wear these," She threw a pair of dark jeans at him. He only just managed to catch them before they were in his face. "And this. It'll bring out the colour of your eyes." A light blue t-shirt came flying at him next (he vaguely remembered Leon giving him it for his birthday earlier in the year. "It's Hollister," he'd said, as if Hollister was the only acceptable brand of clothing to wear. "People like that."). "And wear this over the top. It looks sophisticated. Sort of." Morgana handed him the black suit jacket he'd worn to her engagement party.
"Um. Thanks." He stood awkwardly in the middle of his room.
"Have you showered today?"
"Yes."
"Right. Go and change then. And shave!" She called after him, sitting down at his desk again.
"I already have!"
"Shave again."
Arthur exited the bathroom five minutes later, after having not shaved again (once was enough, thanks). Morgana sat quietly for a moment, before nodding once.
"You'll do."
*****
Merlin's morning had been interesting, to say the least. He'd been woken up by his phone ringing loudly (if it was a message from Arthur again, Merlin was going to kill him.). He'd debated not answering it, and was leaning very strongly toward leaving it and going back to sleep, when he'd thought about who it could be - if it was his mother, and he didn't answer, she'd panic and think he was dead (Hunith was known for over-reacting), and he'd never hear the end of it. Groaning, he'd grabbed his mobile, flipped it open, and wedged it between the pillow and his head (Mainly so he wouldn't have to hold it, because he was lazy like that.).
"Hello?"
"Ah, Merlin. Finally. What took you so long to answer?"
"Freya?" He'd sat up at the sound of her voice, eyebrows creasing in concern. Freya was his mother's next door neighbour, and Merlin had grown up with her and her older brother, Will, (Who had been his best friend forever) and she only ever called him in an emergency - Hunith was a very proud woman, and would only ever tell Merlin about things if it involved him, so Merlin had convinced Freya to keep him in the loop, and let him know whenever something happened. "What's wrong?"
"It's your Mum. Now, don't get all panicky and insist on coming home - she's with Mum." Merlin relaxed a little at that - if anyone could look after his mother when he wasn't there, it was Will's mother.
"What happened?"
"Your father," Freya spat the word out as if it had tasted bad. "Came around to your mum's a few days ago. Everything was pretty quiet, so no one really thought anything of it - although Mum had a lot to say about it." Will's mother's hatred for Merlin's father was well known throughout the village. He'd messed Hunith around far too many times, and as a true friend, Francesca had boycotted Balinor at every possibility.
Merlin had clenched his fist at his side, quietly fuming. How dare he come back? After what he'd done? The bastard! As much as he'd hated to admit it, Merlin was a little angry with his mother for taking him back.
"They were arguing for most of last night - I think the whole village heard them. Mum said he left early this morning, and…." She trailed off.
"And? And what?"
"It looked like he'd been on the drink again."
Merlin'd swore. Loudly. "She's alright though? He didn't-" He cut off quickly - Hunith had made him promise not to tell anyone about that.
Freya hadn't commented on his faltered sentence, and Merlin had been thankful for that. "A little shaken up. There's been a lot of crying. From what I can gather, he said some downright nasty shit."
"Bastard! Tell her I'm coming home - I'll be back as soon as I can."
"She said you'd say that. And she also told me to make you promise not to come home until the holidays."
"But-"
"But nothing." Freya's tone had been firm. "We've got her here. Everything's under control. Mum's looking after her, and if I'm honest, I don't think your mum wants you to see her like this."
"You're sure she'll be okay with you? Can I not talk to her?"
"She's sleeping. Look, just ring her up this evening. Honestly, she'll be fine. You can trust us."
Merlin had talked to Will about it in their Art session (In college, they'd decided that, as best friends, it would only be appropriate to got to University together, and Will had been determined to get into Oxford with Merlin, despite having no interest in taking Art beyond A-level. "It's all impressionist shit," he'd said, when they'd applied. "It's a complete waste of time, mate, but I might as well.") And he'd offered to go back to Ealdor and "beat the crap out of the bastard". Merlin had unwillingly declined.
As if his day couldn't get much worse, he'd gone into the Art session thinking he was pretty prepared for the Christmas deadline, only to be told that he was, in fact, very behind. Even Will had done more than him - which was just wrong, and Hell was probably freezing over.
He walked out of the art studio in a foul mood, his thoughts entirely focused on how much work he had to do in the three remaining weeks of term, and how much satisfaction he would get out of killing his father. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he only noticed Arthur when he walked into him. If it hadn't been for Arthur's quick reflexes, Merlin would have lost another box of pencils to gravity, and all of his work would have been thrown across the floor.
"Careful, Merlin!" To Merlin's shock, Arthur's tone wasn't even slightly annoyed.
"Sorry! I wasn't concentrating." Looking Arthur up and down in what he hoped was a subtle way (but probably wasn't), he wasn't surprised that Arthur looked amazing (even thought Morgana always had something to say about how he dressed, everyone else on the planet firmly believed that Arthur could wear anything and pull it off.)
"I noticed. You're going to your room, yeah?"
"Yeah…" Merlin frowned a little as Arthur proceeded to carry the majority of Merlin's almost-dropped Art supplies down the corridor (not that he was particularly complaining - his supplies were bloody heavy, but still.). He quickly hurried after him, waving off Will's look of 'Um, what just happened?' with a quick, "I'll tell you later."
"So, Merlin," Arthur began, when Merlin had caught up with him. Oh God, Merlin thought. That sounds ominous - I can't deal with this as well right now. "How're you?"
Oh. "I'm good?" At Merlin's uncertain tone, Arthur gave him a questioning, yet withering, look. "Okay, so I'm not good. I'm actually pretty shit."
"Really? What's wrong?" Arthur turned his head to look at him, concerned about his tone. Merlin sounded genuinely down.
Merlin let out a heavy sigh, sticking his hands in his pockets. "It's a bit of a long story, actually."
Feeling that now would be an excellent time to ask, Arthur made a point of checking his watch (he didn't want Merlin to know that he'd made sure he didn't have anything to do that day so he could ask Merlin out. It would completely ruin his appearance.) "I've got time. Fancy getting a coffee and you can tell me about it?"
Arthur couldn't help but feel very proud of himself when Merlin smiled that small, subtle smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, that did strange things to Arthur's mind and that he couldn't stop thinking about, and nodded. "Coffee would be great."
It wasn't quite the scenario that Arthur had had in mind, but it would do. Seeing the way that Merlin's shoulders relaxed at the prospect of talking, Arthur smiled. Yes, it would do.