Summary: In 1940s England, the son of a wealthy hospital benefactor and his manservant are separated when it their love affair is discovered. When Merlin Emrys is committed to an experimental hospital ward to be cured of his deemed mental affliction of homosexuality, Arthur Pendragon will stop at nothing to get him back.
Rating: M [human experimentation, mental illness, death, drugs, sex]
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the BBC Merlin characters.
Chapter One.
23rd June, 1947
Kent, England
The morning sunlight shone unabashedly through the bedroom's wide windows, which overlooked the front gardens of the manor. Its golden rays filtered through soft, fair hair and made milky skin glisten. The lazy summer breeze drifted into the room, carrying in the faint yells of the workmen toiling in the flowerbeds and fountains below, and making the opened red curtains billow; but it's gentle whoosh was drowned out by a continuous low chuckle.
A flash of bright blue, rivaled only by the day's clear sky, came back into view. Arthur had buried his face into his pillow to muffle his laughter, even though the laugh sounded through the feathers and Egyptian cotton, but he was back now, and the pillow was substituted with the crook of Merlin's neck. The line of his nose nuzzled into Merlin's collarbone, and his lips were like silk against prickling skin.
"Stop it," Merlin hissed, though he really didn't mean it, his mouth curved into a grin and his tone light. "Someone's bound to walk by any minute—and your father will wonder why I haven't fetched you from bed yet."
"But you did fetch me," Arthur reasoned, withdrawing himself from Merlin to prop himself up on his side. "Last night. A bit early for breakfast, I'll admit . . ."
He gave a noncommittal shrug and wrinkled his nose.
"I don't think he'll see that as a good excuse," Merlin laughed, propping himself up on his elbows, which sank sharply back into the mattress.
"Then, we'll just have to think of another," Arthur said before tilting his head downward and pecking a kiss onto Merlin's lips. Merlin wasn't ready to leave that warmth behind, to leave Arthur's side. Of course, he was Arthur's manservant: He'd be with Arthur all day, except when chores took him elsewhere, but it was different. Here, alone, they didn't have to hide. They didn't have to pretend.
Still, the outside world called, and they both knew they could not make moments like these last forever . . .
Though, they could try.
"Say it again, then," Merlin asked, rolling over onto his stomach and folding his arms beneath his head. He kept his gaze fixed upon Arthur's.
Arthur rolled his eyes at the request. "Merlin—"
"Go on," he said, raising a challenging brow.
"But you know already."
"I want to hear it," Merlin countered, his vision blurring slightly as it wandered down towards Arthur's lips and jaw line. "I want to hear it every day until the day I die," he finished in a whisper, like he was lost in a reverie.
Arthur bit back a smirk and cast his eyes towards the pillow.
"Tell me you love me," Merlin said.
"I do," Arthur admitted, reaching over and running the tips of his knuckles up and down Merlin's exposed spine. "I do love you."
It was a fairly new development, and it still made Merlin's cheekbones turn crimson pink and made his heart flutter.
"Don't be such a girl, Merlin," Arthur chided.
"Oh, but you make my lady parts quiver," Merlin joked, and Arthur couldn't contain a quick, barking laugh that caused him to remove his knuckles from Merlin and stuff them into his mouth. Merlin held back a low chuckle, too.
"That does it, I've changed my mind. I don't love you," Arthur said lightly. "You're too much of an idiot."
"You can hate me, but you're still stuck with me all day," Merlin reminded him.
"Not if you get fired," Arthur said, suddenly serious, and Merlin realized his eyes were on the clock on the mantelpiece. "While it isn't hard to believe that you would slack on your duties, you're right. We had better get going."
Merlin had to accept this, though he didn't want to. It was clear Arthur didn't want to, either, because he was leaning in for one last kiss to hold him off until nightfall. Merlin closed his eyes, waiting for the closer proximity, waiting for their lips to meet . . .
The kiss never came.
Perplexed, Merlin's eyes fluttered open, and he found the space beside him was suddenly vacant.
"Arthur?" he asked, quietly at first. He hadn't felt Arthur get up. He scanned the room, but Arthur was nowhere in slight.
Outside, the sun disappeared behind a cloud, and his heart suddenly began to rage in his chest as he rolled to his back and sat up.
"Arthur?" he called, louder this time, but there was no response.
He was frantic. He didn't know why. He felt around the space where Arthur was supposed to be with open palms. The sheets were cold. The mattress was untouched. It was like Arthur had never been there.
"Arthur!"
Merlin's eyes shot open, and the first thing they met was the white drop ceiling a few feet above him. He was panting like he'd just run a very far distance, and he wasn't completely sure if it had been his own gasp that woke him up or if the person standing beside his bed had awoken him.
"Well, good morning to you, too, Mr. Emrys," the man said. He was familiar—Merlin's orderly. His face was handsome with icy eyes and a strong jaw beneath waves of brunette hair, but Merlin forgot his name.
The orderly reached down and unstrapped the buckles restraining Merlin's wrists to the bed.
"How are you feeling this morning?"
Merlin sat up and blinked passed the haze that he seemed to find himself perpetually under as of late. The florescent lights above him caused a blinding glare that made him feel even more disoriented and nauseous.
Morning, he thought, remembering the orderly's words. It had been morning when he had been put to sleep, but not the same one. It was raining heavily as he had fallen asleep and, as he looked out the small window on the edge of his room, he saw the sky was only overcast.
"I—fine," Merlin croaked, getting a feel for his voice again. His throat felt dry.
The orderly smiled at this and lifted two paper cups, one large and containing a sloshing liquid and one small, from the nightstand and offered them to Merlin.
"Water," he said, "and your medication."
Merlin eyed him distrustfully, and there was a long pause before the orderly redoubled his offer, and he watched until he was satisfied that Merlin had begrudgingly downed the contents of both cups.
"Good," he said, taking the trash from Merlin and starting out of the room. "You have an appointment with the doctor in twenty minutes. I've left a spare hospital gown out for you to change into. I'll be back to fetch you shortly."
Before Merlin could protest, the door closed with a rattle and the orderly disappeared to finish his rounds, leaving him to get out of bed and stare down blankly at the white, thin gown and the pale blue robe folded on the end of it. He lifted his palm to his lips and spat out the pills before hiding them beneath the mattress.
About fifteen minutes later, as promised, the orderly arrived to collect Merlin and brought him through the sterile-smelling corridor and up a few flights of stairs until they reached Dr. Bayard's office on the top floor of the hospital. The room was more lavishly set up than the one Merlin was cramped into most of the time. It had a mahogany desk, a large wall unit with nearly a hundred tomes packed one against each other on the far wall, a carpet, and a few plants that gave Merlin the impression that he was back in Camelot Manor.
He sat down on the black leather chair before the desk, propping up his elbow on the armrest in order to comfortably chew his thumbnail, as he wondered how large Dr. Odin's office was in comparison. This was, after all, his ward, and Bayard was nothing but a middleman. Just as Merlin reflected on the fact that he'd never even seen Odin's face, the door of the office swung open and a tall, thin, and bearded man strode through it, carrying a file folder.
"Mr. Emrys, how did you sleep?" Bayard asked, and his smile did not falter when he saw Merlin scowling at him. Instead, he rolled his chair out and plopped down into it before directing his attention at the folder.
"You've been with us . . . six days?" he asked, consulting the file.
"Seven," Merlin corrected. He glanced over at the desk calendar on Bayard's right hand side, noticing the squares crossed out. It had been two days since he'd last seen it—two straight days of sleep. That was the longest they'd had him under since his arrival.
"It's been seven days."
"Ah, yes," Bayard said cheerfully, and he folded his hands together and fixed his eyes on Merlin. "How are you finding treatment?"
Merlin rubbed at his eyes, making them redder and deepening the dark circles beneath them. In the swirling blackness, he felt the memory of intense pain flowing quickly to every part of his body.
"It tickles," he said through his teeth.
"You have another session after lunch, I see," Bayard continued, once more regarding the file. When Merlin did not answer, he took that as his cue to go on. "And have you been experiencing any memory loss? Or any sensations of missing time?"
Merlin snorted mirthlessly.
"I'll take that as a yes," Bayard said, jotting down concealed notes in the file.
"Yes, because you put me to sleep for days on end!" Merlin said in a near-yell, suddenly feeling a surge of hostility.
Bayard gave a patient smile and twirled his pen between his fingers.
"The DST is necessary," he said calmly. "It helps relieve your stress, anxiety—," he looked up pointedly at Merlin, "—anger. And it enables your body to adapt to the treatments and medication."
Merlin looked down at his lap, too tired to say anything, despite his increase in sleeping patterns.
"It's always hard the first week," Bayard said sympathetically and leaned in. "But, I promise, you'll see results in time."
To this, Merlin glared at him through his eyelashes.
"These treatments have never been done before—at least not together. You told me yourself," he said. "So how can you promise something like that?"
Bayard looked at him blankly for a few beats before silently writing something else down in the file. Merlin sat back in his chair and waited to be dismissed.
"Hey, Merlin! Merlin, over here!"
Merlin had barely stepped through the doors of the mess hall when he heard the voice calling to him, loud and exuberant over the din of grumbling chatter, and he located Gwaine immediately. The man slid down in his seat and kicked out the plastic chair across from him for Merlin to sit in. He had only met Gwaine twice before, once in the corridor outside the treatment rooms and once again in the cafeteria, but he seemed to have made an impression on Gwaine.
Supposing it was good to have some form of a friend inside these walls, Merlin paced over and sat heavily in the chair opposite the roguishly handsome patient.
"Glad to see you're up and about, mate," Gwaine said happily, as Merlin eyed the large, muscular man sitting next to Gwaine with curiosity. He had a crew cut and his eyes, which might have once sparkled, were now dull. Merlin instantly pegged him as a soldier.
"They woke me up today, too," Gwaine was saying. He looked around shiftily before leaning in and whispering, "They say it was only for twenty-four hours, but I'm thinking it must have been at least five days." He sat back up, pulled a frown, and nodded surely.
However, Merlin doubted it. He'd only seen Gwaine three days ago. Still, he kept it to himself and allowed Gwaine to muddle in his delusions.
"Anyway, this is Percy," Gwaine said, grinning once more, as he swiveled to his side and clasped a palm on the large man's shoulder.
Percy only gave Merlin a half-glance and fraction of a pushed smile before once again becoming fascinated with his stew and hunk of bread. Merlin tried not to eye the food too eagerly, but he'd only just realized how starving he was.
"Who put you in here, then?" Merlin asked him.
"Hilter," was the mumbled reply.
"Percy here was stationed over in Berlin during the war. Isn't that right?" Gwaine told Merlin. "He doesn't like to talk about it."
To this, Percy gave a heavy sigh and pushed his tray of food away. Merlin couldn't stop looking at it.
"Go on. It isn't gonna eat itself," said Percy, giving him permission, and Merlin snatched the tray over and tore at the dry bread.
"What are you here for?" Percy asked, watching Merlin intensely as he chewed with his mouth open.
"Yeah, I never did ask you that," Gwaine said.
It took a moment, but eventually Merlin gulped down a swallow and meekly told the stew, "I'm gay."
"Ugh! They're still counting you lot as mental?" Gwaine shouted, seeming outraged. It made Merlin's gaze snap back up, no longer shy in the acceptance. "You'd think people would have a little more sense. Mind you, lovin' a woman is crazy enough—so I say love is love." He pointed a finger in Merlin's face and continued, "You know who discriminated against gays? Old Adolf!"
He shot Percy, who suddenly looked like he was sucking on something sour, a quick look.
"Sorry, mate—but it is true!" Settling slightly, he shrugged. "Then again, he said the same thing about us schizos, so who am I to judge?"
Merlin chuckled slightly at this, which he had honestly forgotten he knew how to do, as he took a spoonful of cold stew, but Percy's expression remained even and numb, which darkened Merlin's attitude.
"You checked yourself in, then?" he realized at once.
Percy nodded, getting a far-off look in his eyes. "Must have been a month ago," he said. "I just want to forget."
Merlin didn't. He wanted only to remember—every glowing strand of bright blonde hair, the exact shade of baby blue, each stolen kiss and moment alone.
"And have you?" he asked, trying to keep the concern out of his tone. "Forgotten?"
Percy shrugged. "Sometimes I can't remember where I was stationed," he answered. "Other times, I forget the names of my commanding officers, or the faces of the men I shot. But it all comes back eventually—in my sleep."
For once, Gwaine was silent, and Merlin stared down into the bowl, no longer hungry.
10th May, 1947
The rising sun cast a pink glow on the carpet when Arthur cracked the door to the parlor open, checked that the coast was clear, and led Merlin closely by hand into the room.
"There's no one about, Arthur," Merlin chuckled at his wariness as the door swung closed behind them. "Your father and Morgana won't be home until Sunday. And all the servants are taking a rest—believe me. I've never seen a group of people so happy to sleep."
"You can never be too careful," Arthur told him just before crowding in and making Merlin take a step back, his spine now pressed against the wood. "Especially with you."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Merlin decided, and Arthur took him into a soft, lazy kiss before Merlin broke it. "Come on, or I'm going to get a back injury," he chuckled, sliding his fingers back into Arthur and leading him halfway to the sofa.
Arthur crossed the room to the record player, and a slow ballad scratched into life, as Merlin jumped up onto the couch's cushions and sat on the curved top, leaning against the wall again for support.
"Let's do something today," Arthur said, bouncing a little to the rhythm of the music as he walked over to meet Merlin. He kneeled on the seat of the sofa between Merlin's thighs and placed his chin on Merlin's chest to gaze up at him. "Let's get out of here."
Merlin smirked down at him, reveling in Arthur's good mood. He only got this sickeningly happy on the rare occasions that they had the manor to themselves.
"And go where?" Merlin inquired as Arthur knotted their hands together.
"I don't know," he said, thinking. "We can take a pair of horses out—ride into the woods and find a nice spot."
Merlin was imagining it, and it looked perfect in his mind.
"I can pack a picnic basket," he offered.
"Always thinking about your stomach," Arthur teased.
"And yours," Merlin defended. "You get cranky when you haven't eaten."
Arthur stood up, his fingers still laced in Merlin's, and he shrugged. "That's not a bad idea, actually." He tugged at Merlin's hand, causing him to stand up and hop off the couch. Then Arthur wrapped his free arm around Merlin's waist and swayed him back and forth to the music. "I'll go out and prepare the horses. No need to wake up the stable hands," he whispered. "You work on that picnic basket."
They rode until the woods gave way to open lands, until Kent became nothing but waves crashing against the rocks; and they finally found a good place to settle on the cliffs, surrounded by tall hills for privacy. They tied down the horses somewhere they could graze and set down the picnic blanket as the breeze, sweeping off the sea, caused ripples the grass and blew Arthur's bangs off his forehead. Merlin chuckled as he tried to smooth them back down, but he got distracted by the way the sunrays crowned Arthur's hair in gold and lit him up like Apollo.
After a few hours of drinking wine and strolling, or on one occasion racing, along the edge of the cliffs, they curled up together on the blanket and Arthur fell into a contented sleep. Merlin kept his head rested on Arthur's heart, playing with the buttons of his shirt and watching his chest rise and fall slowly. It must have been the warm spring sunlight mixed with alcohol and an early morning, but Merlin closed his eyes and listened to the ocean, whose sound slowly became further and further away. When he blinked awake, the sun was closer to the horizon, and Arthur's fingers were brushing through his hair.
They ate the meal Merlin had packed until they both got sidetracked by rolling around on the grass, which pricked at Merlin's bare skin and made Arthur smell sweetly of earth for the rest of the night.
Eventually, their shadows became too elongated, towering over the land until they dropped off the side of the cliffs, and they admitted that they'd have to pack up and leave.
There was a loud whizzing noise somewhere to the side, and someone was screaming, but Merlin barely registered any of it. He lost full control of himself as the electricity surged through him, concentrated on his temples where the nodes were placed, and flooded every atom within him. He felt as though his lungs might burst and his heart might stop, but the excruciation died away, and his body relaxed, muscles thumping dully, on the medical table beneath him.
He let out swallow breaths, trying with all his might to move his fingers or curl his toes, but the muscle relaxant they had given him was working almost too well for his liking.
"What is your name?" a male voice echoed. It had asked this question before, after almost every shock.
For a moment, Merlin couldn't answer. He was too ragged. To exhausted.
"What is your name?" the voice asked again, more persistent.
"M—Merlin Emrys," he groaned in response.
The machine hummed again, and Merlin's body bulged up and twisted against the restraints holding him down. Someone was screaming again, distantly.
"How long have you been here?"
"Seven days," Merlin answered automatically, letting his warm eyelids slip closed and allowing his head to loll to the side.
There was another pulse.
"What is your name?"
Merlin tried to gulp, but his throat was dry. Behind his eyes, the artificial light turned into rays of golden sunshine and pink lips.
"Arthur!" he cried out, hoping that Arthur was really there.
Merlin felt another surge, and he thought they must have turned the voltage up to maximum, because he was sure even his bones were vibrating under his flesh.
"What is your name?" he was asked in the same monotonous tone as before.
"Merlin," he breathed, barely audible. "Merlin Emrys . . ."
Merlin's slippers dragged as he was led out of the treatment room and into the examination room, where the same orderly as before met him momentarily for a quick once over.
"How are you feeling, Mr. Emrys?" he asked.
Merlin was too exhausted to respond and, even so, he wasn't sure he could. His mouth tasted too much like iron.
He was handed another cup of water and pills, which he took this time without complaint, and the water dribbled red down his chin.
"Oh, open up," the orderly requested, and Merlin let his lips part. Two gloved fingers reached up, adding a plastic taste to metal, and shoved his jaw open wider.
"Just as I thought," the orderly said. "You must have bitten your tongue during the ECT. Thankfully, it's not too deep, so it should heal within a day—but it will be sore." He picked up a file folder, opened it, and jotted down a note. "I'll have to warn them about that for next time. You're just not used to the higher voltage, is all. Bayard requested that we up your doses this morning. You were very lucid during your session."
That morning seemed like it was years ago, and Merlin did not feel lucid. The words were passing into one ear and out the other before he could grasp their meaning.
The orderly closed the file and gave Merlin an amicable smile. "You'll adjust to them soon. In the meantime . . ."
He placed a palm between Merlin's shoulder blades and shepherded him out of the examination room.
"I bet you're knackered."
Merlin nodded infinitesimally; it wasn't in him to argue.
"Good," said the orderly. "Let's get you back to your room. I'll set you up with some more insulin. That should put you straight to sleep."