Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.
Warnings: Violence, child abuse, caning.
A/N: Hello amigos. Please be advised that this chapter contains child abuse and caning, do proceed with caution.
~III~
Arthur doesn't know exactly when it started.
The obvious answer is the day he dropped his mother's picture. Exactly two weeks to the day after Morgana dragged her suitcases out to Morgause's waiting car and left home forever.
It had been a long time coming, he supposes now, but at the time he had been paralysed with shock, never suspecting that Uther and Morgana's recent late night screaming matches and mutual aversion would end in something so dramatic.
He had always known Morgana was only his half-sister, that wasn't a secret. But the fact that Morgana had another half-sister named Morgause was. And for Morgana this was apparently one deception too far on Uther's part. After one final confrontation, she had packed up her things and driven away with Morgause, leaving her dishonest father behind.
Leaving Arthur behind.
He was fourteen and up until that point had cared about little more than football and Xbox. Three years older than him, Morgana had more been a source of stress and irritation to him in the last couple of years than any kind of ally. But the house was horribly quiet without her; he missed her more than he realised. And in the fortnight that followed her exit, his father was like a changed man. His face was grey, as if drained of all blood, and he shut himself up in his study for hours at a time. When Arthur saw him he was short and irritable, snapping at his son at the slightest provocation. He rarely came down to dinner and if Arthur woke in the middle of the night, he could hear his father pacing in the office below.
After two weeks wandering round what felt, to all intents and purposes, like an empty house; Arthur began to experience a powerful sense of loneliness. He had never felt alone before really; had always had friends at school and Morgana to play with at home and his father to talk to. But for the first time in many years, Arthur suddenly missed his mother terribly. And wasn't it funny, to miss someone you had never known? But a yawning emptiness was opening up inside of him in the newly silent house and Arthur was craving some reminder of the woman he had never met.
So he sneaked into Uther's study, the only place in the house where a picture of Igraine was still displayed. It was high up on the bookshelf, turned inwards slightly towards Uther's desk so that the best place to view it was from his father's chair. Which was where Arthur sat down.
Looking up at his mother, a soft smile curling up her lips as the wind blew her hair about her face, Arthur suddenly felt a flash of anger. Why was the photo positioned like that, so only Uther could see it? Why weren't there any more around the house? Why couldn't Arthur have one of his own? It was his mother, after all.
Almost before realising it he was out of his seat, straining up towards the photo on the top shelf. If his father wouldn't give him one of his own, he'd at least turn the photo so they could both see it better.
He stretched out on his tip toes, pushing his fingers as far as he could, just a little more…
But as he propelled himself up to finally make contact with the frame, he pushed too hard and he knocked it off the shelf. He watched it fall to the ground as if in slow motion. The glass shattered on impact, tiny shards flying everywhere across the floor.
For a moment he simply gaped at the mess, then he was on his knees trying to pick up the pieces of glass before Uther returned. But the crash had been loud and that was how his father found him, scrabbling on the carpet with the photo curling in its frame.
When he looked up, it was though he could see two weeks of pure rage building up in his father's eyes and he knew he was for the lecture of his lifetime. Bracing himself, he got to his feet, an apology on his lips when-
At first he couldn't understand what had happened. He had been upright and now he was back on the ground, carpet pressing against his face. Even as his brain was catching up to his new position, pain flared through the right side of his jaw and he could taste metal in his mouth.
Uther had hit him.
His father had hit him.
And the metal in his mouth was the taste of blood.
He barely had time to think further than that before he was being pulled to his feet again and he flinched away automatically. But his father was pulling him close, wrapping his arms around him.
"I'm so sorry, Arthur, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to… "
Uther was muttering apologies into his hair as he held him and Arthur instinctively squeezed back because it had all just been a horrible mistake, hadn't it? He shouldn't have broken the picture frame and Uther shouldn't have lost his temper and even though his body was shaking slightly from the shock, he wasn't angry. All just a horrible mistake…
His father let him go to examine his face. He clucked his tongue softly and then led Arthur to the living room, where he sat him down and left the room. He returned with a damp cloth, and an icepack wrapped in a tea towel. Gently, he dabbed the blood away from Arthur's split lip and then had him hold the ice pack against his jaw.
Then when the swelling had gone down a bit, Uther had made Arthur soup and let him eat it from a tray on his lap so he could watch television. Uther had stayed by his side on the sofa the whole evening and when Arthur finally went to bed, his father caught his hand and squeezed it; whispering "Never again, I promise".
But it had happened again. And again and again, and the only thing that changed over time was that his father stopped being sorry.
~III~
It soon became obvious that Arthur couldn't do anything right. He didn't do well enough in school, he didn't score enough goals in football, he didn't walk straight enough, he didn't use his cutlery properly, he didn't wear his hair the right way. In the months following Morgana's departure, Arthur suddenly found himself scrutinised under the full beam of his father's judgement, and it was clear he had been found severely lacking. Uther criticised all that he did, picking fault with everything from the way he poured tea, to the way he shut his bedroom door. Arthur was constantly on edge, dreading his father's presence. The nerves only made him clumsier and less competent; dropping plates and spilling glasses of water much to Uther's disgust.
Then the punishments began. Arthur would be sent to his room without dinner for answering back, or be grounded for doing badly on his French homework. At first he was punished for more obvious offences; but as time went on he could incur Uther's wrath simply by forgetting to put his shoes away or leaving his bike out in the rain.
Apparently Uther didn't think groundings were enough after a while. It started out as taps to the back of the head and shoves to the shoulder; but the more convinced Uther became that Arthur needed putting in his place, the harsher the physical reprimands became. Uther seemed to have some kind of idea that Morgana had gone wrong due to insufficient discipline and he was determined to stamp out any similar signs of rebellion in Arthur early.
Arthur held up as best he could for a few months. He still nursed the hope that Uther's behaviour was due to his pain at losing Morgana – as he adjusted to the loss, surely his father would become less angry. And he was beginning to understand that he wasn't the easiest son to have. He was difficult and he was careless; leaving his football kit around and forgetting to wash up his dinner plates. And compared to Morgana, his performance in school was nowhere near as accomplished. He had the edge in sports, but Morgana had always been the brains and he supposed he was lucky she'd distracted Uther so long from seeing Arthur's lack of academic achievement. He resolved to work harder at school, and began to stay up late to work on his homework and make sure he attained good grades. It was hard and sometimes Arthur struggled, particularly in Maths which had always vexed him. It might as well have been hieroglyphics for all the sense it sometimes made to him and try as he might, he couldn't make the numbers balance – on paper or in his head. As he sat up night after night, frustrated by seemingly unsolvable equations and impossible theorems, it occurred to him that he might just be as stupid as his father seemed to think he was. He redoubled his efforts, determined not to give his father any reason to think badly of him.
But five months after Morgana left, Arthur reached his tipping point.
He was laying the table for dinner when Uther suddenly appeared behind him, causing him to drop the jug he was holding. It didn't break but it did fall on its side, flooding the table with water.
"For God's sake, Arthur!" his father roared. "Can't you do anything right?"
Arthur had long since learned his lesson about answering back but after five solid months of this kind of treatment, something inside him snapped.
"Well maybe if you weren't breathing down my neck all the time, I'd be less clumsy!" he shouted back.
"Excuse me?" Uther said, in a dangerous tone.
"You heard! I'm sick of you always having a go and taking everything out on me!"
"How dare you talk to me like that?"
Arthur knew he was on thin ice but he was feeling too raw and pissed off to say anything but the truth.
"It's not my fault Morgana left!"
Uther's mouth set in a hard line and Arthur knew he was in big trouble even before his father's hand reached out to grab his collar. Arthur ducked back and ran for the door. He skidded across the hallway, grabbed his keys off the hook, and burst out of the house, Uther's furious threats ringing out behind him.
It was cold outside but Arthur felt like he was burning up as he walked down the street.
Why was Uther doing this to him? What had he done that was so wrong?
And would he ever stop?
Arthur's hopes that his father's rage would lessen over time seem to have been completely unfounded. If anything, his father was getting angrier by the day.
Arthur walked for a long time, trying to figure out what to do. He considered going to a friend's house but the guys he hung out with in school – Val and Kay and Gavin – weren't really those kind of friends. He thought briefly of his childhood friend Gwen but he'd barely spoken to her since they'd started secondary school; it would be beyond awkward for him to randomly show up on her doorstep.
His uncle lived a bus ride away but Arthur didn't know him very well – he and Uther didn't get on. He had a cousin or two dotted around but he couldn't remember any of their addresses – he didn't see much of them either.
He could call Morgana… but she was miles away and was he really going to drag her all the way home because of a fight with Uther? Even in his own head it was starting to sound ridiculous. She'd probably laugh at him.
He thought about the last few months again. Uther had obviously taken Morgana leaving very hard but that didn't mean things had to continue this way. Arthur was nearly fifteen now and it was time to be a grown up about this. He would go home to his father and they would talk it out together. He would explain that Uther was making life at home difficult for him and surely his father would have to listen to that. Uther had just gone too far in the pursuit of discipline – all Arthur needed to do was persuade him he had no intention of stepping out of line, and that would hopefully be the reassurance his father needed.
He began to walk resolutely back to the house, practising tactics in his head. He would be calm and reasonable. He would start with an apology for running out, then he would try to explain why he had lost his temper. He would be truthful with his father and hopefully his father would be truthful with him. He imagined them both opening up, finally talking about Morgana and what had happened. If it went the way he planned, it could be cathartic, a new beginning for both of them…
When he finally reached the house and unlocked the door, the hallway light was off, which Arthur found strange. Uther usually left it on at night, to ward away burglars. He took a step towards the light switch and then a hand closed over his arm.
"Where the hell have you been?"
In the darkness Arthur's other senses felt heightened, he could smell very strongly the whiskey on his father's breath. A cold fear had started to pool in his stomach but he remembered his plan.
"I'm sorry I shouted and ran out but I need to talk to you about-"
"Shut up," Uther hissed, shaking his arm hard enough that it reverberated through his whole body.
"Dad, I just wanted to-"
"Be quiet!" Uther was dragging Arthur forward now, in the dim light he could see they were heading straight for the cellar. Arthur never went down there, except occasionally to fetch a bottle of wine for his father. He and Morgana used to dare each other to go in with all the lights off when they were little – invariably Morgana lasted longer than he did; he was always convinced he heard something moving in the corner and it was enough to send him hurtling back up the stairs, all bravado forgotten in his quest to get back to the light.
Arthur closed his mouth, heart pounding as Uther opened the door to the cellar, flicking on the light and pushing Arthur down in front of him.
When they reached the foot of the stairs, Arthur turned to face his father, who swept past him.
"I should have done this a long time ago," he said, leaning down to pick something up, and when he turned around Arthur's stomach took another sick lurch as he stared at the cane in his father's hand.
It was his grandfather's walking stick, a thin length of hazel wood that he used to polish to an impressive gleam. After his death it had ended up in the cellar along with the other relics of Uther's parents that he'd deigned to keep.
"Dad…" Arthur said, mouth dry, because surely he'd got this wrong, surely his father wouldn't…
"Come here, Arthur," his father said in a tone that brooked no argument.
"Why?" Arthur half-whispered.
An ugly look passed across Uther's face.
"Because I have let you get away with far too much for far too long. You're lazy and insolent and you have no respect for me or this house. Tonight's little escapade has simply proved to me that I need to take a firmer hand with you."
Arthur felt like the air was slowly being sucked out of the room. For a long second he looked at the cane in Uther's hand. Then he turned on his heel and made for the stairs.
But it seemed his father had been anticipating this and he lunged forward, grabbing Arthur just as he reached the first step and hauling him backwards across the room. Arthur was half-hysterical now, twisting desperately in his iron grip, his breath coming in short choked pants.
Uther thrust him facedown across the old writing desk tucked in the corner of the cellar, Arthur struggling under the hand holding him down.
"Dad, please! Please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be bad! I'm sorry, Dad, please don't hit me-"
"If you don't stop squirming, I will tie you down," his father hissed and Arthur swallowed a sob, trying to still his body.
"Dad, please…" he whimpered but Uther made no reply. There was a pause. And then.
The first blow hit him squarely across his shoulder blades. He let out a cry like a wounded animal. It felt like someone had laid a hot poker on him. There was barely a gap before another strike caught him, this time in the middle of his back and it shocked the breath out of him. He bit his lip to keep from screaming out again but no avail, when the third hit landed on his thighs he couldn't help the wail that escaped him.
There were three more blows and Arthur barely registered when Uther stopped. Pain lanced across his body, clouding his mind, his back felt like it was on fire… He was dimly aware of slipping down from the table and onto the floor and then he was violently sick everywhere. Uther snorted in disgust above him and Arthur heard the sounds of him climbing the stairs but he stayed where he was on the floor, breathing in and out and willing the agony to lessen.
When Uther returned he threw a few cloths and a cleaning spray on the floor next to Arthur.
"Clean that mess up and then get to bed," he said.
Arthur heard his father walk away for the second time and then the footsteps stopped. He looked up to see Uther's gaze boring into him.
"I hope you've learned your lesson, Arthur," he said sternly.
Mute, Arthur nodded.
~III~
The spirit of rebellion was crushed in him that night. Something had broken inside of him, irrevocably. The part of him that had always believed his father was on his side, was here to protect him, had gone. Over the next two years there were small defiances, each punished severely, but never again did Arthur try to reason with his father or privately hope that the situation would improve. This was the way it was now and the best thing he could do was keep his head down until he turned eighteen and could finally leave.
The anger he had felt that night was gone too. In its place was fear, and a small sickening sense of shame that flared up on occasion. As far as he knew, no-one else at school had fathers that hit them. He was certain no-one else in his class had ever been held down and beaten with a cane. And he knew his father had never touched Morgana. So it must be him. Something about the way he was that angered his father so much he was moved to violence. Perhaps if he was smarter, or neater, or stronger, or braver he wouldn't have driven Uther to this. Perhaps if he was a better son, his father would love him like he should.
But he wasn't. There was something wrong with him and he couldn't seem to fix it. So Arthur vowed to never let anyone know what went on in his house; not even his closest friends, not even Morgana. He would rather suffer in silence then let them know how lacking he really was, how much his own father hated him. He would keep the secret behind closed doors so no-one ever knew what kind of person he really was. He would never tell.
And then Merlin came along.
~III~
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