Chapter Six.
21st November, 1945
Arthur struggled to unknot his tie in the mirror, but he was beginning to think it would never come off. Eventually, he gave up, accepting that Merlin was just so much better at this task than he was.
"Merlin, could you come over here?" he asked, but there was no response. "Merlin?"
He looked up, somewhat impatiently, towards Merlin, who was standing next to the window with the curtains open, staring up at the dark sky. The moonlight flooded in through the glass, illuminating his skin with a silver light and making the tips of his black hair shine. Arthur watched the same glow light up his long, sweeping lashes, which fluttered whenever he blinked. Beneath them, his eyes were glistening sadly against the light.
"Merlin?" Arthur asked again, his tone entirely different than before, but Merlin didn't seem to hear him. As Arthur paced over, he caught sight of Merlin's hands resting on the windowsill, his slender fingers toying idly with something metal.
He must have felt Arthur's presence, because he took in a sharp breath through his nose as though waking up, and turned his attention away from the outside.
"Sorry, were you saying something?" he asked in a very far off voice. It made Arthur knit his brows in perplexity.
He wanted to ask what was troubling Merlin, and he wanted so very badly to take that thing and make sure it saw neither pleasure nor the light of day ever again. But he contained himself, and he put up a front.
"What is that?" he asked towards the object in Merlin's hands, trying to sound more curious than invested in the question.
"It's nothing," Merlin tried, shaking his head and trying to stuff the item in his fist into his trouser pocket. He couldn't meet Arthur's eyes.
"No, it's something, let me see," Arthur said, gingerly grabbing Merlin's wrist and bringing it between them. Merlin gave in easily enough and, when his palm was leveled in Arthur's grasp, he opened his fingers to reveal a military dog tag clasped between them.
"Your father's?" Arthur asked, recognizing them.
Merlin nodded and swallowed passed the lump in his throat. "It's been a year to the day we found out . . ." He trailed off and thinned his lips, and Arthur let his hand drop to his side.
"I'm sorry," he said, understanding now. "I didn't know. Word didn't get to us until months later."
"Yeah, I know," Merlin said, visibly upset but steeling himself, and Arthur couldn't stand it. He wanted to wrap his arms around Merlin and keep all the sadness in the world at bay.
"He was a good man," Arthur said instead, but he was pulling at straws. In truth, he barely knew the man. "And an exceptional cook. He . . . He was the only one who could get me to eat my supper as a child," he added, mostly because he didn't know what else to say, but a warm smile spread onto Merlin's features.
"Yeah, his reputation preceded him, then," Merlin agreed, his eyes distant as though recalling a memory. "You would think he'd be sick of it, but he always came home after he was done here to cook for Mum and me. He was always cooking something at home, especially when he was trying out a new recipe. He used to teach me—even when I didn't want to learn. Even let me cook Christmas dinner all by myself one year."
He nodded softly to himself, and Arthur found he was slightly jealous. He couldn't remember Uther ever teaching him anything so practical.
"Even during the Depression, he made sure there was always food in the house—mostly thanks to the salary you lot paid him," Merlin continued. "And he had a job in a soup kitchen on most days."
"Well, he earned his wages well," Arthur said, somewhat awkwardly, but Merlin didn't seem to notice.
He brightened considerably and seemed to come back to the present. He met Arthur's gaze.
"Are you hungry?" he asked at once, catching Arthur off guard.
"Am I—?"
"I'm starving," Merlin said, powering through, and his expression made Arthur smile.
"I could eat," he agreed, and Merlin practically bounced out of the room, Arthur in tow.
It was late, and no one was in the kitchen when they arrived there. Arthur felt somehow out of place in the room, like he didn't quite belong there despite the fact that it was part of the house he'd lived in all his life. He'd only been in the kitchen a certain number of times, and not for many years. Merlin, however, looked perfectly at home there. He seemed to know exactly where everything was as he started through the pantry and the walk-in refrigerator, pulling out ingredients and utensils.
"What are you doing?" Arthur asked as Merlin stuck his hand into the flour jar and pulled out a fist of the powder before sprinkling it on the marble counter top.
"Cooking!" Merlin said as though it was obvious.
"Yes, I can see that," Arthur said dumbly. "But won't the kitchen staff get angry if they wake up to find the place a mess tomorrow morning?"
Merlin chuckled openly at this as he cracked some eggs into a bowl. "It won't be a mess," he replied. "Father always said the most fun part of cooking was cleaning up after yourself."
Arthur had to disagree as he leaned forward against the opposite side of the island counter. "I always thought that was the eating."
"That's because you have no work ethic," Merlin accused, pointing a whisk at his face. "Now, come on, don't just stand around. You can be my sous-chef."
Arthur looked as though the idea were preposterous. "Your what?"
"Sous-chef!" Merlin said again exuberantly. "The chef's assistant."
"I know what a sous-chef is, Merlin," Arthur said, rolling his eyes.
"Good. Then you already know you'll have to do whatever I say," Merlin said cheerfully, and Arthur couldn't argue with that tone—or that smile.
Pretending to be more perturbed than he was actually was, he stalked around the counter to Merlin's side, looking down at the ingredients situated neatly on the counter like they were from some other planet where food didn't just come prepared. He then realized that was the planet he lived on.
"So, um," he said unsurely. "What are we making?"
"Don't question the chef!" Merlin said, flicking some loose flour in Arthur's direction. Arthur responded by picking up a handful and doing the same, but it only made Merlin laugh.
After about a half hour, Arthur realized they were making a steak and kidney pie, and two hours later they were enjoying it, still standing around the counter. Merlin rolled the crust himself, and it was flaky and sweet. The meat and gravy inside were savory, without too much run, and Merlin grated some cheddar cheese into it before baking, calling it a secret ingredient. It was just like Balinor had made it, and every bite was like a trip down memory lane. Arthur wanted it to last forever, but he could not ration his intake.
"This is incredible," Arthur said, his mouth full, for what must have been the fifth time.
"Is it?" Merlin asked modestly, taking a bite himself. "I hope I did it justice."
"You did," Arthur assured him, swallowing.
"This was always my favorite of Dad's recipes," Merlin admitted. "He made it every year on my birthday."
"Mine, too, actually," Arthur said, forgetting about the food for the first time since it was placed in front of him.
"Yeah?" Merlin wondered, seemly oddly lifted by that fact, so Arthur nodded.
"He'd be proud," Arthur said, "of the pie, I mean."
Merlin absolutely beamed, and it made Arthur's heart beat a little faster.
"Well, now that I know how to make it, I won't be needing any of the kitchen staff ever again," Arthur told him, trying to get his mind off the grin. He took another bite and pointedly slid the fork through his teeth.
"Oh, no! It's one thing to make it; it's another thing entirely to cook it," Merlin defended. "That takes years of practice."
"Well, then, I'll just have to keep you around forever," Arthur told him. "You can cook all my meals for me."
"I wouldn't mind that so much," Merlin admitted, and Arthur didn't know which notion he had been speaking of. He found himself hoping that the first was more appealing to Merlin than the second. Arthur would be happy for either, but the first one . . .
"You're staring at me," Merlin said after a few moments of silence, and Arthur realized at once he'd be doing just that.
"No, I'm—" he stammered. "I was just thinking, and you were in my line of sight."
Putting it out of his head, he shoveled another bite into his mouth and hummed around it.
"You're wasted as a manservant. You should be working in the kitchens," Arthur said. "You'd put the current chef to shame."
"Oh, he isn't so bad," Merlin muttered, wetting a sponge and starting to mop up the counter top. "And you'd get fat," he added snarkily. "Besides, I'm happy to be yours." He looked up quickly and hastened to say, "Your manservant, that is."
If Arthur pretended really hard, he could imagine Merlin had not corrected himself. And, if he really tried, he could picture a world in which they could be together and happy and custom would not bat a single eyelash at the fact that they were both men or servant and master.
"Me, too," he said, somewhat breathlessly.
He was almost sure that Merlin's cheekbones had flushed crimson, but he turned around too quickly to clean off the stove for Arthur to really see.
It turned out Uther's prediction had come true: the Pendragons certainly were seeing much of Rodor and Mithian. They spent two days of every week together: once when they came to Kent, and once when Uther, Arthur, and Morgana would travel up to Birmingham. The drive was long, but Uther allowed Arthur to make it behind the wheel more often than not, and it was a relief to see Mithian.
When they visited, Mithian would take the siblings out to her favorite places in Birmingham, just as they would bring her into town on occasion. They went to restaurants, the theater or the cinema, or simply walked around talking for hours on end. Mithian had taken to bringing her astronomy and mythology books and star charts whenever she came down, and Arthur learned about dozens of constellations and the stories behind them. He found that, with her, he wasn't quite so bored or full of nervous energy as he was every other day of the week. He didn't know whether it was fresh air or the new friendship that did it, but he was happier on the days he saw her.
Uther's mood had lifted, too. While he had been so distant with Arthur as of late, those tendencies seemed to evaporate. Even on the days without guests, Uther invited Arthur to dine with him, and he spoke of a family holiday, along with Morgana and Leon, to Bermuda sometime in the near future. At first, Arthur was wary about Uther's sudden jovial nature towards him, and he attempted to brush his father off as much as possible, but he found himself less hostile as time went on. No, Arthur had not forgotten what Uther had done, and he was certainly not about to forgive him or to admit his plans of finding Merlin, since he was certain Uther would still not understand; but it was nice to have a father who could look at him in the eyes again. It was something he never thought he'd earn back.
The first days of August found Arthur, Morgana, Leon, and Mithian sitting on a blanket under the ancient linden tree in the back garden of Camelot Manor. It was a relatively hot day, but the leaves provided enough shade for comfort, and there was a soft breeze that lessened the humidity.
"Oh, get it, Leon!" Morgana was shouting, scrambling to no avail for a sheet of paper that got lost in a particularly strong gust. Leon jumped up and jogged after it, blowing the loose dirt off it before handing it back to her.
"It's ruined now," she complained, looking down at the cream colored stationary. "We can't possibly use it."
"Morgana, it's fine," Arthur said with a roll of his eyes as he stretched his legs in front of him and leaned back on his palms. "No one's going to notice a speck of dirt."
Close beside him, Mithian tried not to laugh.
"He has a point," Leon agreed sheepishly, but retreated when Morgana shot him a look.
"No, no. I can't take that chance," she decided. "Sefa, be a darling and put this with the rest of the rejects, will you?"
From her place on the patio, Sefa rushed over and retrieved the paper from Morgana. "Will there be anything else, my Lady?" she asked.
"No, just—Get that out of my sight," Morgana said with a frustrated wave of her hand, and Sefa curtsied and trotted off. On her way into the house, Arthur saw her pass George, who was hovering, unmoving, next to the hedges to keep an eye on Arthur, but Arthur tried his best to ignore him. He was somewhat used to having a shadow by now.
"Arthur," Morgana said, snapping her perfectly manicured fingers in front of his face. "Brush off your hands and put this into an envelope."
Arthur did as he was told, and dropped the scented piece of paper into a crisp envelope he picked up from the stack next to him. Morgana and Leon had finally picked a date for their wedding, putting it on the fifteenth of December of that year, and she'd become completely unbearable in arranging it. Arthur often asked why she didn't just hire a planner, but she was adamant about being in control, asserting that anyone else would just complicate the issue—as though this wasn't complicated enough.
What was more, she wrangled Mithian and Arthur into helping her along every step of the way. Leon, of course, Arthur could understand. He was the groom, and he should really be prepared for the life of insanity that he was about to dive headfirst into. But Arthur didn't know how he got stuck shoving invitations into envelopes along with him, while Mithian and Morgana wrote out the details in elaborate cursive. However, Mithian seemed happy enough for it, so Arthur didn't complain and tagged along.
"You don't have to be so bossy," Arthur chided his sister, who glared at him venomously.
"Oh, Arthur, she'll be in debt to you later," Mithian told him with a laugh.
"Yes, Arthur, or maybe you just owe me," Morgana said pointedly through her teeth.
"Is that so?" Arthur asked skeptically. "Because I can't recall you doing a damn thing for me."
"I wouldn't jump to conclusions," she shot back, making Arthur raise a brow in curiosity.
Apparently, Leon was just as lost. "Is someone going to tell me what we're talking about?" he asked. "Because I haven't got a clue anymore."
"It's nothing, dear," Morgana assured him.
"Just sibling banter," Mithian deciphered, plucking a strawberry from the bowl in the center of the blanket and biting into it. She made it seem graceful but, when Arthur did the same, a trail of red dripped down from his lips, sending Mithian into a fit of laughter, which was like a contagion to Arthur.
"Oh, poor you," she giggled, grabbing a napkin and brushing the red off his chin with its corner. Across from them, Morgana and Leon shared an ambiguous glance, but they insisted it was nothing when Arthur inquired after it.
Mithian, on the other hand, cleared her throat softly and turned her eyes towards the curtained window of Uther's study across the lawn.
"What do you suppose they're always talking about?" she asked, shaking her wrist out before getting back to writing the invitations.
While the younger ones filled their time together with various activities, Uther and Rodor did little else than lock themselves into their respective study or parlor together to discuss something that neither of them even hinted towards when the day was over. Arthur sometimes heard their muffled voices through the door as he passed by, but he could never make out what exactly they were talking about.
"Some sort of business deal, I'm sure," Morgana said in a preoccupied tone as she filled out her invitation. "Probably a merger. By the time they're done, I'd be shocked if they didn't own every hospital in England between the two of them."
"Well, if they're to become partners, it's a good thing we all get along," Mithian told them, smiling softly at Arthur, who nodded in agreement.
His soft grin fell when a new shadow appeared over them, blocking the light of the sunshine filtering through the tree's canopy.
"Oh, for god's sake, George!" Morgana scolded. "I can't see what I'm writing!"
"Forgive me, my Lady," George said with a soft bow before clicking his heels and turning stiffly towards Arthur. "Sir, I must inform you that it is time for your three o'clock appointment."
"Oh," Arthur said, feeling somewhat dejected about leaving the group. "Right, of course. I'll be right there."
As Arthur stood up, Mithian followed him with her eyes. "My, you do have a lot of appointments," she said lightly. "Don't tell me you're in the midst of secret hospital plan, too?"
Arthur tried to laugh naturally, but it was cut short when he made eye contact with his sister.
"Business calls," he joked back, starting after George.
"Arthur's a man of mystery," he heard Leon say, and doubted very much that his appointments were a mystery at all to Leon. He was sure Morgana had told him everything, which didn't bother him too much. After all, Leon was family, or at least he would be on the fifteenth of December.
But he felt somewhat guilty keeping Mithian out of the loop. They had gotten so close in such a short time, and he felt he could confide in her as she trusted in him. But he didn't know how their friendship might be affected if she were to learn the truth. It was a large thing to keep from her—like he was wasn't showing her a giant piece of himself—but perhaps it was best to leave some things unsaid.
George led Arthur to the parlor, where Dr. de Bois was waiting, already sitting on the sofa in the middle of the room. When Arthur entered, he stood up, a large grin pressing his face.
"Arthur, very good to see you," he said, extending his hand, which Arthur shook as George left the room, no doubt to stand right outside the closed doors.
"Agravaine," Arthur said courteously, and the doctor took his seat back on the couch while Arthur sat down in the armchair.
Agravaine was only one of the many psychiatrists Arthur had been seeing, but he was no doubt the head of the group. If he ruled something, the other doctors pedantically went along with it, and Arthur often wished one of them would challenge his methods. He could certainly do with less medication, but until Aggravate, as Arthur referred to him inwardly, deemed it so, or at least until George stopped being so aggressively helpful, there was no chance of that.
"I see Miss Mithian and her father are here today," Agravaine said once they'd both settled in. "I'm sorry to take you away from such a beautiful young woman. I promise not to be long."
Arthur nodded thankfully, and it wasn't lost on him that the doctor had brought up Mithian yet again. She seemed to be all they talked about in Arthur's most recent sessions, which was fine with him. He couldn't tell any of the doctors about his and Morgana's ongoing search for Merlin, and it was best if each of them assumed Arthur's thoughts were no longer with him. He made a point not to bring up Merlin to anyone anymore, except Morgana when he badgered her about her thus far fruitless excursions to the hospitals with Uther.
"So, why don't you tell me what you've been up to since we last met," Agravaine insisted with another professional smile that tried much too hard to look friendly.
"It's been a slow week. I've mostly been helping Morgana with her wedding arrangements," Arthur admitted. "She's dragged me to a few churches and venues, but I'm certain she'll only settle for Westminster Abbey."
Agravaine snorted. "I wouldn't doubt," he said, although he barely knew Morgana apart from what little Arthur had told him about her. "Anything else?" he inquired, jotting down a few notes on the pad resting on his knee.
Arthur shrugged. "Mithian and I went to the opera on Monday," he said with a tight smile. "We saw Candide. George seemed to like it, too, but I can never tell."
"No, he is an odd fellow," Agravaine said, and Arthur was pleased that someone else finally admitted it.
"I've noticed you haven't brought up Merlin at all in the recent weeks," Agravaine continued. As he said it, he crossed his legs and leaned in closer to Arthur, looking at him pointedly. "You've been doing it deliberately."
Arthur felt his breath catch. He thought he'd been so careful about hiding his attitude toward Merlin, but had he been too careful? In his attempts to trick the doctors, where they reading him in a new light? Did they see passed his mask?
"Relax, Arthur, that's a good thing," Agravaine said, brightening at once and straightening back out.
When Arthur remembered how to breathe again, he blinked in confusion and asked unsurely, "It is?"
"Of course!" assured the doctor. "You're taking an active role in correcting your behavior. That's showing progress."
Arthur doubted he was progressing in the direction he was supposed to, unless he was meant to become an exceptional liar, but he let the comment slide as Agravaine continued.
"By keeping yourself active and doing the things you enjoy—like working with your car, for example—or, say, spending time with a new friend; you're healing," he explained. "You're leaving the past behind you and working towards a healthier future."
"So," Arthur began slowly, not quite sure what this all meant. "I'm . . . cured?"
The word made his skin crawl, but he fought back the distaste it left in his mouth.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. There's still much to do," Agravaine said, "but you're on track."
As Arthur thought this over, Agravaine closed his notepad and sat it on the coffee table.
"Now, this leaves us with a number of options," he told Arthur. "I've spoken to my colleagues," which Arthur highly doubted, "and we've agreed that it's time to wean you off some of your medication."
Arthur nearly jumped out of his chair at this.
"What?" he exclaimed, not having believed his ears.
Agravaine smirked. "Not all of them at once," he said. "For example, the sedative I've prescribed for you to help you sleep at night—I'd like you to stay on that. But I think it's time for the anxiety medication to go away, don't you? The same, of course, for the chemical castration."
"Oh, thank god!" Arthur almost shouted in relief. There wasn't much he could do for his libido with Merlin gone, but it would be nice to have it unsuppressed—especially for when he got Merlin back.
"I thought you might like that," Agravaine laughed, and then he got back down to business. "Also, I've talked to your father, and he's seen much improvement, too. We feel it's time that you were granted more liberties. It's not right to have a man your age under lock and key every moment of the day."
Arthur's eyes widened. He was starting to like Agravaine very much indeed.
"You mean, George doesn't have to follow me everywhere I go?" he asked, just to be perfectly clear.
"No, he no longer has to accompany you when you leave the manor," Agravaine assured him, and Arthur felt like he might kiss the man, if that meant he wouldn't lose all the freedoms just handed to him. "Your father still insists you go with people he knows, such as your sister or your soon-to-be brother-in-law."
"Or Mithian?" Arthur asked.
A smile played on Agravaine's features, and he nodded.
"Certainly," he answered, standing up. "In fact, I suggest you take the girl out to a nice dinner tonight to celebrate."
"Oh, I will," Arthur said, standing up, too, and shaking the doctor's hand feverishly. "Thank you, Doctor!"
"You should be thanking yourself," Agravaine told him. "I'll leave instructions with George regarding the medication. You must make sure not to stop cold turkey. It's a slow process, but you should be off the medication by the end of next week. There may be some side effects—"
"As long as they aren't more mood swings," Arthur said hastily.
"Well, no promises," Agravaine said before seeing himself out.
Arthur waited until the doors to the parlor closed again to fall back into his chair and laugh in victory. He was able to leave the grounds without George's prying eyes, reporting back to Uther on every occasion.
That meant he could go out again and search for Merlin himself.
After supper, once Leon and Mithian and Rodor left and Uther retired for the night, Arthur was walking, a certain renewed spring in his step, to his bedroom, when a door to his right flew open and two hands pulled him forcefully inside.
"Morgana!" he shouted as she stuck her head out the threshold to make sure no one was around before closing the door.
"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" he said, straightening out his shirt. He looked around Morgana's elaborately decorated room and noticed some of its contents had been taken off the walls or removed from their places. They were now packed away into boxes and trunks in the corner of the room.
"Moving out?" he asked skeptically.
"What? Oh—no. It's been like that for ages," she said with a flutter of her hand. "Ever since I got engaged."
"I thought you wanted to still be here?"
She raised a brow at him. "Please tell me you're smarter than that." When he didn't answer, she rolled her eyes. "Anyway, that's not why I've called you in here—"
"Called—?" Arthur choked. "You manhandled me!"
"Anyway!" Morgana emphasized, getting him to shut up. "I couldn't tell you before because there were always people around, but, Arthur . . . I found him."
For a moment, all Arthur could do was stare blankly, processing the words over and over again until he was absolutely sure he understood their meaning.
"You . . . ?" he breathed.
"Found him, yes!" Morgana said again, smiling widely up at him. "I didn't know why I hadn't seen him before! I've accompanied Father to that hospital at least twice before I saw him. And it's one of the only experimental wards. Whatever they're doing there, it must be important, because Father makes the trip at least once a week."
Now that Arthur's thoughts had caught up to him, he felt his heart racing in his chest and his mind whirling.
"Where?" he demanded.
"No, I can't tell you that," Morgana said, crossing her arms boldly, and Arthur felt himself tense.
"What the Hell are you talking about?" he asked through his teeth. "Of course, you can. Morgana—"
"No, I won't," she said. "Because, the moment I do, you'll get into that car of yours and drive right over, guns blazing."
"Yes, I will," he admitted, nodding feverishly.
"And that's why I won't say," she told him. "Because I won't let you do anything so stupid. Now that we know where Merlin is, we can come up with a plan to get you to see him. We need to think of a tactic—some way to get you in as a visitor without anyone knowing who you are, and without Father ever finding out."
Arthur deflated, knowing that Morgana was right but not caring. He would break down the walls of the ward if necessary, but her way was probably preferable. He didn't want to lose Merlin when he was so close in reach.
"Alright, fine," Arthur agreed, rubbing his eyes and pacing away. "Can you at least tell me how he is? What did he say to you?"
"He didn't say anything," Morgana said. "He was asleep."
Arthur dropped his hands from his face and looked at her inquiringly over his shoulder.
"They keep the patients sleeping for most of the time," she explained. "I don't know why. Father never allows me in the treatment rooms or the offices or anywhere important. I mostly just visit with the patients who are awake. I only happened across his room—that's how I found him."
Arthur let out a heavy breath, but nodded in acceptance. He wished Morgana had told him differently—that she told Merlin that Arthur hadn't lost hope, that he hadn't forgotten his promise of finding him.
"Don't fret, dear brother," Morgana told him, walking up behind him and standing on her toes to rest her chin on his shoulder. "We'll think of something."
"I know," he said softly, but determined. "Thank you, Morgana."
"Of course," she said, releasing him and walking to the door. She opened it and ushered him out. "Now, like I said earlier, you owe me. Plan to spend your newly acquired freedom running errands with me for the wedding."
"I can hardly wait," Arthur lied, but he knew better than to protest.