Chapter Eleven.

The last time Arthur had been in Uther's study wasn't a pleasant one. They had been arguing over Merlin, and it was a conversation that Arthur had not won. However, when he really thought of it, Arthur couldn't say he had ever had a pleasant experience in the green glow of the accountant's lamp perched atop the sturdy mahogany desk, amongst the hardwood floor with its elaborate antique carpet and the dark polished wooden walls on which the trophy of a stuffed stag head stared down at him from over the desk. When he was a boy, Morgana would tell him the bottom half of the deer was on the other side of the wall, kicking and squirming for its freedom, which only made the dead marble eyes irk Arthur out of his skin.

He hated that office, and this time was no different. However, Uther had called upon him for some reason, and Arthur supposed he wasn't about to be scolded for breaking a vase or eating too much chocolate, as he was an adult now and, besides, he hadn't done either of those things very recently at all. Still, upon knocking and entering the room, he only cast a glance towards the visitor chair across from Uther's leather one, and stood stiffly and guardedly a few feet away from the desk.

"Son, good, I've been wanting to talk to you," Uther was saying, looking down his nose through his reading glasses at a folder of paperwork. "Sit down."

Arthur was shocked to be invited to sit, and he cast the chair another wary look. He didn't feel right about sitting in it. It would be almost improper if he did, as that was reserved for business associates and the like. He mollified Uther by standing behind the chair and casually—or at least as casually as he could—gripping onto the top of it.

"You wanted to see me?" Arthur asked, taking a sweeping look around the room until his gaze landed on the deer head. He tried as best he could to not look directly at his father. He couldn't bring himself to ever since he learned about what Uther permitted at Merlin's hospital. Before long, Arthur fell back into avoiding his father completely, but he supposed it didn't matter. Uther didn't even notice.

"That's right," Uther said, putting down his paper and fountain pen. He took off his glasses and placed them down on the stack before folding his hands together and smiling up at him. It was unnerving to see him smiling so pleasantly and, when Arthur tried to mimic the expression, it faltered.

"I have some very good news," Uther began before smiling some more.

When he didn't elaborate right away, Arthur tilted his head and guessed, "What is it? Have you found a break in your schedule for the trip to Bermuda?"

"No, no, not yet, I'm afraid," Uther said. "But, when we do go, it won't just be the two of us, Morgana, and Leon. We'll be joined by one more."

Arthur shrugged, wondering how any of this was worth a trip to Uther's study.

"Who?"

"Mithian," Uther replied cheerfully.

"Oh," Arthur said, somewhat confused. He felt mixed emotions to hear Mithian was getting an invite. He was sure exploring the islands with her would promise to be a fascinating time; however, on the other hand, he felt extraordinarily awkward in her presence ever since she kissed him. He didn't want it to change their relationship, but it did, and he felt it was best to steer clear of her until things got back to normal. "I—I thought you said this was to be a family holiday?"

"It is," Uther said simply, inclining his head.

Arthur was very tired of his vagueness, and more baffled than ever. "I don't think I understand," he admitted, leaning in further towards the chair.

"No, I haven't explained yet," Uther told him. "You see, son, Rodor and I have discussed this at great length and we feel it would immensely beneficial for our families to become one."

Arthur furrowed his brow at this, turning the words over in his mind but not following.

"I still don't—"

"You and Mithian are getting married," Uther clarified, and Arthur was surprised that he didn't completely jump out of his skin.

"Married?" he blurted in a shout, entirely thrown for a loop. "What the f—"

"I understand this may come as something of a shock," Uther cut in, "but you and the girl have been getting along quite famously. It wasn't the original plan when Rodor and I first met, but once we saw how quickly the pair of you fell for one another—"

"Fell for her?" Arthur repeated, mostly because he wasn't able to remember any other word in his vocabulary for a moment. "No. No, I did not fall for her, Father."

He was aware that Uther's smile had fallen, but he powered through.

"Don't get me wrong, Mithian is a wonderful and exquisite woman. Any man would be lucky to have her, if they can keep up, but—"

"Then consider yourself a lucky man," Uther told him, somewhat impatiently.

"But I'm not in love with her," Arthur went on as though Uther had said nothing.

"You will be," Uther said, and he must have held some confidence that Arthur didn't, "in time. Soon you will see: she's the one for you."

Arthur could only blink dubiously at him for a moment, at a complete loss as to what to say.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked at last, and there was more emotion in his tone than he'd intended.

At this, Uther stood up from his chair and walked around the desk to place his firm palms on either of Arthur's shoulders. "Son, I've told you of my father. When I was a boy, all this family owned was one hospital, and I was proud of our work there, especially when it was passed to me. But . . . When your mother died, I couldn't help but blame the doctors. I wondered how many other people were suffering due to the apathy of the hospital staff or the minuscule funding provided for treatments."

Do you wonder how many people are suffering in your hospitals now? Arthur wanted to say, but he bit it back.

"I think the hospitals under the Pendragon name have made much improvement since then," Uther said, as though answering the unspoken question. "But it's a process. We strive for better—and Rodor shares in that vision. After months of negotiations, we've decided to become partners."

And Arthur understood. This union wasn't for his or Mithian's happiness at all.

"So, this is just a business ploy?" Arthur asked bitterly. "So your negotiations won't fall through? So Rodor can never back out?"

"No, Arthur," Uther insisted, very convincingly at that. "One day, Rodor and I will be gone, and our life's work will be passed to you and Mithian. You could share everything we worked so hard to build. You could keep our legacy going—make it your legacy."

Arthur didn't want a legacy. He didn't mind if he wasn't remembered after he was gone. All he wanted was this life—with Merlin.

But Uther's mind was made up.

"And how does Mithian feel about this?" Arthur asked in one last desperate attempt to change his father's decisions.

"Mithian has already agreed. She's overjoyed, I'm told," Uther said, smiling again like this was the happiest thing in the world, like Arthur's heart wasn't sinking. "She's already packed and ready to move in tonight."

Arthur's eyes flickered back up to his urgently.

"Tonight?"

"Yes," said Uther, releasing his son and moving to the drinks trolley behind the desk. "We're having a banquet to announce the engagement."

Arthur felt sick by the prospect that all of Kent and Birmingham knew of his engagement before he did.

"I know this is a nerve-wracking time, son, but you'll soon be elated," Uther told him, pouring two tumblers of scotch. "I felt the same when I was engaged to your mother, but I was completely ready on the day of our wedding."

He stopped moving for a second and looked off.

"The day she died was the worst of my life," he said solemnly, and Arthur felt a slight twinge of pain in his chest. Uther had obviously forgotten that Igraine's death was the same day of Arthur's birth.

"But I wish you the happiness I shared with her, for however brief a time, to you and your future wife," he continued, picking up the glasses and handing one to Arthur.

Arthur cradled it in his hands, mirthlessly thinking that he'd need a lot more than two fingers of whiskey to feel joyous at the moment, but the drink looked like ichor as the dim light filtered though it.

"To Mithian," Uther said, raising his glass.

Arthur looked down into the amber liquid for a long time, trying to think of some combination of words to say to get out of this, but his mind came up empty.

And Uther was waiting for him to toast back.


28th March, 1947

Merlin was still beneath the covers, facing the wall with his hands folded one on top of the other beneath his cheek. He hadn't moved for what felt like ages, and Arthur would have feared the worst if it hadn't been for the gentle rise of fall of Merlin's shoulders as he breathed. He was usually much more talkative in bed, laughing or hitting Arthur with his pillow because of some silly joke that Arthur wouldn't admit he found funny.

Arthur slung his arm over the covers on Merlin's torso and pulled him in close until his spine was pressed against Arthur's chest.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, placing a kiss to the back of Merlin's bare shoulder before resting his chin there. "Hmm?"

"It's nothing," Merlin said softly into the darkness.

"That was convincing," Arthur told him sarcastically. He nuzzled his face between Merlin's shoulder blades, nosing at him to evoke a reaction. "Come on, don't try to be mysterious."

"I was just thinking."

"Oh, that's never a good sign," Arthur said lightly, coming back up and smiling down at Merlin's cheek.

"About your future wife."

Arthur's happy expression fell into something more perplexed.

"My what?" he laughed.

Merlin didn't seem to understand his own joke. He tensed his shoulders and readjusted himself against the pillow, staring off miserably. It finally occurred to Arthur that he was being serious.

"Merlin, what the Hell are you talking about?" he asked.

"I thought I could stop it from bothering me. I thought I could put it out of my mind until the time came, but . . ." Merlin began a little sadly. "I'm not daft, Arthur."

"Well, apparently, I am," Arthur said, trying to comfort him but not really knowing why he was upset in the first place. "I haven't got a future wife."

"Not yet, but you will have," Merlin insisted, slinking out of Arthur's arm by sitting up. Arthur followed suit. "I know what's expected of you, and so do you," Merlin continued from over his shoulder. "One day, you'll be married to some beautiful society girl and have dozens of children and be a happy, normal family until the end, and me . . ."

He gave a little laugh that made Arthur's heart drop, even though he could not see Merlin's face.

"There's no room for me in that picture," Merlin said. "Even if there were, I couldn't stay on as your servant. I couldn't do that to myself day in and day out . . ."

"You won't have to," Arthur told him, shaking his head. When he realized Merlin couldn't see it, he leaned in and pressed kisses to Merlin's shoulder blades and biceps. "That's never going to happen. I don't want that life if it can't be with you," he said, his voice muffled against Merlin's skin. "You are the only dream I've ever had."

He was sure Merlin had closed his eyes into the words, wanting to believe them, because there was a pause before he asked, "But what if that's all it can be? A dream."

"Then, I don't see the point in ever waking up."

Merlin turned his head to the side to look at Arthur through his lashes.

"What if you don't have a choice?" he asked.

Arthur let out a breath through his nose, considering the question. Finally, he reached out a hand and ran his knuckles gently up and down Merlin's exposed arm.

"I do have one," he said, watching his own fingers move. "And I've made it."

When he looked back up, Merlin looked less convinced and more terrified than ever, and the look simultaneously broke Arthur's heart and made it flutter. No one ever faced the idea of losing him and looked like that, and he wondered if he wore that mirrored expression on the days he thought of the future—of having to let Merlin go.

He pushed those thoughts away every time they haunted his mind, because he would never leave Merlin. If the day ever came that they were apart, it would be because Merlin left on his own.

"I love you, Merlin," Arthur told him what had been on his mind for so long now. "Only you."

Merlin's eyes transformed from fearful and guarded to soft, twinkling stars in the dark room.

"Do you?" he whispered in disbelief.

Arthur nodded, and the nightingales chirping in the trees outside the window sounded like a chorus, praising him for finally building up the courage to say it.

"I do," he promised, and he was happy to see Merlin smiling again, if only just a little.

"I love you, too," he said breathlessly, his grin growing with every word. "Obviously."

"Obviously," Arthur agreed with a chuckle, and he kissed up Merlin's shoulder until he met his lips.

"Now stop moping about," he said with his usual demanding air. "Lay with me a while more."

And Merlin did. Arthur brought his chest to Merlin's back again and snaked both arms around his torso until they met. Merlin snuggled in close, vibrating with happiness, and he apparently didn't realize that the shadows of the room had grown darker.

Your future wife.

The words echoed in Arthur's mind, and he thought he might lose his breath over the prospect of the future. Usually, he tried not to dwell too much on what was to come, but he couldn't pretend he didn't share Merlin's fears. He just didn't speak of them. But now that Merlin had brought them to the surface, Arthur couldn't ignore them. It seemed that, in putting Merlin's worries to rest, Arthur had taken them on for them both. Try as he might to tell himself he'd never allow it to happen, he couldn't quite convince himself.

He held Merlin tighter, if not a little desperately, but Merlin didn't seem to mind.


Arthur raised his glass.

The others in the room did the same, until parlor sparkled as the light bounced off the red wine in each cup. Next to Arthur stood a beaming Mithian in a long evening dress and diamond earrings, which swayed each time she moved her head. On the hand she was toasting with, she wore a large engagement ring that belonged to Arthur's mother.

Morgana and Leon were across from them, both raising their glasses respectfully, but Morgana kept casting her brother sober glances. Between the two couples, standing in front of the hearth, were Uther and Rodor, both basking in the attention of the room.

"Thank you all for joining us to celebrate this happy occasion," Uther toasted to the packed room, which had fallen silent only seconds ago. "Rodor and I could not be more proud to join our families. May this union bring a long future of happiness and prosperity . . . To Arthur and Mithian."

As he finished, he raised his glass higher, and the crowd followed, repeating his final words in praise.

All around him, people took a sip of their wine and Arthur, closing his eyes and steadying himself, did the same. His heart was in his throat and he could taste metal in his mouth, but the red colored poison quickly rinsed it out. It tasted cold and sterile and numb, but he did not lower his glass until his father did.


Mithian's trunks and luggage had already been unpacked. Her clothes were put away in the dresser and cupboard and her books and belongings were placed along the shelves and the tops of the furniture. Arthur looked around at the bedroom from his place in the open threshold. Her back was to him as she turned over her sheets in preparation for bed. Her long braid tossed from shoulder to shoulder over her white nightdress and she moved.

After a moment of watching her, Arthur realized it was best to alert her to his presence, so he lifted his knuckles and softly rapped on the wood. She turned around almost instantly, and her features softened to him.

"Arthur," she said kindly, straightening out. "Have you come to say goodnight?"

He nodded, taking another sweeping look around the room, mostly to avoid her gaze than anything. Not long ago, he had felt comfortable around her, and now he was so ill at ease.

"How are you settling in?" he wondered, forcing himself to look at her, willing himself to see her as the same girl he'd befriended.

She shrugged softly, as though not to offend.

"It's strange being beneath another roof," she admitted. "But I'm very comfortable, thank you. I'm sure I'll get used to it in no time."

"Good, good," he said, not knowing what else to say. He looked to the opposite wall of the room, where French doors led out to a balcony. "I, um—I requested this room for you," he said softly. "It's far away from any lights of the kitchen. You should be able to see the stars."

"That was very kind of you," she said, regarding him warmly, and he couldn't stand the look for a second longer.

"It was the least I could do," he told the floor before quickly turning around and muttering a fast, "Goodnight."

"Wait, Arthur?" she called, and he had no choice but to look over his shoulder. When she knew she had his attention, she said, a little timidly, "I just wanted to say . . . Of all the men my Father could deem fit to marry me, I'm glad it's you."

He felt a lump grow in his throat as he stared at her, feeling hollow and immensely guilty that he couldn't share in her feelings or her excitement. However, she continued to smile at him, and all he could bring himself to do was nod, trying to look grateful.

"I'm down the hall if you need me," he said, and he didn't quite sprint from the room.