Chapter Twelve.

21st April, 1945

Merlin had been in the manor for nearly an entire month, but he still wasn't used to it. He would often wake up wondering, for the briefest moment, where he was or why the unfamiliar mattress beneath him was so soft. He missed his hard bed with the old, ripped quilt in his miniscule bedroom with the single window back in his parents' flat in London. He missed his job stocking the pantries at the take away under his flat. He missed not getting lost in a grand corridor every time he had to find his way to a certain room. Most of all, he missed not being at another's beck and call twenty-four hours a day.

It was exhausting, and Arthur was so needy.

It was fair to say that Merlin's first impression of Arthur had been correct—at least to an extent. He really was a self-entitled brat who thought the sun shined for him alone. He was rude, demanding, and ungrateful; but then there were times when he wasn't. There were times when he was chivalrous, generous, and fair; times when he would treat everyone, even the servants, like they were his equals—like they were people instead of their rank. In these instances, Merlin wondered if Arthur's pompous demeanor was only a mask or a learned behavior for another's sake that he simply could not shake. How much of it was his true nature, and how much was dictated by how he was expected to act?

With these observations in mind, Merlin couldn't bring himself to actually dislike Arthur. In fact, it was becoming quite the opposite. Maybe Arthur wasn't the shallow, pretentious man he'd originally been made out to be. Maybe Merlin was even starting to enjoy his job . . .

The door of Arthur's bedroom slammed open, making Merlin jump and causing him to drop the bundle of freshly laundered and folded clothes from his arms. He was about to yell about it in frustration, but he saw the set expression on Arthur's face as he stormed into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Merlin, what did you do?" he asked severely, sounding like he was fighting back anger.

Merlin wrinkled his nose in annoyance and crouched down to pick up the clothes. "I've only dropped a few shirts!" he defended. "And it's not even my fault this time. You startled me—"

"No, the watch," Arthur demanded impatiently, and a look of curiosity passed Merlin's features.

"What watch?" he asked, shaking his head up at Arthur as though he were speaking in a different language.

"My father's watch!" Arthur clarified in a near-shout. "Aredian says you've stolen it from his study."

Merlin dropped the clothes again and sprang up to his feet. "He what?" he exclaimed, feeling a rising sense of panic in his gut. "I haven't stolen anything! I—I've never even been inside your father's study. I didn't even know he had a watch!"

"That's not what Aredian said," Arthur told him, but he sounded less cross. "He claims to have seen you sneaking out of Father's study earlier today, right before it went missing."

Merlin bit at the inside of his cheek in thought, trying to recall being anywhere near Uther's study that day. At once, it came to him. "No, he's lying," he told Arthur. "I was near the study, yeah—but I was on my way to the kitchen. I passed Aredian in the hall but . . . Arthur, what if he took it and he's trying to blame me?"

Arthur shook his head, not wanting to accept it. "Why would he lie about something like that?" he asked. "And why you?"

Merlin shrugged, stammering as he tried to grasp an answer. "Because I'm new. Because you have no reason to trust me yet," he theorized. "Did he come out with this story or did he say it after your father saw it was missing?"

Pausing to scan Merlin up and down, Arthur answered in a thoughtful tone, "After."

Merlin's eyes widened in a desperate expression, as though this were enough to prove his point, but Arthur still seemed doubtful.

"Arthur, you have to believe me," he asked of him sincerely. "I didn't steal anything."

Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly at Merlin, examining him again as though trying to decide what to think. After a beat, he nodded softly once and said, "I believe you."

Merlin tried to fight back the relieved smile that threatened to crack his face, but it was cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps walking down the corridor. Arthur heard them, too, and he cast a hurried look over his shoulder at the door before saying, "Someone's coming. Hide."

There was a brief moment where Merlin searched around the room wildly for a place to conceal himself, and his eyes finally landed on the wardrobe. Jumping over the pile of shirts on the floor, he rushed towards the cupboard and stuffed himself amongst the hanging clothing. He closed the double doors as much as he could without the knobs, leaving a sliver of light between them.

The main door of the room opened forcefully again and, when Merlin leaned forward to peer out of the crack, he saw Uther and Aredian stride in before Arthur.

"Is he in here?" Uther demanded.

From behind, Merlin watched Arthur shake his blonde head. "Do you see him anywhere?"

Both newcomers took a sweeping look around, and Merlin held back a gasp and stepped away from the light until he was sure they hadn't spotted him.

"He isn't in his room, either," Aredian reported, "and his mother hasn't seen him since the morning. It could be possible that he ran off, sir. Wouldn't that prove his guilt?"

"Or he's just off somewhere doing chores," Arthur offered in defense. "Are you certain you've checked everywhere?" When Aredian nodded, Arthur appealed to Uther by saying, "Father, I'm just not convinced that Merlin would be capable of something like this."

"If he didn't do it, who did?" Uther countered.

Merlin couldn't see Arthur's face, but he was almost certain his eyes had flashed to Aredian for only a fraction of a second before he said, "I don't know."

"And you can't prove anything," Uther told him, already marching out of the room. "I want the boy found! That watch is priceless!"

Aredian gave Arthur a fleeting browse before following Uther out and closing the door behind him.

When he was sure they weren't coming back, Merlin jumped out of the wardrobe and paced hurriedly to Arthur. "What do we do?" he worried.

"If Aredian really did steal the watch, like you say, it has to be with his possessions," Arthur told him. "He wouldn't risk carrying it around with him. While he and my father search for you, his room will be empty. We'll have to get to it and take a look around."

Merlin agreed with the plan, but he shook his head. "I'll go," he offered. "Don't risk your neck for me anymore."

"No," Arthur told him at once. "We go together. You have no business searching his room, but I do. If you find it, it'll just be your word against his. He might claim you put it there to frame him. Besides, everyone in the manor will be looking for you now, and the last thing we need is for you get caught. Two pairs of eyes watching your backside are better than one."

Merlin didn't know why he flushed slightly at the prospect of Arthur watching his backside, and he mentally shook the feeling away. The strategy made sense, and Arthur wasn't going to let him argue anyway, so they set off together.

The walk from Arthur's room to the servants' wing had never been longer, and it might have been a perilous voyage to the edge of the country, but Merlin felt safer with Arthur at his side. They were able to dodge servants whenever they came upon one, and luckily they never bumped into Uther and Aredian; but there was a close call when Merlin took for granted the ease of their progress and nearly ran into two passing servants as he rounded a corner in the hallway closest to the designated wing.

Luckily, Arthur had finely tuned reflexes: he grabbed Merlin by the shoulders, pulled him back, and slammed his back against the wall so he wouldn't move. Arthur, however, didn't move either, and they stood facing each other with their bodies held close together, so much so that Merlin could feel Arthur's breathing. Arthur had his head turned towards the adjacent corridor, watching and waiting for the servants to go away, but Merlin found he couldn't concentrate on such matters. He looked down his nose between them, at their chests touching through the fabric of their shirts, and he didn't quite know why his heart suddenly began to race. He chalked it up to the adrenaline of the moment, but it lingered when Arthur stepped back and said warily, "Alright, come on." Merlin tried to shake the tingling sensation on the skin of his torso as they walked the last stretch to Aredian's room.

As predicted, it was empty when they got inside, and Arthur instructed Merlin to ransack the dresser while he took the stand at the bedside.

"Anything?" Arthur asked after a few minutes of searching.

"Nothing," Merlin reported with dejection, looking back at the dozens of drawers that were now torn up and picked apart. Across the room, Arthur straightened out and ran a hand through his hair.

"It's not here, Merlin," he said incredulously, and he gave Merlin another scrutinizing look as though reassessing his belief in him. It made Merlin's heart plummet.

"No, it's got to be!" Merlin said frantically. "It's here; I know it." Desperately, he fit himself between the corner of the room and the edge of the dresser and forced his weight against it, trying to get it to move. "Maybe he's hid it behind this—" he grunted as he heaved, but the furniture did not budge.

"Merlin, that's enough," Arthur said softly, appearing at his side.

Merlin exerted himself in another attempt and, beneath his foot, a floorboard whined and slid back slightly. Merlin stopped what he was doing, and Arthur also reacted to the sound. After Merlin stepped away from the loose board, he and Arthur crouched down around it and Arthur dug his nails between the spaces until it lifted away. Inside, Merlin saw an antique gold watch, a pair of diamond earrings, and some rather expensive looking cufflinks.

Arthur scooped them out and examined them one by one. "This is Father's," he said about the watch before moving to the earrings, "and Morgana's." Finally, he gaped down at the cufflinks and exclaimed, "These are mine! I thought I'd lost these weeks ago!"

Merlin perked up at the statement. "How many weeks? Before I arrived here?"

Arthur caught his eyes and nodded slowly.

"See? I couldn't have taken them, then!" Merlin said, proving his innocence, and Arthur realized it, too. "But why would Aredian steal these things?" he wondered.

Arthur snorted humorlessly. "Any number of reasons," he said. "Maybe to pawn them off. And, I'll tell you what: These haven't been the first things that have gone missing in his house." There was a small pause into which Arthur shook his head, looking betrayed. "I don't understand. Aredian has been in our family's employment since my father was a boy. I thought he was trustworthy . . ."

"I'm sorry," Merlin told him comfortingly.

"Not as sorry as he's going to be," Arthur assured him. He replaced the treasures back beneath the floor and put the board over it before standing up. Merlin followed his motion. "I'm going to bring Father here to see for himself. I'll tell him the truth. You'd better get out of here and find somewhere to hide until I do."

Merlin nodded gratefully, taking a glance back at the floorboard. "What's going to happen to him?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Probably the same thing that would have happened to you," Arthur answered. "He'll be sacked on the spot and asked to leave immediately, without any references. Now, go on. Don't worry about him and worry about yourself for now."

As Arthur hurried towards the door, his usual swagger replaced with haste, Merlin realized this must have been the first actively kind thing Arthur had ever done for him. There was a reason for that kindness. Merlin had been wrong before: Arthur did trust him, so much that he would protect Merlin even without evidence of his innocence. Maybe life in Camelot Manor wasn't going to be so bad, after all.

However, Aredian wouldn't enjoy its luxuries for much longer, not that Merlin felt bad. If the items he'd stolen really were as valuable as they looked, Aredian deserved what was coming to him.

When Arthur was halfway out the door, Merlin called his name and halted him. "The watch? Is it really priceless?" he asked, just to be sure.

Arthur had one foot outside the threshold as he considered the question.

"Probably not," he decided on. "Father can put a price on anything."

When he continued to rush out, he left the door open for Merlin.

"Open."

Merlin didn't stretch his jaw too much at the request, so Mordred stuck two latex-gloved fingers on top of his bottom teeth and pressed down. He shined a penlight into Merlin's mouth, peering around until he was satisfied. When he was, the torch clicked off and Mordred straightened out with a smile.

"Good," he said cheerfully. "Don't you feel better now that you're taking your medication?"

Merlin really didn't. It seemed like he was on everything: anti-depressants, anti-anxiety pills, castration, sedation, and, once in awhile, something that he could only describe as a low dose of a hallucinogen. Along with the insulin that they pumped him full of each night and the muscle relaxant he was given during treatment, he wondered if anything in his body was natural anymore, or if the cocktail in his veins powered it all.

He shot Mordred a filthy look in lieu of an answer, and Mordred's expression dropped.

"Alright, then," he said in a breath, trying to remain cheerful. "Why don't you go on and stretch your legs before your meeting with the doctor?"

His doctor was no longer Bayard. Odin had been facilitating Merlin's psychotherapy sessions for the past two weeks, and the only great revelation that had come from it was the mutual realization that each man hated the other more than they'd originally thought. Merlin felt less than human in Odin's presence, like the doctor didn't see Merlin as a person but as something in a test tube that could be poked and prodded and then written about in his medical journal. In response to that feeling, Merlin was more belligerent than ever. He'd learned all the usual tricks employed by psychiatrists from Bayard—like staying silent so the patient will feel compelled to keep speaking—and tried using them against Odin. Of course, he was sure Odin knew some tricks Bayard didn't, but Merlin still felt a rush of success every time he could ruse Odin.

Odin didn't like that at all.

Taking Mordred's advice, even though he wouldn't admit it, Merlin shuffled out of his room and down the corridor towards the common area. It was getting more and more difficult to tell how long he'd been asleep for. It could have been days, but Merlin wouldn't be surprised if it had been a full a week. With his biological clock now failing him, he was lucky that one of the staff members at the nurses' station kept a calendar in her workspace. It was one of those block calendars that required the user to turn over a cube each day to provide the correct date. As he walked passed, he glanced at it out of the corner of his eyes. If it was correct, the date was the 22th of September—four days since Merlin had seen it last.

He kept walking down the corridor, pausing only once at Gwen's old room. He didn't know why he tortured himself by looking inside the window, each time hoping she'd be in there, but she wasn't. It didn't take them long to replace her with another patient, a blonde called Elena who was currently under DST. Her hair was the same color gold as Arthur's, which served as a reminder for Merlin. If he believed in such things, he would think Gwen had sent Elena and her hair to keep her promise of not letting Merlin's memory of Arthur slip. It only kept him clinging on to that one feature, however; the rest were becoming hazy again, and he felt like he was letting Gwen down.

She had died of an insulin overdose. The doctors caught it too late. All the methods of treatment had weakened her body too much, until finally it could no longer handle the drug. Merlin was convinced it had been the shot of insulin he witnessed the orderly give Gwen after she'd scratched him that did her in. Merlin had watched it happen, and he did nothing to help her; he only made excuses in the moment. If only he had stepped in. If only he had done something . . .

He would have preferred Gwen's bushy curls to Elena's locks any day.

Gwaine was in the common room when Merlin got there. He was sitting at one of the tables along the window, looking out indifferently at the sunless grounds. After their last conversation, Merlin felt awkward whenever he caught sight of Gwaine, no matter how much he tried to tell himself that Gwaine's moods had been capricious since the day they met. Although, he seemed to have only one emotion these days: apathy. Still, Gwaine was the only person Merlin had left to talk to, so he steeled himself and slid into the chair across the table.

"Hey, Gwaine," Merlin said tentatively, and Gwaine gave no immediate response. He kept staring out the window, giving Merlin the opportunity to scan his face. In it, there was almost nothing of the man he'd met three months ago.

Finally, Gwaine turned his head to face Merlin. He looked at him quizzically for the briefest second, as though he was trying to figure out where he knew Merlin from, and then said softly, like he'd only just realized the new presence, "Oh. Hey, Merlin."

Merlin's smile wasn't as shining as it used to be, but he stretched it as far as he could muster.

"Haven't seen you around much lately," Gwaine continued, and Merlin shook his head.

"No. Odin's got me under his microscope."

"Oh," Gwaine said again, sounding nonchalant. "That's good."

Merlin's smile fell, and he knitted his brows together in question. Had Gwaine even heard what he'd said?

"What are you talking about? It's awful," Merlin hissed. "He's trying to break me down." He shook his head and ran his tongue across his lips in thought. "But I won't let him."

"Why not?" Gwaine wondered, knocking Merlin out of his thoughts. "Rebellion's for kids, Merlin."

"And you used to be the leader of the rebellion," Merlin reminded him harshly. Gwaine's eyes found the tabletop, and Merlin leaned in to fish for them again. "What's changed, Gwaine?"

"Nothing. I dunno," Gwaine muttered. Then, more loudly, he said, "Guess I just realized I'm tired of being sick. I mean, what's wrong with trying to get better?"

Merlin blinked and stammered at him for a moment, not believing what he was hearing.

"You don't need to get better," he tried, but Gwaine snorted bitterly.

"You don't know what it's like," he said. "You haven't been in and out of different hospitals for the last . . . forever. Don't even remember what home looks like anymore. I'd like to see it again. I'd like to—," he let out a shaky breath and ran his hand through his long hair as he cast another glance out the window, "—see what it's like out there in the world. All the doctors I've ever had have tried everything else. Why not give this a go?"

"Because," Merlin started, wondering how it came to be that he had to explain something so obvious to Gwaine of all people. "They're not trying to help you get better. They don't care about you. They're trying to control you—trying to prove whatever hypothesis Odin has for his experiment. You should see him, scribbling away in that journal of his all the time."

He leaned in closer, trying to make himself perfectly clear.

"He wants to take over your mind, just to see if he can."

Gwaine only shrugged. "Whatever gets me out of hospital robes. If it works, it works."

Merlin searched Gwaine's face beseechingly, looking for a hint of doubt. "Gwaine . . . You can't be thinking this. You can't just give up."

"I'm not giving up, Merlin," he said in a whisper. "You just gotta know when it's time to throw in the towel."

With that, Merlin knew Gwaine was gone. He was passed help, passed reason. It was as though he had joined Gwen already, and Merlin felt a piece of him break and wither away. If someone like Gwaine could be corrupted, how could Merlin's will power hold strong?

He physically shook the thought away, but it lingered. He couldn't stay there. He couldn't look at Gwaine. Maybe if he were out of Merlin's sight, the thought would dissipate and weaken.

Without a goodbye, Merlin got out of the chair and started back for his room. He had to collect himself before his session with the doctor. He couldn't allow Odin to see him with any uncertainties. So, he resisted the urge to turn back to Gwaine; but it hardly mattered. Gwaine had gone back to staring out the window.

He stayed silent through the entire session. He didn't trust himself to say a word, as he couldn't prevent his thoughts from dwelling on Gwaine. He couldn't bring himself to speak or to listen, even if he wanted to. Odin took the silence for another rebellious tactic and answered by giving Merlin an ECT session later that afternoon before banishing him back to his room in the meantime.

In the lapse, Merlin obsessed himself with taking his mind off Gwaine's words. He could not allow them to affect him so much. He couldn't allow Gwaine's decisions to get under his skin. To convince himself that it wasn't too late to rid his mind of these thoughts, he stood in front of the mirror in his room and fixed himself with a hard stare.

However, Merlin didn't quite recognize his own reflection. He was sure there used to be laughter lines around sparkling eyes, not a wrinkled brow over two dull orbs. There used to be color to him, as well, and not red blotches on yellowed skin. He used to have a face, but now he couldn't quite make one out at all.

He touched the tips of his dry, cracked fingers to his all the more prominent cheekbone, expecting the cold numbness brought along with them. He could hardly remember the last time he was warm, or the last time he wasn't so accustomed to the chill in his bones. The thought evoked a slow inhale and a rattling exhale as he felt a stinging pressure behind his eyes.

"No," he demanded out loud, and he curled his fists against the rim on the dresser beneath the mirror to steady himself. He kept his jaw muscles stiff and his expression set, determined to stop his eyes from becoming bloodshot and his nose from flushing.

But, though he tried hard, he could not tune out the notions that swirled through his mind, causing his knuckles to turn white against his grip.

Gwen was dead, and Gwaine had given up. His father was no longer there to provide comfort and his mother abandoned him. And Arthur—

Arthur had lied.

Arthur had not kept his promise. He had not visited again. He didn't come back. He left Merlin alone to rot and decay—to forget.

His body shuddered with a sob, but he forced it down. He couldn't let them get into his head. He had to stay strong.

But why?

Why not admit weakness? Why not give in? In that moment, a simple truth overwhelmed him and passed him into a strange kind of calmness: He was going to die there, in that hospital—in the very room he currently stood. And no one would notice because everyone already left him. Whether his body or mind would die first, he did not know, but the darkness was ebbing in; the long, dreamless sleep was after him. His only fear was that, when it finally caught up to him, it would be a relief.

What was the point of raging against the inevitable?

He felt a tug at his heartstrings, but that was good. That meant he was still there—alive, and not transparent against the whitewashed backdrop. His breath fought to escape, trembling as it left him, and his eyes burned with moisture that filled him up and dropped from his lashes.

And they all told him he was alive.

But why not accept that he wouldn't be for much longer?

Every muscle of his body tightened, his hands shook with tension against the dresser, and a famished, dehydrated headache blossomed in his temples. And he couldn't fight the dull, thudding ache anymore. He doubled over in front of the mirror and let his pent up emotion pour out.

There was a long, drawn-out pulse as the humming of the machine filled up the room. The red lights above the switches on the dashboard glared angrily and the needles on the meters had almost filled their circles. But Merlin was numb to the surges. His body still contorted and responded as it was supposed to, but he could not longer hear his own shouts or register his pain. All he felt was a tingle as the humming came to a rest.

"What is your name?" Odin's voice asked from somewhere in the darkness.

"Merlin Emrys," he responded. It was second nature to respond to this question in this way without thinking about it, but not for the reasons it had been before he came to the hospital.

More humming, more spikes peaking on the machine that recorded Merlin's vitals.

"What is your name?"

The answer did not change, but it was said with more exhaustion.

After the next surge, there was a pause into which Merlin's breath replaced the buzzing of the machine. The hesitation was just long enough for Merlin to wonder if the doctor had gone away and left him alone in the darkness. Just as he became convinced of it, Odin's voice rang out again.

"How long have you been here?"

Merlin was about to answer with his own name before the question fully processed in his mind. He thought it over, expecting the answer to come to him. He had just seen a calendar earlier that day; he was sure of it. Or maybe he'd seen it last week? What date had it read anyway?

"How long have you been here?" Odin asked again, sounding impatient.

Merlin tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. The machine keeping track of his heart rate spiked without the aid of the electricity, and its long sheet of graph paper poured over the side of the table and bundled on the floor.

"I don't—" Merlin tried to respond, but his voice was too low and it hadn't been heard.

There was another electric pulse, one that broke through his resistance and immunity and paralyzed him with agony. His temples thumped when the surge subsided.

"How long have you been here?" he was asked again, and Merlin knew it was for the best to answer immediately this time.

"I don't—" he stammered again, as loud as he could, but his throat was constricting and his chest was tightening with shaking emotion.

"I don't know."