Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.
Warnings: Language, non-explicit discussion of an attempted rape.
~III~
"Dry priest at the shrine
of nothing. Maid-saint
fierce against the flesh
(burn it, burn it) denouncing
the witch in himself, see,
he's mounting the stake,
no, becoming it and
the tinder and the heartless
blaze you might mistake
for holiness."
When Arthur was twelve, a business associate of Uther's had come to spend the night at their house. His father had secured a lucrative deal with the man's company and they were in the mood to celebrate. Simon Soot his name was, Arthur remembers all these years later. He sometimes wonders if that name will be burned into his brain forever.
The rest of his memory of that night is patchy. He remembers the dinner, in which Uther and Simon got through two bottles of wine. When Uther left the room, Morgana managed to persuade Simon to slip her a glass of her own and she had sipped on it coyly as they sat there. Arthur had been bored, and somewhat frustrated for a reason he couldn't put his finger on. It was that vague dissatisfaction he'd often had as a child – the nagging sense that something was happening that he didn't understand, something adult and secret. Something to do with the way Morgana was acting and the way Simon was looking at her. Arthur didn't quite like it.
But then he had finally been excused and had gone off to play video games, laughter from the dining room ringing through the whole house. He had gone to bed an hour or so later. And then…
He'd awoken in the darkness, ripped from sleep by a noise. Not a loud one but a persistent one, a faint keening sound coming from along the corridor. He got out of bed and padded down the hallway, head still thick with sleep.
It was coming from Morgana's room.
Even at twelve, Arthur knew this wasn't unusual. Morgana had nightmares at least once a week, and the event had grown less alarming the more it occurred. He used to go in her room and sit with her, but as she grew older and hit the full stride of her teenage years, she had become secretive and jealous of her privacy. She started sending him away.
So he paused in the hallway, unsure of what to do. It sounded like a bad one but would she thank him for bursting in? He hovered for a moment, then heard a sort of strangled gasp and made a decision.
The room was too dark to see when he pushed open the door so he automatically flicked the light on.
And Morgana was lying on the bed on her back but she wasn't asleep, she was awake and struggling and there was a man sat on her stomach, covering her mouth with his hand.
"'Gana?" Arthur said even as he was trying to understand the scene in front of him, and the man turned to look at him and it was Simon.
"Hey Arthur," he said. "Hey. Your sister and I are just playing a game."
He sounded very calm and composed, and Arthur had that feeling again, that something was going on that he wasn't privy to, something that he really shouldn't intrude on.
"Run on back to bed," Simon said reassuringly and Arthur nodded, because Morgana did a lot of things that were strange to him these days and he supposed that this was just one of them.
The only thing was. Morgana was crying.
And that was weird because she never really cried. Uther sometimes called her 'my little ice queen' in a tone of admiration, as though Morgana never crying was something to be very proud of. Ever since he'd noticed that, Arthur had tried hard not to cry as well, not even when he slipped in the snow and broke his arm and it had really hurt. He kept his eyes screwed up tight all the way to the hospital and when the nurses told Uther how brave he'd been not to make any fuss, his father said "That's my boy," and Arthur had beamed with pride, even through the pain.
Arthur looked back at Simon and then again at the tears streaming down Morgana's face.
He took a step back into the hallway.
"Good boy," Simon said encouragingly.
Arthur breathed out for a second. Then:
"Dad! DAD!"
The strength of his own shout surprised Arthur and almost immediately he heard a corresponding noise from the floor above, where Uther slept.
Simon jumped up from the bed like he'd been shot. He was still scrabbling to do up his trousers and button his shirt when Uther charged into the room and stopped deadly still.
He took the scene in with a glance, Morgana weeping on the bed and Arthur pale faced at the door and Simon trying desperately to dress himself.
Arthur never heard before or since a sound like the one his father made at that moment.
It was inhumane, animalistic.
And then there was fighting and shouting and neighbours and police and at some point Arthur crawled into bed with Morgana and hugged himself against her like when they were little. She was very cold and he couldn't stop her shaking. Then Dr Gauis came and took her into another room and Arthur didn't know what to do so he just stayed huddled in her bed, waiting.
There were lots of adult conversations over the next few days, whispered fragments overheard in the hall and telephone calls made late at night. Arthur didn't understand most of it but he remembered his father saying over and over "He never did anything. We got there in time. He never did anything."
And it was true but it took Arthur many years to understand that it didn't really matter that Simon never followed through on his assault because Morgana was still changed, irrevocably. She talked less and seldom smiled, drifting round the house like a ghost. Then later came the late nights and the drinking and the screaming rows that she and Uther conducted at top volume when she staggered in at three in the morning on a school night. For those next three years, Arthur's home life seemed to be characterised by noise and silence; the loud and bitter words regularly exchanged between father and daughter punctuated by long periods where no-one talked – silent, drawn out dinners and muted greetings if they happened to pass one another in the hall.
Arthur didn't know how to talk to her. It was like she was a wholly different person from the sister he'd grown up with. And there was always this terrible… thing… between them: the truth of what he had seen that night, the momentary hesitation before he'd called for help. Sometimes Arthur wanted to ask her if she hated him, even a little bit, but that night was now a forbidden topic in their house, like Igraine was, and Arthur never found himself strong or brave enough to break that silence.
He never dared bring it up with Uther either, not since the day after it happened when he sought out his father in his study and asked if he was in trouble for not looking after Morgana properly. And Uther hadn't said a word, just knelt down and gripped Arthur into a bone crushing hug. Arthur had stayed still, heart fluttering in his chest as he felt his father sob against him, feeling helpless and sad and afraid.
Things did improve, eventually, and Morgana made the decision to go to university in Brighton when Arthur was sixteen. He missed her, despite how fraught their relationship had been the last few years, and he was glad when he and Gwen began seeing each other and he had an excuse not to go home to an empty house every night.
~III~
He knows it's not the same. He knows what he walked in on in the shed was not akin to what he walked in on when he was a little kid. The sudden brutal shock that jolted through him when he first opened that door was an instantaneous reaction, one that he'd managed to reason away within a few seconds.
(before his brain caught up to his eyes all he could see was Gilli on top of Merlin, pinning him down, fumbling at his jeans, and Merlin's lips are parted and his eyes are closed and Arthur can't tell if he's in ecstasy or agony, if he wants this or if he can't stop it)
But when Gilli turns around he looks irritated rather than guilty. And Merlin looks shocked and slightly embarrassed and something else that Arthur can't quite recognise. But he doesn't look afraid.
It's not like before Arthur's thinking even as he stammers out an apology.
And then Gilli deadpans something about him being a cock block and Arthur feels an inexplicable flash of rage, one that has nothing to do with his previous fears.
He's never really paid much attention to Gilli before, but right there and then he decides he doesn't like him. What is Merlin doing in here with him? What is it about Gilli of all people that's managed to bypass Merlin's natural reserve and seduce him into grinding in a shed? Merlin deserves so much better than this.
Not any of your business, is it?
No. It's not. Although all he's been trying to do recently is make Merlin his business, get to the bottom of what's happening with his friend. And tonight… he hoped they could talk, sit outside with a beer like old times and give Arthur the chance to get the truth from his friend, to show him he was there to support him…
Men plan, God laughs, as Gaius always used to say.
Arthur makes sure his face is carefully blank as he turns towards the door.
But something on the table catches his eye and like a piece of a horrible puzzle falling into place, he thinks he finally understands.
"What the fuck is this?" he says and he can feel fury coursing through his veins, quick and violent.
Gilli says something but he's not listening, he's looking at Merlin's eyes and they're glazed over, he's clearly out of his fucking head.
An image flashes into his head of Simon pouring Morgana a glass of wine, watching her eagerly as she drank it down.
He can feel his blood pounding through his whole body as he flicks his eyes back to Gilli and Arthur has a sudden overwhelming desire to hit him, to hurt him, badly, because he's not twelve years old anymore and he knows how to protect people now.
But he can't trust himself to stop if he starts so he settles for pushing Gilli out of the way and reaching down to yank Merlin to his feet. Merlin protests but allows himself to be manhandled. Up close Arthur can see the fine sheen of sweat on his face, the darting of his eyes.
He tells Merlin he's taking him home and Gilli actually dares to object.
"Don't you fucking push me," Arthur says, another blast of rage spiking through his body like a shot of adrenaline.
"You gave my friend drugs and then you took advantage of him. I should fucking kill you."
The urge to hurt Gilli returns, strongly, but Merlin is more important so he fixes Gilli with one final stare and then pushes open the shed door, dragging Merlin out into the cool air of night.
He doesn't trust himself to speak all the way home, his mind whirling with a barrage of unconnected thoughts and memories. Somewhere at the heart of it all, he knows he overreacted. Knows that seducing someone on drugs is not the same as getting a fifteen year old child drunk and then attempting to…
But the rest of his body is crying out with the need to protect Merlin, possibly the only other person in the world he feels as strongly about as Morgana. And he's been so afraid recently because Merlin had seemed so brittle these last few weeks, smaller in every sense of the word.
Merlin's not a fighter on a good day. So how can he hope to protect himself when he barely weighs a hundred pounds and hardly has the energy to walk to class anymore? And Arthur knows its paranoid but some days he believes the world is full of bad people, out to hurt the ones he loves. Maybe's it's his father's influence, seeing enemies in shadows and making it his policy in business to trust no one, but Arthur is wary of the world.
And Merlin has always been too trusting.
When they arrive at the flat Arthur wonders if he should just let this go for the night, put Merlin to bed and have the conversation tomorrow. But then Merlin stumbles slightly as he gets out of the car and it isn't the fall that gets Arthur so much as the slightly inane smile that crosses his friend's face, and Jesus, Arthur thinks disgustedly, he's still fucked.
He's enraged all over again and when they finally get in the flat he opens his mouth to speak but Merlin gets in first.
And then they're arguing and it's loud and heated and Arthur wants to stop and talk properly but at the same time he's so mad and he can't hold it in.
Then Merlin mentions Gwen and that twists in Arthur's gut, still, after all this time, so he raises his voice louder and thanks God that Hunith is still on the night shift.
Merlin echoes Gilli's line about Arthur treating him like his dog and goddamnit, that one stings. Arthur smashes his fist into the wall, barely registering the sudden ache in his hand.
"I was only trying to protect you from your OWN FUCKING STUPIDITY! I didn't want you to wake up tomorrow and regret making such an awful mistake!"
"It's my mistake to make!" Merlin's screaming at him. "I should be allowed to make my own mistakes!"
Mistakes.
Clearly he's made a few of his own recently. Not hanging out with Merlin. Not noticing he was ill. Not being able to talk about it properly.
So many mistakes so far that he can't bear another one. He will not allow silence to come between him and Merlin, allow it to rob him of the chance of helping like it did with Morgana for all those years.
He used to think Uther was right. That not bringing up topics like his mother or Simon would save pain for all of them. Now he thinks they should have talked about it, even if it hurt. Better to be sad together than to each drift around in their own private, unutterable grief.
His father's life is characterised by his loss of Igraine. Morgana's was nearly ruined by the loss of her innocence. Arthur will not, cannot lose Merlin to this thing that consumes him.
And that's why he steps towards his friend and lays his palm flat on Merlin's stomach, feeling the uncushioned flesh beneath his hand.
"Like this?"
Merlin reacts badly but Arthur's expecting that. He's thinking weirdly of science fiction, of horror movies where they have to exorcise the evil spirit, make the alien show itself so they can bring the pod person back to life.
But Merlin keeps fighting so he tries to trap him, to force him to see the truth, see what he's doing to himself. He feels slightly unhinged as he tears at Merlin's t-shirt but he can't stop now, Merlin has to know, has to look at himself and understand where this path ends.
The mirror Arthur thinks vaguely as he starts to drag Merlin across the room and it's like pulling a child really because Merlin has no weight behind him, no strength.
But he does have a very sharp elbow, which he jams into Arthur's stomach with a surprising amount of force. It isn't enough to make him relax his grip, but the kick to the shin is.
Arthur lets Merlin go, the sharp pain in his leg cutting through the weird haze of the last few minutes and he is suddenly appalled to see Merlin in front of him, half naked and shaking with rage and fear. And he never wants Merlin to feel afraid of him, never ever. He raises his hands in what is meant to be a soothing gesture but he can see Merlin's too far gone for that and he manages to brace himself just in time for the fist that crashes into his jaw. It hurts but Arthur brushes the pain aside, automatically raising his hand to catch the next punch Merlin sends his way and trying, as gently as he can, to subdue Merlin to the ground.
He needs to speak to him, to apologise, but he can't do that when Merlin's trying to hit him so he pins his arms. Merlin's thrashing about beneath him although he looks almost spent, his breath coming in short gasps.
Arthur can feel Merlin very acutely, feel his body. The wrists he has pinioned to the floor are terrifying small and snappable, and is he imagining it or can he feel Merlin's pulse beating through his hands? Merlin's body is radiating heat despite his lack of t-shirt, warm from the exertion of their fight. His stomach is as wretchedly concave as Arthur remembers it from the nurse's office, his ribs still poke out through his papery skin. He looks like a famine victim from the news. He looks like one of those martyrs from religious art who give their souls to Jesus and then fast their lives away. He looks…
Arthur doesn't realise he's actually crying until he tastes salt at the corner of his mouth. And his first, ridiculous, thought is that he's glad his father isn't there to see him; because he'd be so ashamed.