Notes: So, back to Monday again. Consistency? Really not my strong point. Please assume that [brackets] indicate a crossing out, because apparently ff.n doesn't think much of the strike-through going on in Arthur's speech. Expect replies soonish, and I hope you enjoy :) P
X 8 X
Morgana loves her father, mostly because he's her father and she's obliged to, but also because hidden under the bluster and the arrogance that, unfortunately, both she and Arthur inherited, there is a good man.
She loves her father, but that doesn't mean she doesn't enjoy the expression on his face when she, Merlin, and Gwen show up on his doorstep (or in the entrance hall, anyway, since Uther isn't prone to opening his own front door), each carrying an impressive amount of luggage.
"Hi, Dad," she says, revelling in the way his eyes boggle. "Merlin and I are getting married tomorrow, so we're staying here tonight. Hope that's not a problem."
Beside her, carrying the largest garment bag Morgana has ever seen, Merlin poorly smothers a laugh, and the only reason Gwen is silent is because she's far too polite to do so much as giggle, however much Morgana knows she wants to.
"Come in," Uther says eventually, ever the gracious host, even though he still looks astonished and also a little furious (but then she knew he would be; that only adds to the fun of it). "Take your bags upstairs. Morgana, put Guinevere in the blue room. Mr Emrys, you will sleep in your usual room. I'll see if Mary can't find something for you all to eat."
X
Arthur is in the midst of allowing himself one more evening of wallowing in the memory of being with Merlin – of being able to kiss him, hold him, treat him like someone beloved by him rather than by his sister – when his mobile rings.
He's not had enough beer to want to answer it (or, for example, to think that just because he's getting his one and only chance to sleep with Merlin it's actually a good idea to do it), but that also means his vision isn't blurry enough for him not to read his father's name on the display; when Uther calls, people answer, and Arthur has never been any different in that regard.
Arthur isn't here right now he thinks, hitting the button to accept the call, but instead settles for the blandest, "Father," he can manage.
"Did you know about this?" Uther demands in place of a greeting, and perhaps it's the half dozen empties on the coffee table before him but Arthur cannot help but be sarcastic in response.
"Yeah," he says, "Sure, Father. I know everything, obviously."
"Arthur," Uther says, and if it's possible for a word to be halfway between a sigh and a snap, that one is. "Your sister and her fiancé have just appeared at the house and informed me that their wedding is tomorrow."
"Ah," Arthur says, hollow and unsurprised, sounding too much like the heartache he's feeling for him to be able to deny foreknowledge, and if he hadn't been expending all of his energy on not thinking about Merlin's upcoming nuptials, it might have occurred to him to try persuade Morgana to give their father slightly more than a single day's notice. "Sorry," he adds, because he's not so lost in his own abject misery that he doesn't wish he'd done something to avert his father's almost heart attack.
His father is silent for so long that Arthur wonders if he's hung up or passed out or, somehow, been abducted by aliens. There's no such thing, of course, and even if there were, Arthur imagines they probably wouldn't pick his father as an abduction candidate, but then a little over a week ago Arthur thought he'd never so much as kiss Merlin, so he's not particularly discounting the impossible right now.
He's contemplating ending the call and ringing back, or maybe phoning Morgana so that he can get her to check on Uther (however much he doesn't want to see or speak to or even really be related to her anymore, he doesn't really think that's an option), when his father finally finds words.
"Thank you, Arthur," Uther says softly, with a distressing level of compassion to it. "I shall see you tomorrow."
"Yes," Arthur agrees; as little as he wants to be there, he has already agreed to it. Merlin is counting on him being there, Morgana may be as well, and Arthur cannot let them down, however much it hurts him. "See you at the church."
X
Morgana wakes up gasping in the face of the dread that fills her, acutely aware of both what today is and just how wrong it is for her to be feeling like this. It isn't cold feet, because that doesn't even come close to describing how she feels. She doesn't feel like marrying Merlin today is going to be a mistake, because she knows full well how awful a thing it is she is doing, knows that part of herself already regrets it.
It's not really a mistake, not when she's doing it consciously, deliberately, but that probably only pushes it even further away from being the right thing.
She does love Merlin, though, even if that's the only defence she can provide for herself.
Still, breakfast waits for no woman, and she'd quite like a decent meal before confronting the conflicting emotions prompted by her wedding; Morgana pushes back the quilt with decidedly less enthusiasm than she imagines most brides do, pulls her dressing gown on over her pyjamas and scrapes her hair back into a bun before going downstairs.
Merlin is already in the kitchen when she gets there, laughing with Gwen as she makes pancakes; Mary, Uther's housekeeper/chef/anything else Uther needs her for (a woman of many hats, she is) has Saturdays off, and Gwen is incapable of letting anyone be hungry in her presence.
"'Gana!" he exclaims, leaping to his feet and pretty much skipping over to her, giddy to such a degree that Morgana feels a little concerned. "It's today," he announces, dragging her into a hug, then some kind of wonky, ridiculous waltz that has Gwen cracking up.
"I'm so glad you said yes," he whispers into her ear, then spins her with surprising grace, again and again, until Morgana is laughing as hard as he and Gwen are, dizzy and delighted and loud enough that she doesn't hear her father approaching until he's in the room with them, pyjama-clad and glaring.
"I do not care if today is your wedding day," he says, grim and probably not what most people can describe as fatherly, but for Morgana that tone is pretty much the most common feature of her childhood. "It is eight in the morning. Have some respect."
"Sorry, sir," Merlin says, and Morgana fights off another round of laughter. "We didn't mean to wake you."
"Stop sucking up," Morgana tells him, nudging him in the direction of the table. "Gwen, how's breakfast looking?"
"The pancakes are almost ready," Gwen says. "Would you like the first one, Mr Pendragon?"
Morgana expects more anger, or at least a brusque refusal, which is why it's such a surprise when Uther smiles, joining her and her fiancé at the table.
X
Arthur isn't ready, but then he's fairly sure he never will be.
Today is the day everything changes, more irreversibly than anything ever has before, and he isn't ready.
He has a speech to give, telling all of his sister's family and friends – all of Merlin's family and friends – how happy he is for them, and even if the speech is written, he's not ready to give it.
He's not even ready to leave this toilet cubicle, the one he's spent the last half hour locked away in, alternately scribbling furiously and chewing the blue Bic he's used to write his speech, which makes it even more inconvenient that Gwaine is standing outside trying to work up the courage to tap on the door.
"I know you're there," he says eventually, not sure whether he's grateful that Gwaine is checking up on him or not.
"I know," Gwaine answers, just as quiet as Arthur is, the cubicle door shaking slightly as he leans against it. "Way I figure it, you're trying to enter the Guinness book of world records for the biggest shit ever or you're hiding, and either way I don't know if that's something I want to interrupt. But if you're Merls's best man, I'm guessing that means that I'm yours for the day, so I've got to ask. You alright, Pendragon?"
Arthur laughs, even though it's really not funny, then decides he might as well answer anyway, just for good measure. "About as far from it as I can be, actually."
"Figured as much, yeah," Gwaine says, sighing in a way Arthur would usually just find exaggerated and ridiculous but today actually has a ring of compassion to it. "You wanna swap?"
Yes, Arthur thinks, even if he doesn't have a clue what he's talking about. Then again, miserable as he is, it's Gwaine, so it's probably safer to have a little more information before agreeing. "I don't follow."
"Simple," Gwaine says. "You give me the rings and I'll be best man; you can stand at the bottom of the steps opposite Freya, the lowly third groomsman."
For a moment, Arthur considers it, and it feels like one of the longest moments of his life.
X
"There," Morgana says, applying a final swipe of lipstick as Gwen stabs the last pin into her hair. "How do I look?"
"I hate you," Gwen answers, which Morgana figures can probably be taken as a compliment.
"I hate you, too, Gwen," she says, then laughs. "You look gorgeous," she adds, and Gwen does, resplendent in burgundy, the same shade as the embroidery on Morgana's own dress, the pins holding her hair in place, the decorations on her shoes, everything but the royal blue garter on her right thigh.
Old, Merlin's mother's ring; new, pretty much everything she's wearing; blue, the garter; and borrowed…
Well, if she was a good enough person to think of that one, they wouldn't be here in the first place.
X
Arthur is decidedly late – and still feeling an eternity or more from being ready – when he walks into the little room at the back of the church and finds Merlin trying to strangle himself with his bow-tie.
"You know," he says, while Merlin looks at him beseechingly. "If you didn't want to marry her, you could just have said so. Suicide isn't the answer, Merlin."
"Git," Merlin answers, thankfully too busy trying to extract himself from the mess he's in to notice how far from joking Arthur's voice is. He struggles a little longer, until Arthur is beginning to think strangulation is a genuine risk. "Help," he says eventually, his right hand still at his neck, and it's then that Arthur realises that whatever knot he's tied, he's also managed to tie himself into it.
"Idiot," he says, with all the same fondness it usually has, standing almost toe to toe with Merlin and trying to pretend his hands aren't shaking. He hasn't seen him since that night, hasn't spoken to him, has barely even replied to his text messages, and he still isn't ready for it, ready for Merlin's breath warm on his skin, Merlin's eyes staring into his from only centimetres away, Merlin's mouth close enough to kiss.
And Merlin looks at him like nothing ever happened, like everything is normal, and Arthur almost wishes he was right, or maybe just that Merlin's ignorance could be his as well.
"There," he says, smoothing down the tie and stepping back. "You're done."
"Thank you," Merlin says, and Arthur has all the time in the world to watch his hand move but it's still a surprise when it reaches his face, his fingers cradling Arthur's jaw, thumb resting at the corner of his mouth, and Arthur doesn't know how to react. For a moment, the images in his head are perfect, heaven-sent, and he lets himself believe them.
Merlin's hand is on his face, and any second now he'll move, or Arthur will, and all will be right in the world. I'm calling it off, Merlin will say, and Arthur will breathe a kiss on Merlin's thumb, or Merlin will go all out and pull him into a proper kiss, messy and desperate and honest. I remember, Merlin will say. I know where I'm meant to be, now, he'll say, and Arthur will allow the sun to rise again.
"Arthur," Merlin says, close and perfect and the only thing Arthur will ever really want. "You have blue on your face."
X
"Are you ready?" Gwen asks, fidgeting with the bow on the back of Morgana's dress. "Your father's here."
"I'm ready," Morgana answers, and she is.
X
"We ready, lads?" Gwaine asks, as the music starts up and the doors at the bottom of the church open.
"Ready," Lancelot and Merlin answer simultaneously, and Arthur knows why Merlin's voice has a grin in it but Lancelot he's not so sure about.
"Ready," Arthur echoes, wondering how close to pathological he is right now.
X
"Should anyone here present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony," the vicar says, and for the first time since Morgana entered the church, Arthur looks up and meets his sister's eyes over Merlin's shoulder, not quite able to believe she's actually doing this to him. "Speak now, or forever hold your peace."
Please, Morgana's eyes say, although Arthur has no idea if it's please, say something or please, don't; by the time Arthur has decided it doesn't matter, he wants to object either way, things have already moved on.
X
He should be happy, Arthur knows. He should be happy for them, his sister and his best friend of seventeen years, as they embrace, as they kiss like they're never coming up for air, as their friends and family cheer and the bells ring triumphant.
If he was a better person, he'd be thrilled, ecstatic, over-the-moon happy, but he's not.
There was never really any chance for him and Merlin, God does he know that, but that doesn't mean his heart isn't breaking.
X
I've known Merlin for a long time, and Morgana for even longer, which is why I knew I couldn't refuse when they told me to show up here today (pause for laughter). I tried, of course, because anything involving my best friend and my twin sister – we're identical, don't you know, or so she wanted to convince me when we were kids – was always going to be chaotic.
We weren't always friends, [mostly because my sister is a psychotic bitch who tried to bully me into cross-dressing], but then it's not easy to be friends with the lunatic who grew up trying to get you to wear her dresses, or the lunatic who stood by and laughed as she did it. I've fought with both of them a lot, and, I'm a little embarrassed to say, not always with words, but I don't know that I've ever seen the two of them argue with each other. Since my sister is probably one of the most unreasonable people to walk this earth, that's really saying something.
Of course, endlessly praising my sister isn't what this speech is for, and I'm trying to take my best man responsibilities seriously – though, really, if you wanted the man with all the jokes and the stripper connections, you should have listened to me when I told you to pick Gwaine, Merlin – so let's talk a bit more about the groom.
The first thing I thought when I saw Merlin was that his dad was probably an elephant – no offence, Hunith (smile winningly, Arthur, you can manage that much) – and, actually, that was the first thing I said to him, too. Imagine my surprise when the scrawny stick-insect new-kid punched me in the face, then cried so much that not only did my own sister abandon me to comfort him, but I was also grounded for the next six weeks, even if I was the victim in all of it.
For a good few years, that moment was probably the highlight of our [relationship] [acquaintance] [time spent knowing each other] [for God's sake, Arthur, you can say relationship without anyone working out what happened] relationship. I didn't like Merlin, Merlin didn't like me, and if Morgana hadn't [slept with anyone who looked at her] [had one indiscretion too many and been packed off] gone away for school, that would probably never have changed, and you'd be listening to [some other miserable git] someone else right now.
The thing about Merlin is, you can ignore him or yell at him or just generally be an obnoxious prick to him, but he won't quit. I did all of this, and he'd still show up every evening after school wanting to play video games or borrow a book or a film, and God forbid I ever told him no. He stuck around, no matter how much I tried to get rid of him, and apparently his absolute conviction that we were friends was contagious, because my father stopped trying to get rid of him as well, at which point the only thing I could do was give in.
And now we're grown up – or so says the law, anyway, although you wouldn't know it if you'd seen him when we walked past a playground a fortnight ago – and he's married to my sister.
He's still an annoying git sometimes, and his ears are still ridiculous – seriously, Hunith, where did they come from? – but I am entirely serious when I say that he is probably the best man I know. I don't know what heinous deed he did in a past life to end up shackled to you for the rest of his life, Morgana, but he's happy, and THAT'S GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME.
So, I'd like you all to join me in raising a glass to the bride and groom, Merlin and Morgana. [May your time together be both long and happy.]
X
"Come on," Merlin calls, rapping on the door of Morgana's favourite bathroom in the Pendragon home (that the place has multiple bathrooms is bad enough, but that there's enough for his wife – his wife – to have a favourite is an eternal source of wonder to Merlin). "Taxi's waiting. Hurry up, or we'll miss our flight."
The door unlocks and Morgana steps out, her hair still hanging in wet curls down her back, just as stunning in jeans and a t-shirt and barely any makeup at all as she was yesterday in her dress and gems and dangerously high heels. "I'm ready," she says, holding out a hand for him to take and returning his smile. "Let's go, husband."
X
Just this, Arthur tells himself, standing in the driveway of his once-home, waiting to wave Morgana and Merlin off on their honeymoon. He's not the only one there – Morgana knows how to throw a party, so it's hardly a surprise that her wedding reception carried on so long into the night that the vast majority of guests are still here the following morning – but he's probably the only one struggling to get into the party spirit.
It's just this, though, and then he's done. No more Merlin, no more Morgana, no more of the don't they look happy together, you must be so pleased for them, Arthur he's been hearing for the last twenty four hours. No more of any of it, until he's over this, until he can see Merlin without being back to that night a week ago, without remembering what he tastes like and feels like and the way he looks when he comes undone in Arthur's mouth, until he can look at his sister without his guilt killing him.
Just this, he thinks, this and no more.
The hand landing on his shoulder makes him jump, and Arthur figures it's Gwaine or Lancelot or someone, trying to be supportive. He doesn't turn, because seeing them won't help, will probably only hurt, and the sight of Merlin and Morgana walking out of the house hand-in-hand already hurts enough.
The pair of them climb into the car, laughing and flinging hugs around like they're going away forever, not just for a couple of weeks, and Arthur wonders if anyone has ever hated their sister as much as he hates his right now.
Even so, he's unable to stop watching as their taxi drives off, unable to turn his back and go inside, even as everyone else trickles away, leaving him almost alone on the steps.
"You made me proud today, son," Uther says, and the hand tightens on his shoulder, the closest thing to a hug his father is capable of. "I have a bottle of '76 Glenfiddich in the library, Arthur. I strongly suggest we open it."
X
They must be at the airport by now, Arthur thinks, far drunker than he was just over a week ago and never mind that it's barely lunchtime. He's an idiot and an arsehole and he might as well be drunk for all that it matters right now.
He made a mistake, or made a hundred, more like, and there's no taking any of them back.
He should have said something yesterday, during the ceremony, or before it, to Merlin. A week ago, when he left Merlin to wake up alone in his house, a week and a day ago when Merlin was telling him you were my world and I don't think I saw anything other than you and don't talk, Arthur. Just kiss me. Months ago, when Merlin asked him to be best man, or just before that, when Morgana told him Merlin was going to propose, told Arthur to tell her not to. All those years in the past, when he first walked in on them kissing and it felt like a rug had been pulled out from under his feet, like something had changed forever without any hope of it being put back, put right.
He should have said something, and maybe he wouldn't feel so awful right now.
"Father," he says, and Uther looks up, turning his gaze from the newspaper spread across his lap and the tumbler of whisky that's emptying a hell of a lot slower than Arthur's have been.
"Arthur," Uther replies, and under the pressure of being the focus of Uther's gaze, Arthur almost tells him it's nothing, even though it isn't.
"Father," he says again, and then, as Uther looks increasingly concerned, "I'm gay."
All at once, his father's brow uncreases, as much as it ever does. "I am aware of that fact, Arthur."
"I know," Arthur shrugs, then explains. "I've never said it before, though, to anyone. I wanted to see how I'd feel if I did."
"And how do you feel?"
Arthur puts an awful lot of consideration into his answer, because his father actually sounds like he wants to know and that is a far better reaction than Arthur had anticipated his statement getting. How does he feel, though? He feels tired and bereft, bereaved, though neither his sister nor the man he loves are dead. He feels guilty and ghastly and so ugly it's beyond forgiveness. He feels lost, missing a limb, missing his life.
"Drunk," he says eventually, and Uther's only response is to offer Arthur the bottle and the saddest smile he's ever seen.