Arcane Asylum 3/16
Aug. 9th, 2010 05:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
new_kateTitle: Arcane Asylum
Fandom: Merlin BBC
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin and a bunch of less true pairings mentioned in the flashbacks.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings for this part: references to violence and non-con.
Summary: Modern AU. Originally written for this prompt at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kinkme_merlin
Betaed by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
devikun
Word count: 9K for this part.
First part here
Part 3: Two bedroom place.
Arthur spent most of the day in Merlin's cell, trying to keep busy. Merlin did make a doorway into the adjoining cell, as he told him to. It only took a few whispered words and a wave of his hand; his eyes lit up once again, just for a second, and a door-sized chunk of concrete slowly fell out of the wall and crashed to pieces all over the floor.
Clearing out the debris and concrete dust that immediately coated everything took hours. Arthur suspected that magic could take care of that, too, but working helped him stay focused, even if he mostly managed Merlin and Mordred and only moved the heaviest chunks by himself. Also, seeing magic this close - and actually allowing and endorsing it - felt like breaking the law, and he wasn't even sure which law. He didn't have to report the warlock, they were already in prison, and nobody really cared what went on inside these walls as long as it stayed inside, but he still felt like he could get in trouble by just watching magic being used. Which was completely ridiculous, considering that he couldn't possibly dig himself any deeper than the charges he was facing already.
Once they were done, Merlin went out to fetch lunch, leaving Arthur alone in the cell. Mordred didn't really count. After getting a little excited during their redecorating effort the boy was now wiped out, and had gone back to his drawings, ignoring Arthur completely. Arthur left him to it, went into their new cell - just in case, so the kid wouldn't be right there if something happened - sat on the bottom bunk and waited, sweating buckets.
Now would be the first opportunity for the other inmates to attack him without directly confronting Merlin. They didn't have much of the window, just a few minutes – enough for a kill but not anything else, which they still might settle for. Unless they would coordinate their efforts and have someone delay Merlin in the yard, while the rest would strike here and drag Arthur somewhere else, where they could take their time with him. Merlin didn't seem at all concerned, but he was overconfident and hardly a genius.
The corner cells didn't have the full view of the rest of the block, so he couldn't see if they were already converging outside. They would surprise him when they would come, not that he could do much with a few seconds or even minutes of advance notice.
The cells were tiny, and normally this would be a great advantage for him. Even two attackers would only get in each other's way if they were to fight him inside. They'd have to come at him one by one, and he would be comfortable with those odds, even if there were knives involved. But none of that applied to these people. He didn't know what limitations they had, what their tactics were, what they could do to him with their magic.
He counted down seconds to steady himself as he watched the inmates walk up and down the stairs, along the cells across the block. Some of them would throw him a sidelong glance, but only for a second, and continue on their way. He listened to dozens of different footsteps on their side of the walkway, just outside where he couldn't see. They would shuffle past, approach, sometimes linger, drift further again. When Merlin returned with the plates Arthur was so pathetically pleased to see him he had to fight down the impulse to hug him.
The lunch was more of the same cold congealed goo they had for breakfast. That shouldn't have been a surprise, since all they had to eat was the food Uther brought in yesterday afternoon, but he still felt horribly cheated. He found himself looking forward to the next meal that would be brought in fresh today, hoping that it would be something different. Didn't even had have to be better. Just a different kind of goo would do. He ate as much as he could force himself to, mostly just to prove to himself that he wasn't so shaken up by his prison adventure as to lose his appetite.
"So," he asked, because they might as well have a conversation. "How long have you been here?"
"Mmm," said Merlin, looking uncertain. "I came in about, uhh, four, five months before the riot, I think.
"But that was over a year ago."
"That long?" asked Merlin without a spark of interest. "Huh. So what happened to you? You're not actually magic, this makes no sense."
"Somebody framed me," Arthur said. Now this was just like a prison movie; his next line should be 'The cops screwed me over, I'm innocent, I swear.' But he was innocent. This would be resolved soon, it had to be. "Why do you even ask? I thought everyone here already knew. They'd waited at the gates. How the hell did they know?"
"They scry, obviously," said Merlin. It sounded like 'They watch the news, obviously'. Arthur suddenly realised that this had to be in the news by now, and it had to be the front page story. Uther Pendragon's crusade against magic fails to uncover a deranged warlock in his own home. Arthur Pendragon: witch and mass murderer. All his friends had to know by now that he was thrown in the Facility, same one his father had built and ran; he could already imagine all the clever jokes. When he got out - and he would get out - this will be a hell of a thing to live down. Someone was bound to believe that he was guilty, that his father got him out by pulling some strings. He'd have to live with the whispers and rumours for years, maybe forever.
He wasn't even going to contemplate what would happen if they found out what had happened to him in here.
"I don't, so I didn't know anything," Merlin was saying. "I heard someone yelling that they brought Pendragon's kid in, and went to look what that was all about, and saw... um. So, what did they do, did someone plant magical things in your room?"
"Someone killed six people. In an all-night shop on my street. No survivors, no witnesses. All the tapes show me throwing fire from my hands, at the cashier, and the customers. There was a couple there, the girl only fourteen, the guy sixteen. There was..."
He remembered all the faces. They made him watch the tape about dozen times during the interrogation.
"I know the cashier, I shop there - I bought a Red Bull from him last week. We talked about football," he said, remembering the man's gap-toothed grin, his stretched earlobes and a rather stupid Arsenal tattoo on his arm. "They were killed around 2 am on Monday morning. They were lying there, dying, and I was home asleep. Apparently, this means no alibi and plenty of opportunity. And, well. It does look like it's me on the tapes. I have no clue how it was done, and nobody can tell. The police don't even believe that the tapes were faked."
"Of course they were faked. It's only tapes," Merlin shrugged. "Just images. Not hard to do at all."
"Oh, you're a forensic expert now?"
"Well, I haven't tried anything like that. But I used to make five quid bills into twenties all the time. That was pretty easy, and they held up under currency detectors in shops."
"What? Those bills aren't even the same size!"
"Not the same colour, either," Merlin grinned cheekily. "You're thinking about the second law of thermodynamics right now, don't you?"
"Shut up," he huffed. "Wait - did the twenties turn back into fivers later?"
"Don't see why they would," said Merlin thoughtfully. "Not unless I'd have fixed them to do that. But that would just be wrong, I used that money to pay for things."
"Yeah, whereas faking the legal tender is all right? So, the tapes are there to stay, most likely."
He tried to think, but he really needed more information. Merlin finished eating and just sat there, gracefully slumped against the wall, looking at him through his impossibly long eyelashes.
"It will all work out, Arthur," he said reassuringly. "You'll probably be out today."
"Yes, probably."
Uther was going to be here soon. He had to make himself presentable. His father had to see that he was fine.
"Do the showers still work?" he asked. "I haven't had a proper wash since the day before yesterday. I need a shave too, can you get me a razor? I guess hair gel is too much to hope for around here..."
He couldn't quite believe he was going to actually take a shower in prison. That he really was going to strip naked and stand there in the open, soaping himself, when Val and Muirden and any number of others could just waltz in. But he felt utterly filthy, he still had their sweat on his skin, and his whole body itched to be scrubbed clean and scoured with hot water.
"I'll come with you," said Merlin, and once again Arthur felt overwhelmingly, shamefully grateful.
"Yes, you'd better," he said. "I can actually smell you from here."
Merlin pouted at him all the way to the showers.
"Maybe we shouldn't leave Mordred alone," said Arthur belatedly, as Merlin rummaged in the rubble of a pillaged storage room for the supplies.
"He's not a baby, he's not going to choke on a crayon," muttered Merlin. "He'll find us anyway the moment he gets bored, he's impossible to lose even when you really want to."
"That's not what I meant. Someone might... do something to him."
"To Mordred? Oh, hardly. And why would they, he's one of us."
"They might target him to get back at you for yesterday."
"Don't worry about that," said Merlin, quite callously in Arthur's opinion, and handed him a bundle of toiletries wrapped in something that could only be a tea towel. A tiny, thin tea towel. It was grey with layers of perma-filth embedded into fabric from the months of use on an unknown number of badly washed bodies. The edge of the towel was striped with ancient dust, and when he attempted to brush it off it compacted under his fingers and turned into some unnatural breed of sticky, greasy superdust, possibly with mutant powers. Despite all that, the towel still somehow managed to unapologetically stink of bleach.
The showers were spectacularly disgusting. Black mould crept freely up the walls, rust stains spread around every pipe and drain, and the showers nozzles were covered in lime crust, green at the edges. The floor - he wasn't going to look at the floor. It was clear that nobody around here even considered cleaning in over a year. If he had any doubt that everyone here was completely wrong in the head, the state of their showers would be all the proof he needed.
He found a spot on the bench that didn't look like a giant Petri dish of deadly bacteria, and began taking off his clothes.
It wasn't as bad as it could've been. His skin wasn't broken anywhere, except for some scrapes on his wrist and a patch at his right shoulder blade where his t-shirt had stuck to his skin. He didn't want to look like a baby soaking and peeling it off, so he manfully yanked at it, hoping he wasn't taking a huge chunk of his skin off his back. To his relief, the t-shirt came off barely stained, and there was no blood on his shirt at all. He really didn't want his father to see any blood.
The bruises on his ribs and legs were livid purple, still hot and swollen to the touch. They would take ages to fade, especially since he wasn't working out. Even a jog would help to kick up the circulation and start dissolving the bruises; he had to stop hiding in Merlin's cell and exercise a bit, keep fit. Prison was supposed to be the place to go to get ripped, after all. Maybe they had a gym somewhere around here.
"Hey, there's no shampoo," he noted and turned around. Merlin was frozen mid-strip, half-stuck inside the top of his uniforms, staring at Arthur's naked flesh intently, with a hungry expression that was impossible to misinterpret.
In one panicked second Arthur's brain played back everything Merlin has said and done so far, putting this new spin on it. He had misread Merlin completely, from the minute they'd met. Merlin had lied when he'd said he didn't want anything from him. He hadn't pressed for payment upfront because he was biding his time, waiting for Arthur to start relying on him. He had dangled in front of Arthur this hope, the possibility that his time here didn't have to be one endless, degrading torture, gave him a taste of safety and companionship. Now it was going to be a lot harder to stay brave and proud than it was yesterday.
This was it, he wanted Arthur to repay him, it was going to happen now. Merlin didn't seem the type to enjoy using force, so he was going to ask nicely, give Arthur a choice. Arthur could accept. Really, that would be the smartest thing to do. Merlin had kept him safe so far, he wasn't cruel or bent on revenge, and he was undeniably attractive in that waifish, gawky way. It wasn't that great a price to pay, after all. Arthur could just nod, turn around and brace against the grimy tiles, bite down on his hand and let it happen. It would be over in minutes. It wouldn't be horrible - he was sure Merlin would be careful, even considerate. It could, in fact, be pretty good.
But even as he thought about it he knew he couldn't do it, not on his life, never. He was going to refuse, walk out and try his luck at surviving alone. It wasn't even about pride. As much as he needed an ally, it could never be someone who'd put a price like that on his friendship. Arthur couldn't trust a man with no honour, not with anything, wouldn't even be able to stand being around him.
Merlin met his eyes and jerked uncomfortably, managing to tangle a sleeve in the collar of his shirt and nearly strangle himself.
"What?" he asked. This attempt at nonchalance was so grating that Arthur decided it was time to force the issue. He'd love to get dressed first, but to scramble for clothes right now would make him look too skittish, weak.
"So this is why you left Mordred behind. You didn't want an audience for when you ask me to bend over," he said. "My answer's still no."
"Oh hell, you're at it again," moaned Merlin, rolling his eyes. "Do you really still think I'm weaving some elaborate plot against your virtue? Believe me, Arthur, I don't need to go to such stupid lengths to get laid around here."
"You want me. I saw you look at me," Arthur said bluntly, accusingly.
He wasn't quite sure what kind of response he was expecting, but it wasn't this shamed and horrified expression on Merlin's face. His white skin instantly paled even more, turning ashen.
"Yeah, fine!" Merlin yelled in indignation, even as his lips quivered helplessly. "You're naked and fit and I looked at you, all right? If we were in a gym shower in a secondary school I'm sure you and your homophobic footy mates would beat me up after class and you'd feel better. But we're not, so you'll just have to live with the horror of having been looked at by some fag, poor you!"
"Merlin, calm down," Arthur said, unpleasantly struck by the memory of that day back at school when Owen had caught him glancing at his arse in the showers. He'd been completely mortified when Owen had called him on that, and had yelled just like this himself to hide his embarrassment and fear.
Merlin grunted in frustration, ripped his shirt off and threw it on the dirty floor. His skin was so fair, flawless and almost glowing, with just a dusting of dark hair around his nipples. It suddenly seemed clear that he really hadn't planned to issue any ultimatums and demand sexual favours, and in that one guilty moment of eyeing his lean chest Arthur nearly regretted that.
"Well, can't really blame you, I guess," Arthur said with a shrug. "After all, I am so beautiful, you said it yourself."
"So bloody big-headed," huffed Merlin, turning pink with relief.
"I've made a mistake," said Arthur, because he did, and he owed the man an apology, and Merlin still looked a bit like a hurt puppy, which was heart-wrenching to see. "You've not given me any reason to think that of you. It was unfair."
"No, Arthur, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stared at you like a creep, it's the last thing you need right now."
"Whatever," Arthur said, more than ready to change the subject. "As I was saying, there's no shampoo."
"There's soap," said Merlin, wriggling out of the rest of his clothes. Naked, he didn't look at all gawky and awkward. Long-limbed, with straight angular shoulders and slim pale thighs, his cock hanging heavily between his legs, he was so...
Arthur turned on the shower and determinedly stuck his head under the spray. Of course, the water was ice cold, whatever he did with the taps. Naturally.
"You can't wash your hair with the soap, it leaves residue," he pointed out very reasonably, but Merlin still cackled behind his back, till the other shower started and Merlin's voice hitched from the cold. "What's so funny? I'm not even asking for a conditioner! I'm dealing with the situation, but seriously, nothing but soap? Are we supposed to shave with soap, too?"
"Well, your father issued us all with jojoba moisturisers and wild grape shaving gels, but we ran out now," said Merlin, needlessly sarcastically. "Ask him for more of that next time you see him. And also some caviar."
The scratches on his wrist, where somebody stepped on it yesterday and ground his hand against the gravel, were red and puffy, mildly infected. He soaped them liberally, for the lack of anything better, finished showering as unhurriedly as he could, given that his teeth were already clattering from the chill, and attempted to dry off with his stinky tea towel.
Merlin was already dressed, shaving at the sink in front of a broken, murky mirror.
"I got you clean uniforms," he said.
"I'm not convicted, I can wear my own clothes."
He knew his clothes weren't fresh by any stretch of imagination, but now when his own body smell wasn't interfering with his nose, his t-shirt positively reeked of stale sweat. He held his breath and pulled it on, shuddering a little with revulsion. He was determined to wear his own clothes through this whole ordeal. It was theoretically possible to be kept here indefinitely even without conviction. But in that case he was going to wear his own clothes till they rotted off his body. It was Abercrombie, so it was going to last for quite a while.
"Um. You know you've bled through your jeans, right?"
He hadn't noticed it before. There was a dark stain at the middle seam, more on the inside, but it had seeped all the way through the thick denim. It wasn't much blood, and it was completely dry, but it was there.
He stared at it and couldn't breathe, literally couldn't push air out of his chest, choked with sharp, crushing humiliation. He could feel it again, vividly as if was still happening, like he was still spread out in the dust in the middle of the prison yard, held down and split open on somebody's cock. His face burned and his heart was jerking painfully somewhere near his throat, and he knew he wouldn't be able to just ride it out and get a hold of himself. He was going to faint, die or throw up. Any of that would be a relief.
"Arthur?" said Merlin, looking so genuinely concerned that Arthur wanted to punch him. "Are you all right? I don't think it's bad, it's probably just a small tear inside you, must have healed by now..."
"Don't. Just. Don't."
It didn't even make sense to react this way. He wasn't ashamed of his bruises, and wasn't bothered by the scrape on his back. This was the same. It was exactly the same thing. Just an injury, like any other, nothing more.
"Why didn't you tell me before?" he yelled at Merlin, trying to channel his agonizing panic into anger. "You just let me walk around like this!"
"I'm not your personal valet, you know," Merlin said cattily and ripped the jeans from his shaking hands. He whispered a string of hissing sounds, and his eyes misted over in gold again, and the stain was gone. Completely vanished, not a trace.
"Thanks," Arthur muttered, and finished dressing. When he moved to the sinks, his face in the wrecked mirror was still beet-red, a little wild. But, somehow, just as irrational as the freak-out had been, he now felt better.
The cheap razor kept catching on his skin, and the swelling on his jaw wasn't making shaving any easier. Merlin watched him quietly, leaning against the wall nearby. Without the stubble, his hair curling wetly against his pale skin, he seemed even younger and prettier, heartbreakingly innocent. He looked like something pre-Raphaelites would draw: an angelic beauty with melancholy eyes, luminous and fragile, trapped against an odd, overcomplicated background.
"Can you do something about this shiner?" Arthur asked. "I don't want to freak out my father."
"Maybe. I'm not that good at healing, but it's just blood under skin, right? I could try to shift it..."
"Yeah, no. On the other thought, you might end up shifting half of my face somewhere unexpected."
It was almost time. He surveyed his lopsided face in the mirror once again and styled his hair as much as he could - it was limp and unruly under his fingers, but he couldn't have really expected his first day of prison not to be a bad hair day.
"Well," he said. "In case all of this has been settled and I'm walking out of here, I just want to say..."
He stumbled and realised that he was drawing a blank. That never failed to be unbearably frustrating. All those public speaking courses, debate club, advanced speech writing class - and he still sometimes choked up at the worst moment.
"Yeah, nice to meet you too, I guess," Merlin smiled sunnily. "I was also going to say, hopefully you now see that not all magic people are insane and evil, but then again, uh. Probably not. We haven't really made the best impression. And I'm sorry I didn't get to you earlier, I could've stopped them, but I - most of the time I don't want to know what they're up to. To be honest, I've been head in the sand about a lot of things here. And it's not right."
"It's not, no. I don't think I'll be quite the same after this, either."
"You'll be okay, Arthur. You're strong, you'll get through it."
"Not that, not what they did. That was nothing. I meant - things I saw here. I didn't want to know, I never stopped to think what it's like for you. People like you. And Mordred - he's going to grow up in prison. That's wrong, it shouldn't be happening, no matter who or what he is. I don't know what I can do about it, but..."
"Me and Mordred are fine here, this is where we belong," said Merlin overly cheerfully. "But - yes. Thank you. Maybe someday something will change. Maybe you'll change it."
"Maybe."
They were so close that he could see his own reflection in Merlin's eyes, twin images of his face superimposed against the blue. He could just lean over - reach out just a little bit - and kiss Merlin on the mouth. For a moment the temptation was almost overwhelming. He let himself imagine sweeping his tongue over that lush lower lip and nipping it with his teeth, making Merlin's breath stutter sweetly. He was certain Merlin would let him, and pretty sure he wouldn't tell anyone. Nobody would ever know. Just one kiss goodbye, just in case they were never going to see each other again. Just one taste.
If he knew for certain he was getting out, or even if he could hope in earnest, he would have done it right then. He gave Merlin a manly pat on the shoulder and walked out, heading for the main gates.
They were plenty of inmates in the yard, most tapping their feet impatiently with plates at the ready. Arthur found himself wondering if the food vats were empty by now. He wasn't sure how many rations they got, and if the amount was adjusted every time a new prisoner arrived. He likely ended up eating someone's fair share, and it definitely wasn't Val or Muirden who were left hungry.
Maybe they just wanted fresh food, he told himself, different kind of goo. Maybe today was going to be mac-n-cheese day. Merlin would be happy.
A dozen men stood in the middle of the yard, right where they had him down yesterday. At least some of them were the same ones; maybe all of them, he didn't put much effort into memorising their faces. They leered at him as he walked past; he braced for catcalls, insults, an attack, but they stayed still and silent. Val was toying with a torn, dirty piece of cloth, and Arthur nearly tripped over his feet when he recognised it as his ripped up boxers.
He half-expected to start freaking out again, but looking into Val's grinning face gave him enough adrenaline and healthy rage to keep it together. He gave them all a casual nod and strolled past, feeling their eyes on his back like prickly claws.
Merlin had walked at his side all the way from the showers, but now he left him alone and headed toward the men.
"This is what we're going to do," he said, addressing the whole bunch at once. "We're going to let him talk to his father. And if they're taking him back, we're going to let him go."
"Now why would we do that, Merlin?" asked Val, twirling Arthur's boxers on his finger. Merlin refused to be demoralised by dirty underwear.
"Because I say so," he said in a very soft, patient voice. "And because he doesn't belong here. But mostly? Because I say so."
"But don't you see, we have a hostage here! It's an opportunity..."
"Val, no."
Val's face darkened, but he was already ducking his head down, hunching almost submissively. He gritted his teeth and stepped back, clutching the boxers in his fist. It looked ridiculous; he was twice Merlin's size, he could easily kill him with one good punch to the head. He could probably snap Merlin's slender long neck with one of his meaty hands.
Merlin stood his ground, lanky and skinny, with no tension or fear in any line of his body. He nodded at the men, as if thanking them for their attention, and moved to the edge of the yard, away from the gates. He wouldn't look at Arthur any more, not even a last sidewise glance.
The gates shuddered with the loud metal clang, and began sliding open. The long untended to gears groaned and screeched somewhere inside the concrete, and Arthur couldn't help wondering how long would it be till the gates would rust shut and refuse to open again.
He couldn't help relishing the hope for all it was worth, either. The gates would open, and his father would be there, smiling and relieved, explaining how he made the whole unpleasant misunderstanding go away. Arthur would walk through the gates and leave this place and all the fear and filth behind, and go home. A long ride in father's car, with Mike the chauffeur chatting at him excitedly through the parting. A long, hot shower in his pristine bathroom - no, no, a fucking bubble bath. He'd take a bubble bath in the guest bathroom, the tub there was bigger. And then he'd wrap himself in his fluffy, freshly washed bathrobe, walk barefoot across the thick carpets and heated oakwood floors, and tumble into his bed naked, and the cotton sheets would be so sleek and soft he'd barely feel them on his skin. And then he'd sleep, knowing that nobody would come into his room in the middle of the night to drag him out of the bed and pin him to the floor. And then he'd put on his new grey suit, go to a restaurant and order caviar. On steak.
There were about three times as many men on the other side of the gates as there were when he was brought in. Father was out front, holding a machine gun, sporting a bulletproof vest over his dress shirt and suit trousers. It would be funny, if not for the look on his face.
"Arthur," he gasped, lowering his weapon, and for a second it looked like his knees would buckle and he'd lose his footing.
"Oh, thank fuck," loudly whispered one of the men behind him. The soldiers still looked formidable, ready to strike, but the relief shining on their faces was bordering on unprofessional.
"Father, hello. What's all this, were you planning to storm the Facility?"
Uther let out a short shaky laugh.
"Just as well that we don't have to," he said. "This would've been the first ever attempt."
"I'm touched by your concern," Arthur meant for that to sound flippant, even funny, but his voice faltered in the middle and it came out completely wrong.
"You know I'd turn this place inside out if you weren't standing here now. How are you holding up?"
"Fine. I'm fine. Food could be better, but, yes, I'm fine," he remembered the bruise on his face and tapped at it before Father could ask. "I had a minor altercation. But we knew there would be some hostility, it was to be expected. I think we've established our boundaries. So, I'm fine now."
"I had no doubt you would be," said Uther vehemently. "You're brave, strong and resourceful, and they are nothing but cowards."
He wondered what Father would say if he told him the truth about what happened, and that the only reason he was still alive and fit to walk was that he was now officially a personal prison bitch of a goofy kid with enormous ears. "But that’s okay, Father," he imagined himself saying. "I don't mind so much, because I rather fancy the pants off him." Surprisingly, the thought helped him keep his smile easy and effortless, instead of nauseating him with panic like he expected it to.
"I take it you don't have good news for me," he said, to get it over with while he still felt he could take this blow like a man.
"I'm sorry. Not yet."
Arthur nodded and bit hard into the inside of his cheek. Now he wished he'd let himself cry this morning while nobody was there to see, maybe it would've taken the edge off. But he wasn't going to break down into hysterics in front of his father and a squad of soldiers. It was always a very slim hope.
"But I'm not going to give up, I will get you out, I swear. For now I'm going to try to transfer you into the other Facility. It's fully manned, you'll be safe there."
"You want to transfer me to the female prison?" Arthur asked, more confused than offended. "How? In drag?"
"Obviously, you'd be placed in a solitary unit. As you would be here, if this place was fully operational. We can make it happen, if we prove there is a cause to fear for your safety."
"I don't think I'm at the point where I want to be safe in a twenty square feet room. There's no telling how long - I'd really rather not. I need to clear my name, father, then we can put this all behind us. The tapes - has there been any new information?"
"The experts are baffled, they can't see..."
"Well, the tapes were clearly falsified with magic. Have they been checked by... relevant experts?"
"What do you mean?" asked Uther cautiously. It wasn't the best conversation to have in front of all the soldiers, clearly, but Arthur couldn't stop half way.
"Don't we have someone working for us? Someone with the skill set?"
"Are you asking if I have a pet sorcerer stashed somewhere? Arthur, that's preposterous. All known warlocks are right here. Legal and ethical questions aside, they are far too dangerous and unstable to be trusted. I told you that thousands of times, and I think recent events should have proven this to you once more."
"I'm sorry, I just thought... I got confused. Today I saw a man blast a hole through a concrete wall without breaking a sweat. It made me wonder what's keeping them from dismantling the fence and taking off - I assumed we had countermeasures in place."
"We do. Guns. And they know they have nowhere else to go if they run. This is currently the safest place for the likes of them."
He nodded, chastised, but stormy expression on father's face was already melting into a soft, concerned frown.
"We don't need any help from the enemy, Arthur. We'll beat this with our own power, I promise."
"Of course. Oh, but just so I know what I'm dealing with here, what can you tell me about an inmate called Merlin? I don't know his last name."
"Nobody does," said Uther, after a short pause. He looked uneasy. Or possibly just surprised. Arthur had always found it difficult to read his father's moods, and wasn't getting any better at it with age. "Why do you ask? Is he still alive?"
"Yes, I know, shocking, I have no idea how he managed that, either. He doesn't seem to have a shred of sense or self-preservation instinct."
"No. What he has is a psychiatric disorder."
"That's baseline here, isn't it?" Arthur said, careful not to show impatience. "What's his particular malfunction?"
"I've suspected learning disability, perhaps developmental retardation. He's got that look about him. But his IQ tested normal. That doesn't mean he's mentally healthy, of course. Edwin Muirden's college IQ tests, for example, place him in the exceptionally gifted band. It's important to keep that in mind."
"Yes, father, I think I already know that Merlin isn't an evil genius. What's his diagnosis?"
"Ungraded retrograde amnesia compounded by dissociative fugue state. His mind is a blank on all things prior to his arrest. All we have on him is his first name."
"That must've been some exciting arrest, to wipe out his memory like that," said Arthur, recalling Merlin's vague words about 'circumstances'.
"There's nothing special in the reports. He hadn't resisted. He was found wandering around in the fields, already confused. Gaius thought his condition had started prior to that, as a result of magic-induced brain damage. It's not that uncommon - magic does these things to them, more often than not. It's a part of what they are. Sanity is the price they pay gladly, if they think it can buy them more power."
"But while he was here, did he..."
"Arthur, I understand your interest in those that surround you here. This is a difficult situation, and you feel isolated. But you can't make any allies here, and you definitely shouldn't make more enemies than we already have. Just leave them be. They are mentally disturbed criminals, infused with power that twists and erodes their minds the way no drug does. You can't trust them and you can't even truly communicate with them. You should know that."
"Of course. I know."
The empty vats had been wheeled out by now, and the new ones were dropped in. The inmates formed an orderly line, helpfully passing filled plates around. They seemed like such an amicable bunch when they just interacted among themselves and didn't have a Pendragon to play with.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Arthur said. "I better go get some of that delicious yuck. Supper might be not the most important meal of the day, but around here it's definitely the least mouldy one."
"Yes, tomorrow. Just stay calm, you're doing great, Arthur. I have every faith in you."
When the gates slammed shut it was, despite everything, something of a weight off his shoulders. Now he knew he was most likely stuck here for good while, and he could stop hoping for a swift rescue and start adjusting to this life.
He had to turn around and face the inmates, and walk back to the cell block past them, just like he tried to yesterday. But before he could muster enough resolve to do it Merlin was right there, his long-fingered hand resting on the back of Arthur's neck. It was the first time Merlin had touched him like that, skin to skin, calmly and possessively. It should have been invasive, annoying, but it felt good. Soothing.
"Let's go inside," Merlin said.
Arthur let him lead and steer him like a lost child, or a kitten carried around by the scruff of his neck. By the time they were climbing the stairs he recovered enough to feel shame and indignation. He jerked his shoulders to dislodge Merlin's hand, and the man immediately threw his arms up, palms outward in a placating gesture, like Arthur really was a child traumatised by bad touching.
"We talked about you," said Arthur, in the interests of fair play and full disclosure. Merlin winced.
"Yeah, what did he say," he muttered weakly.
"Father told me about your, eh," Arthur waved his hand near his temple. "Mental affliction. Dissociative fugue, right? Sounds nasty. Do you still have that?"
"Oh, that, yes, I do," said Merlin, nodding gravely, his eyes wide open and extremely guileless. That did make him look kind of retarded, Arthur could see Uther's point on that one. "That fugue, it's a real bummer."
"So you don't remember anything before prison?"
"Nope. Nothing."
"Except for making fake twenties and buying things in the shops with them."
"Except for that, yes!" said Merlin, not missing a beat and opening his eyes even wider. "Isn't it strange how the mind works? Mysterious even!"
"Here are two things that I don't understand," Arthur said. "One - why are you lying to me? We're both already stuck in here, what is it you think you need to hide?"
Merlin's mouth briefly twisted - for a moment he looked ashamed, almost pained. He let the innocent look fall off his face and stared at Arthur challengingly.
"You'll be out eventually," he said. "Come on, you must know the laws. Your father probably read you his work files for bedtime stories. What do you think I need to hide?"
And then Arthur understood, and as much as it galled to be mistrusted and lied to he couldn't really blame him. He'd probably have done exactly the same, if he was guilty. Not that he would've had an opportunity to. Everyone knew who he was: he had accompanied his father at every function for years, and used to come to the court hearings. He was the witness for the prosecution at one of them, not that long ago. When the police saw the tapes they'd recognised him straight away and came to his home to drag him out of bed only a few hours after the murders. He would guess that whoever framed him had been counting on that.
But if it had all been different, and if he was guilty, that's what he would do, too. He'd forget his last name and made sure this madness and shame ended with him, and never touched his family.
"Bah," he said. "I think you're just trying to be interesting."
Merlin rolled his eyes at him, trying to look annoyed, but obviously relieved. He was smiling again, a huge grin that seemed bigger than his thin face, that crinkled his eyes and gave him soft dimples. Arthur had to figure out how to make him smile like this more often.
"And the second thing," he said. "How did an idiot like you manage to score normal on IQ test? You faked that too, didn't you?"
"Arthur, think about it logically. Wouldn't I need to be really smart to be able to fool an intelligence test?" Merlin asked, blinking at him earnestly.
"With you, Merlin, who knows."
They rounded last corner to their cells and stopped dead in their tracks.
"To answer your question, Merlin is indeed quite intelligent," said Muirden. He was in their cell, sitting on their bed. Mordred also sat on the edge of the bunk, very still; there was more than an arm's reach distance between them, but that didn't make Arthur feel any better. "What he lacks in is wisdom."
"Oh great," said Merlin, looking completely unconcerned, if mildly peeved. "An intervention."
"No, it's only me, with a bit of a friendly advice. Mordred let me wait here so we could have a talk away from the prying ears. I think you know what I'm here to say."
"I don't have to explain myself to you, Edwin," said Merlin. He walked into the cell, not showing any intention of freaking out or starting a warlock face-off. Arthur followed him and, to salvage some dignity after all the trailing after Merlin he'd done in last twenty four hours, grabbed their only chair and sprawled in it.
"No, Merlin, you don't. I still understand you very well. I know you think you're being noble. But given your history, it looks like weakness."
"Weakness," said Merlin, deadpan. Muirden sighed and shook his head.
"You've claimed the boy, and it's no more than your due, of course. But you're not handling this right, and you clearly haven't thought it through. What is your take on what's going on and why is he here?"
"Somebody framed him."
"Of course. He's empty, it's very obvious. Not a spark of a talent. Move on from that."
Merlin chewed at his lower lip, thinking. Arthur didn't like him taking cues form Muirden, but he felt too out of his depth to do anything about it yet.
"It's not about Arthur, it's about Uther," Merlin said. "Revenge?"
"Yes, it may be as simple as that. But let's assume our mystery friend is actually smart. What are they trying to gain?"
"Leverage," Merlin nodded certainly. "If Uther breaks the law for his son, he'd be vulnerable. They could blackmail him."
"Well, that failed. Daddy doesn't love poor Arthur all that much, it seems. Now, after a bit of media storm when his competence would be briefly called into question, he'll only be seen as a stalwart tragic figure, and he'll be unstoppable. He knows how to milk these things, he's gotten a lot of mileage out of his dead wife back in the day. What's the fallback plan?"
Arthur dug his fingers into the edge of the chair and took a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm. It would feel amazing to lunge forward and slam his fist into Muirden's ruined face, mangle it even more and make him eat his words. But he knew what Muirden was capable of. When he'd fight him, which was probably inevitable, Arthur wanted the element of surprise. And he definitely didn't want Merlin and Mordred this close, so close they could both be incinerated by the first spell Muirden cast.
"I don't know," mumbled Merlin. "Are they smart enough for fallbacks?"
"Let's say they are. And let's say they pay attention to our plight and they don't like what you've done with the place."
"What? Now it's suddenly about me?"
"Oh, I don't know that for sure. But I know that there are people out there who are centuries old, whose power and foresight neither of us can even begin to comprehend. Your actions had to have attracted their attention. They might not support your decisions, you know not everyone in here does. They might want to undermine you. And this could be their first move."
"No, that's - Edwin, that's pretty unlikely. It's been over a year, why would they have waited?"
"Quite the opposite, this is the perfect timing. You don't know this, because you've distanced yourself from your own people. And they are getting bored and restless. The shock has worn off, the old fears are forgotten. Hardly anyone remembers how bad the past was, but they all think that the present could be so much better. And now, on top of that, they are feeling betrayed."
"Why? Because I took Arthur from them?"
"No, Merlin. Because you're acting as this boy's bodyguard, and that - no, listen to me, Merlin - that makes you look like Pendragon's puppet. Last time was not without flair, granted, but it was still controversial at best. This time sets a pattern, and it isn't a flattering one. If a Pendragon can once again walk among these walls, safe and smug, while we watch helplessly, then things haven't really changed at all. "
"Just get to the point, Edwin, please, say what you want to say and leave," said Merlin tiredly. Muirden stood up and meticulously straightened the sleeves of his labcoat.
"There will be a new riot if you carry on like this," he said. "It's that simple. There will be blood again. I don't think you want that."
"I'm not letting anyone touch him."
"Nobody disputes your claim, you can have him. But you need to use him. He can't be your friend, not like Mordred, or Charlie, or the others, and it's a grave insult to everyone that you treat him like this. You can cherish and spoil him, if you like, he's quite a prize, but use him. Let people know that Pendragon's first-born is nothing but your toy, and it'll satisfy everyone's need for justice. People will see that you're still on our side, and we'll all stay safe. You know I'm right, Merlin."
He walked out unhurriedly. Merlin slumped against the wall and let out a sigh that was almost a groan.
"Why do I even still talk to him," he muttered.
"He's not very nice, but he's clever," said Mordred. He smirked at Arthur, gathered his toys and a pillow into his arms, jumped off the bed and headed to the other cell. He halted in the doorway, gave them a bow and intoned gravely: "Brigit bless this coupling."
"Gross, Mordred!" squeaked Merlin, turning bright red. The little shit just giggled and ran out.
"Okaaay," said Arthur. "That was... disturbing."
"Yeah, I know, well - Mordred's a druid. They have, like, fertility festivals, it's a different culture."
"Not that. Although that too, don't get me wrong. But you. I think you really are the prison overlord!"
"I'm not!" yelled Merlin, flapping his arms in agitation. "I'm just me!"
"What did Muirden mean about your actions attracting attention? What did you do?"
"Arthur, no, don't listen to him! Seriously, don't listen to anything Edwin says, he messes with people - I thought you knew that! You told me yourself, that's what he does!"
"You said something about - it's been over a year. And he said..."
Arthur turned the conversation around in his head, trying to put together everything he's heard and seen here so far.
"Merlin," he said. "Was it you? Did you start the riot?"
"No!"
"You were here at the time. It makes sense, with the way they all treat you. Look, clearly you didn't mean for all that to happen, you're - well, you're you. You couldn't have. I guess you just did something really stupid and it all got out of control."
Merlin groaned, collapsed on the bed and buried his head in his arms.
"Hey, we all make bad decisions from time to time," Arthur said soothingly, because it looked like Merlin was about to have a full-on emo-fest. "Some of us more than others, granted. But, you know, even me, there are things I'm not proud of. There was a girl..."
"Of course there was," laughed Merlin bitterly, still hiding his face. "I don't want to hear about your conquests right now, all right?"
"Oh, sorry, what was I thinking? I guess you can't really be seen having heart-to-hearts with your fun-sized Pendragon toy, can you now."
"Wow," said Merlin, lifting his arms to give him a murderous glare. "Does everyone in your family get special training on how to be a prick? Or is it all just pure genetics?"
"Whatever," said Arthur. "What are you going to do?"
Muirden had to be working his own angle, of course, trying to unsettle Merlin, use whatever internal rifts existed between the warlocks to play in his favour. But it didn't mean his words weren't worth considering. All Arthur's experience and studies told him that no matter how much power a man had it was always, to a certain extent, an illusion, something borrowed. It depended completely on others letting him have and keep that power. Whether they did it because the leader was trusted or because he was feared, the bottom line was the same. As soon as a man of power stopped playing by the rules, whatever they were, he'd be finished.
As he was transported to the Facility, there was a short moment mid-drive when they'd nearly lost it. Father had stopped the van, unlocked Arthur's restraints, shoved at him a thick wad of cash and started talking about making for Dover. It was understandable, and Arthur had been almost scared enough to take the money and run. But they both knew that Uther would never recover from breaking the very laws he helped institute. What had been once his personal crusade was now bigger than him, woven into the fabric of the government, unstoppable and undeniable - just the way Uther had wanted it, the way it had to be to work - and now someone had turned all that work against them. But they had to keep playing by the rules, if Uther was to stay in power and in the position to fix this, to save Arthur and punish their enemy. If Arthur had let him break the law they'd both be criminals now, powerless, with no one to help them.
Merlin's inexplicable power over the inmates could be gone in a blink of an eye, too. Arthur didn't know yet what the laws of this place were and how it all worked, but what Muirden said did make sense. If they saw Merlin going soft on a Pendragon, of all people, they wouldn't trust or fear him anymore. They'd turn on him and rip him apart.
He tried to think about his response, what he should do if Merlin would choose to follow Muirden's advise and, as he put it, use him, let the others see that. There were a lot of things to consider. Pride, survival - probably for both of them - and the little matter of Merlin probably being able to overpower him with magic anyway.
Merlin's neck and wrists looked striking from this angle; slender, strong, lovely. And Arthur was going stop ogling any minute now, and he was not going to factor Merlin's bone structure in any of his decisions.
"I'm going to think," said Merlin miserably. "And then I'm going to sleep. Could you just - try to not talk for a while? I'm seriously not in the mood for any more of your crap."
Arthur rolled his eyes, climbed on the top bunk and stretched out, trying to get comfortable. He needed to get used to sleeping on those horrid mattresses.
Merlin's resolve to brood in silence lasted about three minutes.
"I did kind of make a lot of stupid decisions in my life," he said tragically.
"I guess you're lucky that you have that amnesia and officially can't remember about ninety percent of those."
Merlin chuckled a little. "Well, there is that, yeah," he said. "But there is one in particular that I regret right now."
"Is it about the riot?"
"I told you I didn't start that."
"Fine, fine. What then?"
"More like who. It's like that thing you're not proud of, with that girl."
"Yeah, I really doubt it's anything like that."
"Why, because your thing was so special that nobody else can possibly relate?"
"Don't be a bitch, Merlin, just tell the damn story."
"All right. There was a guy that I kind of - I thought I was in love with," said Merlin and held a long dramatic pause.
"If that's your tragic secret, then it's, well, tragic in its lameness. You've been in prison since you were what, sixteen? I should hope for your sake that there was at least one guy at some point."
"Since I was eighteen, I think. But that's not it."
He was silent for so long that after a while Arthur itched to climb down and kick him.
"The suspense, it's failing to kill me," he said. "Are you asleep? Did you bore yourself to sleep with your own breakup story?"
"No, my breakup story is really exciting. It has explosions. And you don't get to hear it. What I'm saying is, once emotions are involved, good or bad, it's hard to tell who you can trust. Maybe I'm just being paranoid because I got hurt, you know? I'm just - I might be about to make a mistake."
"Yeah, I have no idea what you're on about. But - for what it's worth, you can trust me. I owe you one."
"Do you trust me, Arthur?"
"Yes," he said easily. "I mean. I know you're hiding something, and you lie an awful lot. Badly. And I know I can hardly trust you to make the right call, or keep us all alive. And I know some choices are – well, sometimes we're left with shit choices, all right. My father didn't want to put me in here, you know, but he had to. I know you also might have to make choices. But, generally speaking? Yes, I trust you."
Merlin didn't say anything to that. Arthur peeked down from his bunk, and Merlin pulled a weird face at him, not quite a smile and not quite a grimace. It looked like he was trying to hide what his face was actually doing at the time.
"You know what's the worst thing about the prison, Merlin?" Arthur asked.
"Yes, I do, in fact. Bit of an expert here. That would be, oh let's see, yes: it being a prison."
"Fair point. But I was talking about boredom. It's going to be a problem."
"You get used to it. Sleep a lot, try not to think too much, and eventually you won't care any more."
"You're crap at cheering a person up, you know that? Actually, is there something you're good at? I'm genuinely curious."
"Magic," said Merlin matter-of-factly. "I'm pretty good at that. In fact, I just might be the greatest sorcerer currently alive."
Next part
Fandom: Merlin BBC
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin and a bunch of less true pairings mentioned in the flashbacks.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings for this part: references to violence and non-con.
Summary: Modern AU. Originally written for this prompt at
kinkme_merlinBetaed by
devikunWord count: 9K for this part.
First part here
Part 3: Two bedroom place.
Arthur spent most of the day in Merlin's cell, trying to keep busy. Merlin did make a doorway into the adjoining cell, as he told him to. It only took a few whispered words and a wave of his hand; his eyes lit up once again, just for a second, and a door-sized chunk of concrete slowly fell out of the wall and crashed to pieces all over the floor.
Clearing out the debris and concrete dust that immediately coated everything took hours. Arthur suspected that magic could take care of that, too, but working helped him stay focused, even if he mostly managed Merlin and Mordred and only moved the heaviest chunks by himself. Also, seeing magic this close - and actually allowing and endorsing it - felt like breaking the law, and he wasn't even sure which law. He didn't have to report the warlock, they were already in prison, and nobody really cared what went on inside these walls as long as it stayed inside, but he still felt like he could get in trouble by just watching magic being used. Which was completely ridiculous, considering that he couldn't possibly dig himself any deeper than the charges he was facing already.
Once they were done, Merlin went out to fetch lunch, leaving Arthur alone in the cell. Mordred didn't really count. After getting a little excited during their redecorating effort the boy was now wiped out, and had gone back to his drawings, ignoring Arthur completely. Arthur left him to it, went into their new cell - just in case, so the kid wouldn't be right there if something happened - sat on the bottom bunk and waited, sweating buckets.
Now would be the first opportunity for the other inmates to attack him without directly confronting Merlin. They didn't have much of the window, just a few minutes – enough for a kill but not anything else, which they still might settle for. Unless they would coordinate their efforts and have someone delay Merlin in the yard, while the rest would strike here and drag Arthur somewhere else, where they could take their time with him. Merlin didn't seem at all concerned, but he was overconfident and hardly a genius.
The corner cells didn't have the full view of the rest of the block, so he couldn't see if they were already converging outside. They would surprise him when they would come, not that he could do much with a few seconds or even minutes of advance notice.
The cells were tiny, and normally this would be a great advantage for him. Even two attackers would only get in each other's way if they were to fight him inside. They'd have to come at him one by one, and he would be comfortable with those odds, even if there were knives involved. But none of that applied to these people. He didn't know what limitations they had, what their tactics were, what they could do to him with their magic.
He counted down seconds to steady himself as he watched the inmates walk up and down the stairs, along the cells across the block. Some of them would throw him a sidelong glance, but only for a second, and continue on their way. He listened to dozens of different footsteps on their side of the walkway, just outside where he couldn't see. They would shuffle past, approach, sometimes linger, drift further again. When Merlin returned with the plates Arthur was so pathetically pleased to see him he had to fight down the impulse to hug him.
The lunch was more of the same cold congealed goo they had for breakfast. That shouldn't have been a surprise, since all they had to eat was the food Uther brought in yesterday afternoon, but he still felt horribly cheated. He found himself looking forward to the next meal that would be brought in fresh today, hoping that it would be something different. Didn't even had have to be better. Just a different kind of goo would do. He ate as much as he could force himself to, mostly just to prove to himself that he wasn't so shaken up by his prison adventure as to lose his appetite.
"So," he asked, because they might as well have a conversation. "How long have you been here?"
"Mmm," said Merlin, looking uncertain. "I came in about, uhh, four, five months before the riot, I think.
"But that was over a year ago."
"That long?" asked Merlin without a spark of interest. "Huh. So what happened to you? You're not actually magic, this makes no sense."
"Somebody framed me," Arthur said. Now this was just like a prison movie; his next line should be 'The cops screwed me over, I'm innocent, I swear.' But he was innocent. This would be resolved soon, it had to be. "Why do you even ask? I thought everyone here already knew. They'd waited at the gates. How the hell did they know?"
"They scry, obviously," said Merlin. It sounded like 'They watch the news, obviously'. Arthur suddenly realised that this had to be in the news by now, and it had to be the front page story. Uther Pendragon's crusade against magic fails to uncover a deranged warlock in his own home. Arthur Pendragon: witch and mass murderer. All his friends had to know by now that he was thrown in the Facility, same one his father had built and ran; he could already imagine all the clever jokes. When he got out - and he would get out - this will be a hell of a thing to live down. Someone was bound to believe that he was guilty, that his father got him out by pulling some strings. He'd have to live with the whispers and rumours for years, maybe forever.
He wasn't even going to contemplate what would happen if they found out what had happened to him in here.
"I don't, so I didn't know anything," Merlin was saying. "I heard someone yelling that they brought Pendragon's kid in, and went to look what that was all about, and saw... um. So, what did they do, did someone plant magical things in your room?"
"Someone killed six people. In an all-night shop on my street. No survivors, no witnesses. All the tapes show me throwing fire from my hands, at the cashier, and the customers. There was a couple there, the girl only fourteen, the guy sixteen. There was..."
He remembered all the faces. They made him watch the tape about dozen times during the interrogation.
"I know the cashier, I shop there - I bought a Red Bull from him last week. We talked about football," he said, remembering the man's gap-toothed grin, his stretched earlobes and a rather stupid Arsenal tattoo on his arm. "They were killed around 2 am on Monday morning. They were lying there, dying, and I was home asleep. Apparently, this means no alibi and plenty of opportunity. And, well. It does look like it's me on the tapes. I have no clue how it was done, and nobody can tell. The police don't even believe that the tapes were faked."
"Of course they were faked. It's only tapes," Merlin shrugged. "Just images. Not hard to do at all."
"Oh, you're a forensic expert now?"
"Well, I haven't tried anything like that. But I used to make five quid bills into twenties all the time. That was pretty easy, and they held up under currency detectors in shops."
"What? Those bills aren't even the same size!"
"Not the same colour, either," Merlin grinned cheekily. "You're thinking about the second law of thermodynamics right now, don't you?"
"Shut up," he huffed. "Wait - did the twenties turn back into fivers later?"
"Don't see why they would," said Merlin thoughtfully. "Not unless I'd have fixed them to do that. But that would just be wrong, I used that money to pay for things."
"Yeah, whereas faking the legal tender is all right? So, the tapes are there to stay, most likely."
He tried to think, but he really needed more information. Merlin finished eating and just sat there, gracefully slumped against the wall, looking at him through his impossibly long eyelashes.
"It will all work out, Arthur," he said reassuringly. "You'll probably be out today."
"Yes, probably."
Uther was going to be here soon. He had to make himself presentable. His father had to see that he was fine.
"Do the showers still work?" he asked. "I haven't had a proper wash since the day before yesterday. I need a shave too, can you get me a razor? I guess hair gel is too much to hope for around here..."
He couldn't quite believe he was going to actually take a shower in prison. That he really was going to strip naked and stand there in the open, soaping himself, when Val and Muirden and any number of others could just waltz in. But he felt utterly filthy, he still had their sweat on his skin, and his whole body itched to be scrubbed clean and scoured with hot water.
"I'll come with you," said Merlin, and once again Arthur felt overwhelmingly, shamefully grateful.
"Yes, you'd better," he said. "I can actually smell you from here."
Merlin pouted at him all the way to the showers.
"Maybe we shouldn't leave Mordred alone," said Arthur belatedly, as Merlin rummaged in the rubble of a pillaged storage room for the supplies.
"He's not a baby, he's not going to choke on a crayon," muttered Merlin. "He'll find us anyway the moment he gets bored, he's impossible to lose even when you really want to."
"That's not what I meant. Someone might... do something to him."
"To Mordred? Oh, hardly. And why would they, he's one of us."
"They might target him to get back at you for yesterday."
"Don't worry about that," said Merlin, quite callously in Arthur's opinion, and handed him a bundle of toiletries wrapped in something that could only be a tea towel. A tiny, thin tea towel. It was grey with layers of perma-filth embedded into fabric from the months of use on an unknown number of badly washed bodies. The edge of the towel was striped with ancient dust, and when he attempted to brush it off it compacted under his fingers and turned into some unnatural breed of sticky, greasy superdust, possibly with mutant powers. Despite all that, the towel still somehow managed to unapologetically stink of bleach.
The showers were spectacularly disgusting. Black mould crept freely up the walls, rust stains spread around every pipe and drain, and the showers nozzles were covered in lime crust, green at the edges. The floor - he wasn't going to look at the floor. It was clear that nobody around here even considered cleaning in over a year. If he had any doubt that everyone here was completely wrong in the head, the state of their showers would be all the proof he needed.
He found a spot on the bench that didn't look like a giant Petri dish of deadly bacteria, and began taking off his clothes.
It wasn't as bad as it could've been. His skin wasn't broken anywhere, except for some scrapes on his wrist and a patch at his right shoulder blade where his t-shirt had stuck to his skin. He didn't want to look like a baby soaking and peeling it off, so he manfully yanked at it, hoping he wasn't taking a huge chunk of his skin off his back. To his relief, the t-shirt came off barely stained, and there was no blood on his shirt at all. He really didn't want his father to see any blood.
The bruises on his ribs and legs were livid purple, still hot and swollen to the touch. They would take ages to fade, especially since he wasn't working out. Even a jog would help to kick up the circulation and start dissolving the bruises; he had to stop hiding in Merlin's cell and exercise a bit, keep fit. Prison was supposed to be the place to go to get ripped, after all. Maybe they had a gym somewhere around here.
"Hey, there's no shampoo," he noted and turned around. Merlin was frozen mid-strip, half-stuck inside the top of his uniforms, staring at Arthur's naked flesh intently, with a hungry expression that was impossible to misinterpret.
In one panicked second Arthur's brain played back everything Merlin has said and done so far, putting this new spin on it. He had misread Merlin completely, from the minute they'd met. Merlin had lied when he'd said he didn't want anything from him. He hadn't pressed for payment upfront because he was biding his time, waiting for Arthur to start relying on him. He had dangled in front of Arthur this hope, the possibility that his time here didn't have to be one endless, degrading torture, gave him a taste of safety and companionship. Now it was going to be a lot harder to stay brave and proud than it was yesterday.
This was it, he wanted Arthur to repay him, it was going to happen now. Merlin didn't seem the type to enjoy using force, so he was going to ask nicely, give Arthur a choice. Arthur could accept. Really, that would be the smartest thing to do. Merlin had kept him safe so far, he wasn't cruel or bent on revenge, and he was undeniably attractive in that waifish, gawky way. It wasn't that great a price to pay, after all. Arthur could just nod, turn around and brace against the grimy tiles, bite down on his hand and let it happen. It would be over in minutes. It wouldn't be horrible - he was sure Merlin would be careful, even considerate. It could, in fact, be pretty good.
But even as he thought about it he knew he couldn't do it, not on his life, never. He was going to refuse, walk out and try his luck at surviving alone. It wasn't even about pride. As much as he needed an ally, it could never be someone who'd put a price like that on his friendship. Arthur couldn't trust a man with no honour, not with anything, wouldn't even be able to stand being around him.
Merlin met his eyes and jerked uncomfortably, managing to tangle a sleeve in the collar of his shirt and nearly strangle himself.
"What?" he asked. This attempt at nonchalance was so grating that Arthur decided it was time to force the issue. He'd love to get dressed first, but to scramble for clothes right now would make him look too skittish, weak.
"So this is why you left Mordred behind. You didn't want an audience for when you ask me to bend over," he said. "My answer's still no."
"Oh hell, you're at it again," moaned Merlin, rolling his eyes. "Do you really still think I'm weaving some elaborate plot against your virtue? Believe me, Arthur, I don't need to go to such stupid lengths to get laid around here."
"You want me. I saw you look at me," Arthur said bluntly, accusingly.
He wasn't quite sure what kind of response he was expecting, but it wasn't this shamed and horrified expression on Merlin's face. His white skin instantly paled even more, turning ashen.
"Yeah, fine!" Merlin yelled in indignation, even as his lips quivered helplessly. "You're naked and fit and I looked at you, all right? If we were in a gym shower in a secondary school I'm sure you and your homophobic footy mates would beat me up after class and you'd feel better. But we're not, so you'll just have to live with the horror of having been looked at by some fag, poor you!"
"Merlin, calm down," Arthur said, unpleasantly struck by the memory of that day back at school when Owen had caught him glancing at his arse in the showers. He'd been completely mortified when Owen had called him on that, and had yelled just like this himself to hide his embarrassment and fear.
Merlin grunted in frustration, ripped his shirt off and threw it on the dirty floor. His skin was so fair, flawless and almost glowing, with just a dusting of dark hair around his nipples. It suddenly seemed clear that he really hadn't planned to issue any ultimatums and demand sexual favours, and in that one guilty moment of eyeing his lean chest Arthur nearly regretted that.
"Well, can't really blame you, I guess," Arthur said with a shrug. "After all, I am so beautiful, you said it yourself."
"So bloody big-headed," huffed Merlin, turning pink with relief.
"I've made a mistake," said Arthur, because he did, and he owed the man an apology, and Merlin still looked a bit like a hurt puppy, which was heart-wrenching to see. "You've not given me any reason to think that of you. It was unfair."
"No, Arthur, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stared at you like a creep, it's the last thing you need right now."
"Whatever," Arthur said, more than ready to change the subject. "As I was saying, there's no shampoo."
"There's soap," said Merlin, wriggling out of the rest of his clothes. Naked, he didn't look at all gawky and awkward. Long-limbed, with straight angular shoulders and slim pale thighs, his cock hanging heavily between his legs, he was so...
Arthur turned on the shower and determinedly stuck his head under the spray. Of course, the water was ice cold, whatever he did with the taps. Naturally.
"You can't wash your hair with the soap, it leaves residue," he pointed out very reasonably, but Merlin still cackled behind his back, till the other shower started and Merlin's voice hitched from the cold. "What's so funny? I'm not even asking for a conditioner! I'm dealing with the situation, but seriously, nothing but soap? Are we supposed to shave with soap, too?"
"Well, your father issued us all with jojoba moisturisers and wild grape shaving gels, but we ran out now," said Merlin, needlessly sarcastically. "Ask him for more of that next time you see him. And also some caviar."
The scratches on his wrist, where somebody stepped on it yesterday and ground his hand against the gravel, were red and puffy, mildly infected. He soaped them liberally, for the lack of anything better, finished showering as unhurriedly as he could, given that his teeth were already clattering from the chill, and attempted to dry off with his stinky tea towel.
Merlin was already dressed, shaving at the sink in front of a broken, murky mirror.
"I got you clean uniforms," he said.
"I'm not convicted, I can wear my own clothes."
He knew his clothes weren't fresh by any stretch of imagination, but now when his own body smell wasn't interfering with his nose, his t-shirt positively reeked of stale sweat. He held his breath and pulled it on, shuddering a little with revulsion. He was determined to wear his own clothes through this whole ordeal. It was theoretically possible to be kept here indefinitely even without conviction. But in that case he was going to wear his own clothes till they rotted off his body. It was Abercrombie, so it was going to last for quite a while.
"Um. You know you've bled through your jeans, right?"
He hadn't noticed it before. There was a dark stain at the middle seam, more on the inside, but it had seeped all the way through the thick denim. It wasn't much blood, and it was completely dry, but it was there.
He stared at it and couldn't breathe, literally couldn't push air out of his chest, choked with sharp, crushing humiliation. He could feel it again, vividly as if was still happening, like he was still spread out in the dust in the middle of the prison yard, held down and split open on somebody's cock. His face burned and his heart was jerking painfully somewhere near his throat, and he knew he wouldn't be able to just ride it out and get a hold of himself. He was going to faint, die or throw up. Any of that would be a relief.
"Arthur?" said Merlin, looking so genuinely concerned that Arthur wanted to punch him. "Are you all right? I don't think it's bad, it's probably just a small tear inside you, must have healed by now..."
"Don't. Just. Don't."
It didn't even make sense to react this way. He wasn't ashamed of his bruises, and wasn't bothered by the scrape on his back. This was the same. It was exactly the same thing. Just an injury, like any other, nothing more.
"Why didn't you tell me before?" he yelled at Merlin, trying to channel his agonizing panic into anger. "You just let me walk around like this!"
"I'm not your personal valet, you know," Merlin said cattily and ripped the jeans from his shaking hands. He whispered a string of hissing sounds, and his eyes misted over in gold again, and the stain was gone. Completely vanished, not a trace.
"Thanks," Arthur muttered, and finished dressing. When he moved to the sinks, his face in the wrecked mirror was still beet-red, a little wild. But, somehow, just as irrational as the freak-out had been, he now felt better.
The cheap razor kept catching on his skin, and the swelling on his jaw wasn't making shaving any easier. Merlin watched him quietly, leaning against the wall nearby. Without the stubble, his hair curling wetly against his pale skin, he seemed even younger and prettier, heartbreakingly innocent. He looked like something pre-Raphaelites would draw: an angelic beauty with melancholy eyes, luminous and fragile, trapped against an odd, overcomplicated background.
"Can you do something about this shiner?" Arthur asked. "I don't want to freak out my father."
"Maybe. I'm not that good at healing, but it's just blood under skin, right? I could try to shift it..."
"Yeah, no. On the other thought, you might end up shifting half of my face somewhere unexpected."
It was almost time. He surveyed his lopsided face in the mirror once again and styled his hair as much as he could - it was limp and unruly under his fingers, but he couldn't have really expected his first day of prison not to be a bad hair day.
"Well," he said. "In case all of this has been settled and I'm walking out of here, I just want to say..."
He stumbled and realised that he was drawing a blank. That never failed to be unbearably frustrating. All those public speaking courses, debate club, advanced speech writing class - and he still sometimes choked up at the worst moment.
"Yeah, nice to meet you too, I guess," Merlin smiled sunnily. "I was also going to say, hopefully you now see that not all magic people are insane and evil, but then again, uh. Probably not. We haven't really made the best impression. And I'm sorry I didn't get to you earlier, I could've stopped them, but I - most of the time I don't want to know what they're up to. To be honest, I've been head in the sand about a lot of things here. And it's not right."
"It's not, no. I don't think I'll be quite the same after this, either."
"You'll be okay, Arthur. You're strong, you'll get through it."
"Not that, not what they did. That was nothing. I meant - things I saw here. I didn't want to know, I never stopped to think what it's like for you. People like you. And Mordred - he's going to grow up in prison. That's wrong, it shouldn't be happening, no matter who or what he is. I don't know what I can do about it, but..."
"Me and Mordred are fine here, this is where we belong," said Merlin overly cheerfully. "But - yes. Thank you. Maybe someday something will change. Maybe you'll change it."
"Maybe."
They were so close that he could see his own reflection in Merlin's eyes, twin images of his face superimposed against the blue. He could just lean over - reach out just a little bit - and kiss Merlin on the mouth. For a moment the temptation was almost overwhelming. He let himself imagine sweeping his tongue over that lush lower lip and nipping it with his teeth, making Merlin's breath stutter sweetly. He was certain Merlin would let him, and pretty sure he wouldn't tell anyone. Nobody would ever know. Just one kiss goodbye, just in case they were never going to see each other again. Just one taste.
If he knew for certain he was getting out, or even if he could hope in earnest, he would have done it right then. He gave Merlin a manly pat on the shoulder and walked out, heading for the main gates.
They were plenty of inmates in the yard, most tapping their feet impatiently with plates at the ready. Arthur found himself wondering if the food vats were empty by now. He wasn't sure how many rations they got, and if the amount was adjusted every time a new prisoner arrived. He likely ended up eating someone's fair share, and it definitely wasn't Val or Muirden who were left hungry.
Maybe they just wanted fresh food, he told himself, different kind of goo. Maybe today was going to be mac-n-cheese day. Merlin would be happy.
A dozen men stood in the middle of the yard, right where they had him down yesterday. At least some of them were the same ones; maybe all of them, he didn't put much effort into memorising their faces. They leered at him as he walked past; he braced for catcalls, insults, an attack, but they stayed still and silent. Val was toying with a torn, dirty piece of cloth, and Arthur nearly tripped over his feet when he recognised it as his ripped up boxers.
He half-expected to start freaking out again, but looking into Val's grinning face gave him enough adrenaline and healthy rage to keep it together. He gave them all a casual nod and strolled past, feeling their eyes on his back like prickly claws.
Merlin had walked at his side all the way from the showers, but now he left him alone and headed toward the men.
"This is what we're going to do," he said, addressing the whole bunch at once. "We're going to let him talk to his father. And if they're taking him back, we're going to let him go."
"Now why would we do that, Merlin?" asked Val, twirling Arthur's boxers on his finger. Merlin refused to be demoralised by dirty underwear.
"Because I say so," he said in a very soft, patient voice. "And because he doesn't belong here. But mostly? Because I say so."
"But don't you see, we have a hostage here! It's an opportunity..."
"Val, no."
Val's face darkened, but he was already ducking his head down, hunching almost submissively. He gritted his teeth and stepped back, clutching the boxers in his fist. It looked ridiculous; he was twice Merlin's size, he could easily kill him with one good punch to the head. He could probably snap Merlin's slender long neck with one of his meaty hands.
Merlin stood his ground, lanky and skinny, with no tension or fear in any line of his body. He nodded at the men, as if thanking them for their attention, and moved to the edge of the yard, away from the gates. He wouldn't look at Arthur any more, not even a last sidewise glance.
The gates shuddered with the loud metal clang, and began sliding open. The long untended to gears groaned and screeched somewhere inside the concrete, and Arthur couldn't help wondering how long would it be till the gates would rust shut and refuse to open again.
He couldn't help relishing the hope for all it was worth, either. The gates would open, and his father would be there, smiling and relieved, explaining how he made the whole unpleasant misunderstanding go away. Arthur would walk through the gates and leave this place and all the fear and filth behind, and go home. A long ride in father's car, with Mike the chauffeur chatting at him excitedly through the parting. A long, hot shower in his pristine bathroom - no, no, a fucking bubble bath. He'd take a bubble bath in the guest bathroom, the tub there was bigger. And then he'd wrap himself in his fluffy, freshly washed bathrobe, walk barefoot across the thick carpets and heated oakwood floors, and tumble into his bed naked, and the cotton sheets would be so sleek and soft he'd barely feel them on his skin. And then he'd sleep, knowing that nobody would come into his room in the middle of the night to drag him out of the bed and pin him to the floor. And then he'd put on his new grey suit, go to a restaurant and order caviar. On steak.
There were about three times as many men on the other side of the gates as there were when he was brought in. Father was out front, holding a machine gun, sporting a bulletproof vest over his dress shirt and suit trousers. It would be funny, if not for the look on his face.
"Arthur," he gasped, lowering his weapon, and for a second it looked like his knees would buckle and he'd lose his footing.
"Oh, thank fuck," loudly whispered one of the men behind him. The soldiers still looked formidable, ready to strike, but the relief shining on their faces was bordering on unprofessional.
"Father, hello. What's all this, were you planning to storm the Facility?"
Uther let out a short shaky laugh.
"Just as well that we don't have to," he said. "This would've been the first ever attempt."
"I'm touched by your concern," Arthur meant for that to sound flippant, even funny, but his voice faltered in the middle and it came out completely wrong.
"You know I'd turn this place inside out if you weren't standing here now. How are you holding up?"
"Fine. I'm fine. Food could be better, but, yes, I'm fine," he remembered the bruise on his face and tapped at it before Father could ask. "I had a minor altercation. But we knew there would be some hostility, it was to be expected. I think we've established our boundaries. So, I'm fine now."
"I had no doubt you would be," said Uther vehemently. "You're brave, strong and resourceful, and they are nothing but cowards."
He wondered what Father would say if he told him the truth about what happened, and that the only reason he was still alive and fit to walk was that he was now officially a personal prison bitch of a goofy kid with enormous ears. "But that’s okay, Father," he imagined himself saying. "I don't mind so much, because I rather fancy the pants off him." Surprisingly, the thought helped him keep his smile easy and effortless, instead of nauseating him with panic like he expected it to.
"I take it you don't have good news for me," he said, to get it over with while he still felt he could take this blow like a man.
"I'm sorry. Not yet."
Arthur nodded and bit hard into the inside of his cheek. Now he wished he'd let himself cry this morning while nobody was there to see, maybe it would've taken the edge off. But he wasn't going to break down into hysterics in front of his father and a squad of soldiers. It was always a very slim hope.
"But I'm not going to give up, I will get you out, I swear. For now I'm going to try to transfer you into the other Facility. It's fully manned, you'll be safe there."
"You want to transfer me to the female prison?" Arthur asked, more confused than offended. "How? In drag?"
"Obviously, you'd be placed in a solitary unit. As you would be here, if this place was fully operational. We can make it happen, if we prove there is a cause to fear for your safety."
"I don't think I'm at the point where I want to be safe in a twenty square feet room. There's no telling how long - I'd really rather not. I need to clear my name, father, then we can put this all behind us. The tapes - has there been any new information?"
"The experts are baffled, they can't see..."
"Well, the tapes were clearly falsified with magic. Have they been checked by... relevant experts?"
"What do you mean?" asked Uther cautiously. It wasn't the best conversation to have in front of all the soldiers, clearly, but Arthur couldn't stop half way.
"Don't we have someone working for us? Someone with the skill set?"
"Are you asking if I have a pet sorcerer stashed somewhere? Arthur, that's preposterous. All known warlocks are right here. Legal and ethical questions aside, they are far too dangerous and unstable to be trusted. I told you that thousands of times, and I think recent events should have proven this to you once more."
"I'm sorry, I just thought... I got confused. Today I saw a man blast a hole through a concrete wall without breaking a sweat. It made me wonder what's keeping them from dismantling the fence and taking off - I assumed we had countermeasures in place."
"We do. Guns. And they know they have nowhere else to go if they run. This is currently the safest place for the likes of them."
He nodded, chastised, but stormy expression on father's face was already melting into a soft, concerned frown.
"We don't need any help from the enemy, Arthur. We'll beat this with our own power, I promise."
"Of course. Oh, but just so I know what I'm dealing with here, what can you tell me about an inmate called Merlin? I don't know his last name."
"Nobody does," said Uther, after a short pause. He looked uneasy. Or possibly just surprised. Arthur had always found it difficult to read his father's moods, and wasn't getting any better at it with age. "Why do you ask? Is he still alive?"
"Yes, I know, shocking, I have no idea how he managed that, either. He doesn't seem to have a shred of sense or self-preservation instinct."
"No. What he has is a psychiatric disorder."
"That's baseline here, isn't it?" Arthur said, careful not to show impatience. "What's his particular malfunction?"
"I've suspected learning disability, perhaps developmental retardation. He's got that look about him. But his IQ tested normal. That doesn't mean he's mentally healthy, of course. Edwin Muirden's college IQ tests, for example, place him in the exceptionally gifted band. It's important to keep that in mind."
"Yes, father, I think I already know that Merlin isn't an evil genius. What's his diagnosis?"
"Ungraded retrograde amnesia compounded by dissociative fugue state. His mind is a blank on all things prior to his arrest. All we have on him is his first name."
"That must've been some exciting arrest, to wipe out his memory like that," said Arthur, recalling Merlin's vague words about 'circumstances'.
"There's nothing special in the reports. He hadn't resisted. He was found wandering around in the fields, already confused. Gaius thought his condition had started prior to that, as a result of magic-induced brain damage. It's not that uncommon - magic does these things to them, more often than not. It's a part of what they are. Sanity is the price they pay gladly, if they think it can buy them more power."
"But while he was here, did he..."
"Arthur, I understand your interest in those that surround you here. This is a difficult situation, and you feel isolated. But you can't make any allies here, and you definitely shouldn't make more enemies than we already have. Just leave them be. They are mentally disturbed criminals, infused with power that twists and erodes their minds the way no drug does. You can't trust them and you can't even truly communicate with them. You should know that."
"Of course. I know."
The empty vats had been wheeled out by now, and the new ones were dropped in. The inmates formed an orderly line, helpfully passing filled plates around. They seemed like such an amicable bunch when they just interacted among themselves and didn't have a Pendragon to play with.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Arthur said. "I better go get some of that delicious yuck. Supper might be not the most important meal of the day, but around here it's definitely the least mouldy one."
"Yes, tomorrow. Just stay calm, you're doing great, Arthur. I have every faith in you."
When the gates slammed shut it was, despite everything, something of a weight off his shoulders. Now he knew he was most likely stuck here for good while, and he could stop hoping for a swift rescue and start adjusting to this life.
He had to turn around and face the inmates, and walk back to the cell block past them, just like he tried to yesterday. But before he could muster enough resolve to do it Merlin was right there, his long-fingered hand resting on the back of Arthur's neck. It was the first time Merlin had touched him like that, skin to skin, calmly and possessively. It should have been invasive, annoying, but it felt good. Soothing.
"Let's go inside," Merlin said.
Arthur let him lead and steer him like a lost child, or a kitten carried around by the scruff of his neck. By the time they were climbing the stairs he recovered enough to feel shame and indignation. He jerked his shoulders to dislodge Merlin's hand, and the man immediately threw his arms up, palms outward in a placating gesture, like Arthur really was a child traumatised by bad touching.
"We talked about you," said Arthur, in the interests of fair play and full disclosure. Merlin winced.
"Yeah, what did he say," he muttered weakly.
"Father told me about your, eh," Arthur waved his hand near his temple. "Mental affliction. Dissociative fugue, right? Sounds nasty. Do you still have that?"
"Oh, that, yes, I do," said Merlin, nodding gravely, his eyes wide open and extremely guileless. That did make him look kind of retarded, Arthur could see Uther's point on that one. "That fugue, it's a real bummer."
"So you don't remember anything before prison?"
"Nope. Nothing."
"Except for making fake twenties and buying things in the shops with them."
"Except for that, yes!" said Merlin, not missing a beat and opening his eyes even wider. "Isn't it strange how the mind works? Mysterious even!"
"Here are two things that I don't understand," Arthur said. "One - why are you lying to me? We're both already stuck in here, what is it you think you need to hide?"
Merlin's mouth briefly twisted - for a moment he looked ashamed, almost pained. He let the innocent look fall off his face and stared at Arthur challengingly.
"You'll be out eventually," he said. "Come on, you must know the laws. Your father probably read you his work files for bedtime stories. What do you think I need to hide?"
And then Arthur understood, and as much as it galled to be mistrusted and lied to he couldn't really blame him. He'd probably have done exactly the same, if he was guilty. Not that he would've had an opportunity to. Everyone knew who he was: he had accompanied his father at every function for years, and used to come to the court hearings. He was the witness for the prosecution at one of them, not that long ago. When the police saw the tapes they'd recognised him straight away and came to his home to drag him out of bed only a few hours after the murders. He would guess that whoever framed him had been counting on that.
But if it had all been different, and if he was guilty, that's what he would do, too. He'd forget his last name and made sure this madness and shame ended with him, and never touched his family.
"Bah," he said. "I think you're just trying to be interesting."
Merlin rolled his eyes at him, trying to look annoyed, but obviously relieved. He was smiling again, a huge grin that seemed bigger than his thin face, that crinkled his eyes and gave him soft dimples. Arthur had to figure out how to make him smile like this more often.
"And the second thing," he said. "How did an idiot like you manage to score normal on IQ test? You faked that too, didn't you?"
"Arthur, think about it logically. Wouldn't I need to be really smart to be able to fool an intelligence test?" Merlin asked, blinking at him earnestly.
"With you, Merlin, who knows."
They rounded last corner to their cells and stopped dead in their tracks.
"To answer your question, Merlin is indeed quite intelligent," said Muirden. He was in their cell, sitting on their bed. Mordred also sat on the edge of the bunk, very still; there was more than an arm's reach distance between them, but that didn't make Arthur feel any better. "What he lacks in is wisdom."
"Oh great," said Merlin, looking completely unconcerned, if mildly peeved. "An intervention."
"No, it's only me, with a bit of a friendly advice. Mordred let me wait here so we could have a talk away from the prying ears. I think you know what I'm here to say."
"I don't have to explain myself to you, Edwin," said Merlin. He walked into the cell, not showing any intention of freaking out or starting a warlock face-off. Arthur followed him and, to salvage some dignity after all the trailing after Merlin he'd done in last twenty four hours, grabbed their only chair and sprawled in it.
"No, Merlin, you don't. I still understand you very well. I know you think you're being noble. But given your history, it looks like weakness."
"Weakness," said Merlin, deadpan. Muirden sighed and shook his head.
"You've claimed the boy, and it's no more than your due, of course. But you're not handling this right, and you clearly haven't thought it through. What is your take on what's going on and why is he here?"
"Somebody framed him."
"Of course. He's empty, it's very obvious. Not a spark of a talent. Move on from that."
Merlin chewed at his lower lip, thinking. Arthur didn't like him taking cues form Muirden, but he felt too out of his depth to do anything about it yet.
"It's not about Arthur, it's about Uther," Merlin said. "Revenge?"
"Yes, it may be as simple as that. But let's assume our mystery friend is actually smart. What are they trying to gain?"
"Leverage," Merlin nodded certainly. "If Uther breaks the law for his son, he'd be vulnerable. They could blackmail him."
"Well, that failed. Daddy doesn't love poor Arthur all that much, it seems. Now, after a bit of media storm when his competence would be briefly called into question, he'll only be seen as a stalwart tragic figure, and he'll be unstoppable. He knows how to milk these things, he's gotten a lot of mileage out of his dead wife back in the day. What's the fallback plan?"
Arthur dug his fingers into the edge of the chair and took a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm. It would feel amazing to lunge forward and slam his fist into Muirden's ruined face, mangle it even more and make him eat his words. But he knew what Muirden was capable of. When he'd fight him, which was probably inevitable, Arthur wanted the element of surprise. And he definitely didn't want Merlin and Mordred this close, so close they could both be incinerated by the first spell Muirden cast.
"I don't know," mumbled Merlin. "Are they smart enough for fallbacks?"
"Let's say they are. And let's say they pay attention to our plight and they don't like what you've done with the place."
"What? Now it's suddenly about me?"
"Oh, I don't know that for sure. But I know that there are people out there who are centuries old, whose power and foresight neither of us can even begin to comprehend. Your actions had to have attracted their attention. They might not support your decisions, you know not everyone in here does. They might want to undermine you. And this could be their first move."
"No, that's - Edwin, that's pretty unlikely. It's been over a year, why would they have waited?"
"Quite the opposite, this is the perfect timing. You don't know this, because you've distanced yourself from your own people. And they are getting bored and restless. The shock has worn off, the old fears are forgotten. Hardly anyone remembers how bad the past was, but they all think that the present could be so much better. And now, on top of that, they are feeling betrayed."
"Why? Because I took Arthur from them?"
"No, Merlin. Because you're acting as this boy's bodyguard, and that - no, listen to me, Merlin - that makes you look like Pendragon's puppet. Last time was not without flair, granted, but it was still controversial at best. This time sets a pattern, and it isn't a flattering one. If a Pendragon can once again walk among these walls, safe and smug, while we watch helplessly, then things haven't really changed at all. "
"Just get to the point, Edwin, please, say what you want to say and leave," said Merlin tiredly. Muirden stood up and meticulously straightened the sleeves of his labcoat.
"There will be a new riot if you carry on like this," he said. "It's that simple. There will be blood again. I don't think you want that."
"I'm not letting anyone touch him."
"Nobody disputes your claim, you can have him. But you need to use him. He can't be your friend, not like Mordred, or Charlie, or the others, and it's a grave insult to everyone that you treat him like this. You can cherish and spoil him, if you like, he's quite a prize, but use him. Let people know that Pendragon's first-born is nothing but your toy, and it'll satisfy everyone's need for justice. People will see that you're still on our side, and we'll all stay safe. You know I'm right, Merlin."
He walked out unhurriedly. Merlin slumped against the wall and let out a sigh that was almost a groan.
"Why do I even still talk to him," he muttered.
"He's not very nice, but he's clever," said Mordred. He smirked at Arthur, gathered his toys and a pillow into his arms, jumped off the bed and headed to the other cell. He halted in the doorway, gave them a bow and intoned gravely: "Brigit bless this coupling."
"Gross, Mordred!" squeaked Merlin, turning bright red. The little shit just giggled and ran out.
"Okaaay," said Arthur. "That was... disturbing."
"Yeah, I know, well - Mordred's a druid. They have, like, fertility festivals, it's a different culture."
"Not that. Although that too, don't get me wrong. But you. I think you really are the prison overlord!"
"I'm not!" yelled Merlin, flapping his arms in agitation. "I'm just me!"
"What did Muirden mean about your actions attracting attention? What did you do?"
"Arthur, no, don't listen to him! Seriously, don't listen to anything Edwin says, he messes with people - I thought you knew that! You told me yourself, that's what he does!"
"You said something about - it's been over a year. And he said..."
Arthur turned the conversation around in his head, trying to put together everything he's heard and seen here so far.
"Merlin," he said. "Was it you? Did you start the riot?"
"No!"
"You were here at the time. It makes sense, with the way they all treat you. Look, clearly you didn't mean for all that to happen, you're - well, you're you. You couldn't have. I guess you just did something really stupid and it all got out of control."
Merlin groaned, collapsed on the bed and buried his head in his arms.
"Hey, we all make bad decisions from time to time," Arthur said soothingly, because it looked like Merlin was about to have a full-on emo-fest. "Some of us more than others, granted. But, you know, even me, there are things I'm not proud of. There was a girl..."
"Of course there was," laughed Merlin bitterly, still hiding his face. "I don't want to hear about your conquests right now, all right?"
"Oh, sorry, what was I thinking? I guess you can't really be seen having heart-to-hearts with your fun-sized Pendragon toy, can you now."
"Wow," said Merlin, lifting his arms to give him a murderous glare. "Does everyone in your family get special training on how to be a prick? Or is it all just pure genetics?"
"Whatever," said Arthur. "What are you going to do?"
Muirden had to be working his own angle, of course, trying to unsettle Merlin, use whatever internal rifts existed between the warlocks to play in his favour. But it didn't mean his words weren't worth considering. All Arthur's experience and studies told him that no matter how much power a man had it was always, to a certain extent, an illusion, something borrowed. It depended completely on others letting him have and keep that power. Whether they did it because the leader was trusted or because he was feared, the bottom line was the same. As soon as a man of power stopped playing by the rules, whatever they were, he'd be finished.
As he was transported to the Facility, there was a short moment mid-drive when they'd nearly lost it. Father had stopped the van, unlocked Arthur's restraints, shoved at him a thick wad of cash and started talking about making for Dover. It was understandable, and Arthur had been almost scared enough to take the money and run. But they both knew that Uther would never recover from breaking the very laws he helped institute. What had been once his personal crusade was now bigger than him, woven into the fabric of the government, unstoppable and undeniable - just the way Uther had wanted it, the way it had to be to work - and now someone had turned all that work against them. But they had to keep playing by the rules, if Uther was to stay in power and in the position to fix this, to save Arthur and punish their enemy. If Arthur had let him break the law they'd both be criminals now, powerless, with no one to help them.
Merlin's inexplicable power over the inmates could be gone in a blink of an eye, too. Arthur didn't know yet what the laws of this place were and how it all worked, but what Muirden said did make sense. If they saw Merlin going soft on a Pendragon, of all people, they wouldn't trust or fear him anymore. They'd turn on him and rip him apart.
He tried to think about his response, what he should do if Merlin would choose to follow Muirden's advise and, as he put it, use him, let the others see that. There were a lot of things to consider. Pride, survival - probably for both of them - and the little matter of Merlin probably being able to overpower him with magic anyway.
Merlin's neck and wrists looked striking from this angle; slender, strong, lovely. And Arthur was going stop ogling any minute now, and he was not going to factor Merlin's bone structure in any of his decisions.
"I'm going to think," said Merlin miserably. "And then I'm going to sleep. Could you just - try to not talk for a while? I'm seriously not in the mood for any more of your crap."
Arthur rolled his eyes, climbed on the top bunk and stretched out, trying to get comfortable. He needed to get used to sleeping on those horrid mattresses.
Merlin's resolve to brood in silence lasted about three minutes.
"I did kind of make a lot of stupid decisions in my life," he said tragically.
"I guess you're lucky that you have that amnesia and officially can't remember about ninety percent of those."
Merlin chuckled a little. "Well, there is that, yeah," he said. "But there is one in particular that I regret right now."
"Is it about the riot?"
"I told you I didn't start that."
"Fine, fine. What then?"
"More like who. It's like that thing you're not proud of, with that girl."
"Yeah, I really doubt it's anything like that."
"Why, because your thing was so special that nobody else can possibly relate?"
"Don't be a bitch, Merlin, just tell the damn story."
"All right. There was a guy that I kind of - I thought I was in love with," said Merlin and held a long dramatic pause.
"If that's your tragic secret, then it's, well, tragic in its lameness. You've been in prison since you were what, sixteen? I should hope for your sake that there was at least one guy at some point."
"Since I was eighteen, I think. But that's not it."
He was silent for so long that after a while Arthur itched to climb down and kick him.
"The suspense, it's failing to kill me," he said. "Are you asleep? Did you bore yourself to sleep with your own breakup story?"
"No, my breakup story is really exciting. It has explosions. And you don't get to hear it. What I'm saying is, once emotions are involved, good or bad, it's hard to tell who you can trust. Maybe I'm just being paranoid because I got hurt, you know? I'm just - I might be about to make a mistake."
"Yeah, I have no idea what you're on about. But - for what it's worth, you can trust me. I owe you one."
"Do you trust me, Arthur?"
"Yes," he said easily. "I mean. I know you're hiding something, and you lie an awful lot. Badly. And I know I can hardly trust you to make the right call, or keep us all alive. And I know some choices are – well, sometimes we're left with shit choices, all right. My father didn't want to put me in here, you know, but he had to. I know you also might have to make choices. But, generally speaking? Yes, I trust you."
Merlin didn't say anything to that. Arthur peeked down from his bunk, and Merlin pulled a weird face at him, not quite a smile and not quite a grimace. It looked like he was trying to hide what his face was actually doing at the time.
"You know what's the worst thing about the prison, Merlin?" Arthur asked.
"Yes, I do, in fact. Bit of an expert here. That would be, oh let's see, yes: it being a prison."
"Fair point. But I was talking about boredom. It's going to be a problem."
"You get used to it. Sleep a lot, try not to think too much, and eventually you won't care any more."
"You're crap at cheering a person up, you know that? Actually, is there something you're good at? I'm genuinely curious."
"Magic," said Merlin matter-of-factly. "I'm pretty good at that. In fact, I just might be the greatest sorcerer currently alive."
Next part
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 06:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 06:34 pm (UTC)And hey is that a Buffy reference? :D
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 06:41 pm (UTC)Also, for some reason this was my favorite line of the chapter:
"Magic," said Merlin matter-of-factly. "I'm pretty good at that. In fact, I just might be the greatest sorcerer currently alive."
(I'm a big fan of uberpowerful!Merlin.)
no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 06:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 07:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 08:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 07:34 pm (UTC)That TBC is making me a bit sad. :D I hope the next part is up soon, I need to read more.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 08:16 pm (UTC)DIIESSS
Date: 2010-08-09 07:45 pm (UTC)I was hesitant to read at first cause...poor arthur...but i do love angst/humor/whatever makes fangirls happy, and this is perfect! your writing style is incredible, and im about to die cause i want more T . T its just soo good!!! cant wait till you update, their relationship and the whole story is developing so amazingly :D
appreciative tackles
Re: DIIESSS
Date: 2010-08-09 08:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 08:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 08:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 08:43 pm (UTC)Love, love, loved this. I wish there were more chapters up to read right now! Wonderfully written, fantastic mix of suspense, humour, UST, mystery and angst. The character interactions are so good - those between Arthur and Merlin, Merlin and Edwin, Merlin and Mordred, even Arthur and Uther. Really hooked, thanks!
no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 09:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 09:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 09:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 09:43 pm (UTC)I can't wait to read more!
no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 11:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 10:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 11:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 10:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 11:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 01:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 11:31 am (UTC)Aw your icon, my poor OTP from True Blood. I'm still hoping he'd show up in flashbacks...
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 01:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 11:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 03:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 11:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 05:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 11:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 07:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 11:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 03:36 pm (UTC)But my absolute fav bit is still the Mordred/Merlin enemies rooming together - the 'Mordred will destroy what he loves most' thing gave me shivers!
no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 10:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 10:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 05:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-10 10:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-11 07:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-11 08:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-11 10:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-14 07:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-11 02:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-14 07:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-12 01:45 pm (UTC)Yippee! I commented on this when it first appeared on the anon meme so was thrilled to see it back again in novel length form. :)
I love Arthur's determination not to show fear, Merlin's casual acceptence and reveal of just how powerful he is, the introducton of Mordred and the glimpse of relationships to come.
Could have lifted lots of bits but am choosing this as a favourite paragraph for its unemotional depiction of horror that is more powerful because it's understated:
There was a huge ugly graffiti on the far wall, spread out to take most of its height. It seemed to depict a deformed carnation; on the second look Arthur decided that it was just a splatter. It looked like a giant red paintball got fired into the wall from a cannon and exploded all over the bricks. There were some bits stuck to the paint or embedded into the wall, most dark, a few dull ivory white.
Maybe it hadn't been a paintball after all.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-14 07:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-13 08:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-14 07:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-16 12:38 pm (UTC)Looking forward to the rest!
no subject
Date: 2010-08-21 08:44 pm (UTC)Ahem. I love Edwin a bit too much. In my head canon he totally recovered from that axe wound.
Thank you very much! Soooo glad you're reading this.