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Merlin - But Only Say the Word and I Shall [Part 3]
Title: But Only Say the Word and I Shall [Part 3]
Genre: AU, Slash and Pre-Slash
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin (pre-slash), Lance/Will, slight Arthur/Gwen
Length: ~22,000 words
Rating: R
Warnings: Depictions of homophobia and the aftermath of violence. The rating is due to this more than any sexual overtones.
Synopsis: “And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:13
Prompt: 2121. Merlin, Merlin/Arthur, AU: Uther Pendragon is the head preacher at Camelot Ministries -- the American-style anti-LGBT mega-church that has become popular in Britain. Arthur knows that he's expected to marry Gwen and take over from his father one day -- but when Merlin Emrys is assigned to work as his clerical assistant, Arthur is forced to confront the fact that he is gay.
Author’s Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lgbtfest. I hope I did the subject matter justice.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
Live Journal:
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four
Dreamwidth:
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four
~~~~~~~~~~
Coffee was set with Morgana and Merlin for the next afternoon. As usual, they talked about her progress and, as usual, they talked about everything else. Merlin was showing her how to fill out some of the paperwork for potential grants and licenses when something unexpected happened. Will and Lance walked through the door of the shop and spotted them almost immediately.
“And who is this beautiful thing you have kept hidden from us?” Will asked as he offered out his hand in greeting.
“My foster sister, Morgana,” Arthur said, loving to watch her bask in the attention, and knowing absolutely nothing would come out of it. He made the proper introductions and noticed Lance lean against Will, hand on his shoulder without a second thought. They were so comfortable and casual together, it nearly hurt; made him wish there was someone like that in his life, though no one seemed to make the connection that they spoke of quite yet.
Morgana took in the hand and the near constant touching as they talked all in stride. She did not seem phased in the least, and Arthur could not tell if he was disappointed by it or not. She hit it off with Will and Lance pretty much immediately, and soon they were talking openly with her ideas of a gay youth group at the centre and how she would be able to incorporate that as well as other youth groups to reach the most vulnerable of the population and provide a safe haven of protection for them if needed.
Arthur started at a hand on his wrist and looked up to see Merlin standing at his side. “I’m going to go get another, can I get you anything?” his friend asked.
“Same’s good for me,” Arthur replied.
Merlin grinned and left to place the order, and Arthur changed his thoughts to realise there was at least one person who seemed to know him well, if not quite at the same level of connection he saw in his other two friends.
His father, of course, ruined any good mood he had achieved with a particularly vicious speech the next day. Arthur reminded himself that his father always got worked up this time of the year, taking the celebrations in the park as a near personal affront to his crusade to end the gay menace to society. He also remembered a time he was not quite like this, back before the press built him up to be more than he originally was and before he started playing to the masses and purposefully choosing the hot topics to make sure he made the news as regularly as possible. Each year, it seemed, the speech grew more extreme, more hateful, more pointed in just who was to blame for society’s failings. Arthur feared what the sermon two weeks’ hence would bring, given during the height of the festival in the park.
Monday was met with the influx of calls and emails and Tuesday was met with him finding Gwen alone in the kitchenette, supposedly rinsing out a teapot, but the water had run clear long before he even caught her staring at the small plaque above the sink. “Cleanliness if Godliness” it read, with a small laminated addition taped to the bottom in her neat print that declared, “So please wash your own dishes.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, leaning against a section of counter once he verified it was dry.
“Nothing,” she said, just a bit too quickly for his liking.
“Gwen...” he wheedled in the voice he knew she always gave in to.
She set aside the teapot and turned to look at him, teeth pressing deep into her bottom lip. Several curls had escaped her bun and framed her face, somehow making her look more tired than usual rather than adding to her natural beauty. “I’m thinking of leaving the Ministry,” she said in a quiet rush.
“What?” he asked, truly taken aback. “Why? I thought you loved it here.”
He handed her a towel for her hands and she twisted it between them as much as actually tried to dry them. “I just... I don’t know if I believe in the message any more,” she said softly.
“You love God; your entire life is devoted to His work,” Arthur pointed out.
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “I love God, Arthur, not what your father purports to be God’s message.” She looked away, eyes tracing the lettering of the plaque. “I just don’t know if I can serve Him here any more. Your father, he is a righteous man, was a righteous man, but the way that he speaks of actively allowing hate towards others... I just don’t know if I can stand by and listen to that.”
“So you’re saying the wedding is off?” Arthur tried for levity.
She managed a smile, but shook her head. “You never wanted to marry any more than I did. I think only your father truly wants to see us together, and that’s more for the furtherment of the Ministry than for love.” She slowly raised her head to meet his gaze, and he knew what she next said was the truth of it all. “I care for you, Arthur, I really do. But I love only God.”
“Then you need to do what is right for you,” he told her, surprising them both. He took the towel from her and held her still damp hands. “I do wish that you will stay, perhaps help Morgana with her centre where you can serve the people on your own terms. If you need to leave, I will understand, but I do hope that you remain close as I could not bear losing you as a friend.”
“Thank you, Arthur,” she told him. She rose up on her toes and kissed him on his cheek. Her voice no more than a breath against his ear, she whispered, “You are a far better man than your father. Please do not become what he has.”
“I will try my best,” he promised.
“I know you will,” she told him, and he wanted to believe it as much as she did. She let go of his hands and turned to return to the office proper, pausing as Merlin hustled by with a handful of printouts and his ever-present phone pressed to his ear. “And you will have all the help you need, God be willing,” she smiled.
She slipped out the door and he was not surprised when she did not come in the next day.
It was Thursday before his father noticed her absence, though he had already explained what was going on to Merlin and Morgana by then. Morgana instantly called her and recruited her to work with the centre, and he shortly began to receive emails from a new address with little notes like, “Your sister is insane, but this idea might just work.”
Friday was met with the weekly get together where Will and Lance teased him about his father’s speech but offered him his favourite take out, so he figured there were no hard feelings. They joined Merlin and him at the coffee shop the next day once again, where they met Gwen for the first time, who only looked at Arthur once in question before trying to figure out just what Morgana and Merlin had come up with for their latest idea.
At the end of the day, she kissed him on the cheek again and smiled, “I was wrong, you have more than the help you need.”
He was trying to figure that out when he overheard Lance talking with someone he had seen around, but never been introduced to. “No, seriously, he’s not a bad guy. The fact he is here should be reason enough for you to believe that.”
“Whatever,” the other man said, and Arthur noted the Rainbow Coalition shirt he wore. He pushed past Arthur with a less than friendly, “Cheers,” and disappeared out the door with a shake of his head.
“Do I want to know?” Arthur asked with a jerk of his thumb in the man’s direction.
“Probably not,” Lance told him honestly, and Arthur took him at his word.
Later, as he walked Merlin back to his flat, Merlin confided, “Not everyone is as willing to accept that you are not your father.”
Arthur paused, having suspected as much, but still feeling the cut of the words. He looked up slowly to find Merlin watching him carefully, and asked, “And you?”
“I know you are not the same man, and I know you are a better man for it,” Merlin said simply. “You’ve proved that to me time and time again.”
Arthur quirked a grin that he found matched by his friend. “Gwen thinks it’s because I have the right people helping me,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Gwen’s a smart woman,” Merlin told him, and Arthur was forced to agree. Merlin surprised him though by asking, almost shyly, as if he was not certain he was welcome to such information, “Are you two still getting married now that she’s not working for the Ministry?”
Arthur shook his head. “Neither one of really wanted to be married in the first place, at least not to each other,” he explained. “We’re friends, and care for each other, but a marriage would have been solely to suit my father and what he deems as the needs of the Ministry. She loves God and wishes to devote herself to Him. I cannot and will not fault her for that.”
Merlin nodded in understanding, then looked at him quizzically, head cocked to the side. “And you? What will you devote yourself to?”
The answer came unbidden from his lips, but he knew it to be true the moment he spoke the words. “Love, in whatever form it chooses to come in.”
Merlin smiled, real and true. Not one of his goofy grins, or the quirk of his lips when he found something funny, but an honest smile with teeth and crinkling eyes and everything. Arthur decided it was a good look on him, and that he hoped so see it more often.
“Most definitely a better man,” Merlin told him, and Arthur could not help but feel proud.
It all came to a head Sunday night. His father had given his sermon that morning, working the crowd like a master. Arthur felt near physically ill at one particularly hateful part where his father compared homosexuals to mongrels to be taken to the pound and put out of their misery, and did not even have the usual benefit of Gwen at his side to smile, hold his hand, and soften the blow, promising tea and biscuits and a peaceful interlude after the smoke cleared.
He went home and debated calling her, knowing she would let him vent if need be, but he could not do that to her. She had earned a break from all of this, chosen to walk away and find her peace. So instead he locked himself in the study and pulled the oldest copy of the Word they owned down from the shelves. He found solace in the embossed and creaky leather binding, felt a peace of his own as his fingers traced the ink on the velum. His mind translated the Latin easily, the words flowing and falling around him like an old and familiar blanket that he wrapped himself up in and never wanted to leave.
He was torn from his reverie with the ringing of a phone. He frowned in distaste as he realised he had not turned off his cell. He reached for the device in the pocket of the jacket he had thrown across a chair, ready to turn it off and dive back into his solace, but a glance showed Merlin’s number on the screen, and he could not help but wonder what was so important that his friend ring him at nearly eight in the evening.
The voice on the other end of the line was Lance’s, not Merlin’s, and he sounded both rushed and panicked as he said without preamble, “We’re at hospital; I think you need to come.”
Arthur took down the details and nearly flew out the door, heart racing as he made the journey as quickly as he could, tearing up the stairs when the elevator seemed too slow, only to arrive, panting and sweating, to find Lance looking several shades too pale as he sat on a plastic waiting room chair, head held in his hands. The man looked up as if he heard Arthur’s footsteps and pushed through the small crowd of people Arthur had never met to greet him.
“Where is he?” Arthur demanded as he tried to catch his breath.
“They are still working on Will, but think Merlin should be out any minute,” Lance told him, voice void of emotion. He did not ask which of the two men Arthur was asking after.
Arthur felt as though his spirit came crashing back down into his body, the feeling of disconnect since he received the call attempting to right itself and put things back in their place. “How bad?” he managed, only peripherally aware that those who had been mulling around had ceased their activity, falling near silent at his arrival.
“It’s... it’s not good,” Lance replied.
Arthur paused to take a look at the man, a good look instead of a passing glance, and noticed the spatters of blood on his shirt, the torn knuckles and split lip and darkening bruise on his abnormally pale cheek. “Sit down,” he urged, leading him back to the uncomfortable looking chair. He crouched before him and held his shaking hand to hopefully help steady both him and his thoughts enough to tell Arthur what was going on.
“We had just finished a meeting at Jerry’s,” Lance began, a blond man at his side raising his hand to indicate his identity. “A lot of us live near by and we were walking back to the flat, probably five or six of us in all. We thought maybe we’d stop for coffee, and Will realised he’d forgotten his wallet at home.” Lance paused to take a breath, and Arthur gave him the time he needed. “He... he kissed me on the cheek and crossed the street to go get it.”
He looked over to Arthur, tears in his eyes, and it was fairly clear he was not going to be able to finish.
A man with curly dark hair sat beside him and wrapped an arm around Lance’s trembling shoulders. “I’d say they came out of nowhere, but I think they were there looking for a fight,” he started, letting Lance have a break. “There was no reason for them to be there, in our neighbourhood, otherwise. We didn’t even see them at first, since the flat was around the corner. Heard the shouts though, all sorts of derogatory remarks. By the time we got there, they were already laying in on Will. We tried to pull them off, but there were more of them and they seemed quite determined. Merlin came down from the flat and got through, tried to pull Will out of there, but got caught in the middle himself.”
A third man, this one Arthur recognised from the coffee shop the other day, chimed in with a sneer. “They were quoting scriptures and calling us dogs and mongrels amongst other things – sound familiar?”
Arthur swallowed and set his jaw as he looked up to meet the other man’s gaze. “They were from the Ministry.” It was not a question. Some part of him had known from the moment he got the call.
“They sure as hell weren’t from Colin’s Condom Emporium,” came the snide retort.
“There’s no proof,” Lance tried, and Arthur knew he was attempting to protect his feelings, even after all this. “It was dark and it all happened so fast.”
“And it just happens to coincide with my father’s speech today,” Arthur cut him off, voice like stone.
“Arthur...” Lance tried.
Arthur shook his head. He let go of Lance and stood to pace. “This is where it was heading and we all knew it, we just don’t want to admit it,” he sighed. He closed his eyes, but all he saw was Merlin laying broken on a street corner, bleeding out while people heckled and jeered nearby. He saw his father looking down on it all, Bible in hand, approving look on his twisted features. “The hate and the rousing of the crowd, playing to whoever and whatever got the best interviews on the telly... This is my father’s work, and you have every right to hate me for it.”
There were murmurs of agreement, and very few of objection. If Arthur was surprised it was only at those who were still trying to protect his feelings, even after everything that had happened.
A new voice joined the fray though, familiar despite its softness. “I don’t hate you,” Merlin said, causing Arthur to whip around to search for his friend. His heart was pounding so fast he was nearly dizzy from it, vision blurring and swaying before resolving on the figure in the doorway where the voice originated.
An intern pushed Merlin into the room in a wheelchair, his arm in a cast and face sprinkled with bruises and tiny little cuts. His trousers were torn at the knee, revealing stark white around swollen red, and covered with grime and the rust-brown of dried blood.
Arthur took a few shaky steps in his direction, mind refusing to make the connection between the damage and Merlin and the blood and the bruising and the fact that Merlin was alive and breathing and somehow pushing himself up out of the wheelchair despite the intern’s complaints to meet Arthur halfway across the linoleum waiting room floor.
Arthur caught him on a particularly unsteady limp and wrapped his arm around Merlin’s slim waist to help keep him upright. Merlin responded by bracing his good arm on Arthur’s shoulder and Arthur gave into the urge to bury his face in the mop of dark hair, felt the strands tickle his nose and lips as he whispered, “I’m so sorry. I am so very sorry.”
Merlin turned his head slightly, but Arthur refused to let go, not trusting either one of them to have the balance to stand at this point. Merlin’s bruised forehead rested against his own, breath that smelled of stale coffee and too much sugar ghosting against Arthur’s skin as he murmured, “It’s not your fault.”
“You say that, but...”
“But nothing, I know the truth, we all do,” Merlin insisted. “You were not the one throwing punches any more than you were the one riling them up to get into the state they were in.”
“If I had known,” Arthur sighed, resisting the urge to close his eyes or look away. “You must understand, if I had known something like this was even possible, I would have done everything in my power to stop it, to warn you.”
Merlin shook his head, his skin rubbing against Arthur’s with the motion. “I usually look for the warnings, for the signs. I give them a heads up to be on the lookout for idiots if I know something was coming.”
“I didn’t know,” Arthur said, wishing he had, wishing there had been some hint of what the sermon was to be about and what it had the potential to turn into.
“There’s no way you could have,” Merlin defended him.
“My father...” Arthur started, but was cut off by a gentle tug to his collar.
“You are not your father,” Merlin told him, louder, and with far more force than Arthur thought possible in his current state.
“I...” Arthur started, not even certain what he intended to say but simply feeling the need to say something, do something, at this point.
“Really need to help me sit down again before I fall down,” Merlin finished for him with a self-depreciating quirk of his lips.
It was then that Arthur noticed the way the other man was already sagging, and just how much of his weight he had taken thus far. “I can do that,” Arthur nodded. He knew Merlin was changing the subject, and he knew he would let him, for now. There was no way he was going to force Merlin to stand and argue with him when he was clearly still in pain. There was no way he was going to let him endure even a second more of that pain if there was anything in his power he could do to prevent it.
He shifted his grip and became aware of the waiting room at large once more, of the way all of Lance’s friends had fallen eerily silent and were watching them, some with guarded looks, and some with open curiosity. He did not know what to say to them, did not know if there was anything that would be remotely appropriate, so instead he started helping Merlin shuffle back towards the wheelchair, only to find two seats instantly vacated far closer with a path cleared to allow them passage.
People hovered, but seemed as much at a loss to say as he was himself, his emotions rolling and roiling through him, always staying just far enough out of reach, just far enough out of focus that he could not make sense of them quite yet. Whenever they threatened to overwhelm him, there was a gentle squeeze to his fingers, to the hand that refused to let go of Merlin’s, and somehow, someway, he was convinced things had a chance of working out all right.
Merlin refused to leave until he had a chance to see Will for himself, and Arthur intended to stay just the same. It was clear the injured man was lagging by the way he slumped heavily in the uncomfortable chair, but no one dare question the stubborn set of his jaw. Instead, there were gifts of bad vending machine coffee and various sugary and salty treats. Even the man from the coffee shop seemed hesitantly nicer, though Arthur dared not question his motives. The stress and fatigue of the evening was getting to everyone, and everyone was handling it in different ways. Lance looked ready to take up Jerry’s offer for a cigarette, though Arthur had never seen the man smoke, but feared leaving on the off chance that would be when the doctors came to make their report.
After what seemed like hours, someone finally came to do just that. Will was to stay overnight at the least, and likely for longer. There was internal bruising as well as external, and they wanted to keep him for observation to ensure no further damage was revealed as the swelling went down. He was being brought to a room, but they would have a chance for a brief visit before everyone would be kicked out for the night.
Lance surprised them by insisting Arthur and Merlin be the first in the room to visit with him. He was not planning on leaving and no one seemed inclined to make him. As they made their way up to the room, Lance had whispered his reasoning to Arthur that Merlin was not going to last much longer, and had made a personal request that Arthur see him home safe and sound. Arthur promised he would do so. It was not much, but it was something he knew he could handle, knew he needed to do for his own peace of mind even if Lance had not thought to ask.
They entered the room and Arthur froze at the damage he saw before him. Will was propped up in bed with a single light illuminating the small room, shining down like a spotlight upon him. His face was swollen beyond recognition, his left eye sealed shut and his skin near every shade of the rainbow save for his usually healthy pale. His thin hospital gown revealed multiple bandages above further discoloured skin, and four fingers were splinted, as was his right wrist. There were lines connected to machines to keep track of his pulse and respiration, and an IV that was hopefully giving him pain killers as well as fluids to his much abused body. Arthur already knew there were broken ribs and bruised vertebrae, and added that to his mental catalogue of injuries.
“How do you like God’s work?” Will asked, his voice hollow and hoarse and just barely recognisable.
Arthur heard the hate and spite in his tone, and knew he had every right to feel it. “This is not the work of God,” he replied. He was not certain if it was his voice shaking, or his body, but a touch of Merlin’s hand upon his wrist and he felt himself begin to calm again. “This is the work of Man. Of men who took the word of God and corrupted it to their needs.” He knew his father counted amongst those men, just as he knew his father would have to face judgement for that fact.
Will licked his cracked lips and asked, “Why did they feel the need to do this?” He lifted one hand as if to wave to encompass everything that had happened to him, but winced from even that little of movement.
“Because they are wrong and have been led astray from God’s true message.” Even after this, even after the damage and fear and pain, Arthur needed to believe, needed to know there was still some guiding force in his life.
Will snorted, then looked like he regretted it. “And just what might that message be?”
It was not Arthur, but Merlin who answered, hand squeezing Arthur’s wrist lightly as he simply said, “Love one another.”
“Sorry, but I’m not feeling the love right now,” Will admitted, though some of the anger seemed to have seeped from him.
Lance leaned over the side of the bed and pressed his lips to his lover’s forehead. “You will, in time,” he promised, smoothing his fringe away in a soothing motion.
“Until then, there’s morphine?” Merlin quipped, earning a hint of a grin. It looked more like a grimace, but the intent was there, as well as a breathy chuckle.
“Now that, I can get behind,” Will told them. He leaned back against his pillows and seemed prepared to do just that.
They stayed for only a little while longer before Arthur eased a sleepy Merlin out of the chair and into his sedan. He drove him back to the flat and could not help but stare at the police tape and blood smears on the pavement nearby. Merlin’s yawn drew him out of his thoughts long enough to help the injured man up the steps and through the door, taking the keys from him when it looked like he could not find the knob let alone the lock.
He tucked him away in his bed, sparing only a quick glance at the mess of the room that seemed in direct contrast to how organized he was with the rest of his life. He left a glass of water and the bottle of pain medication at his bedside, as well as placed the cell in the charger for when he inevitably called the hospital as soon as he woke, the number scrawled on a piece of notebook paper and tucked under the medicine.
He rather wanted to stay to make certain Merlin did not need anything further, but had already deleted four increasingly angry messages from his father from his own phone, and knew that was not an option at this time. Besides, he did not know if he would truly be welcome come the light of day. Instead, he programmed the coffee maker for a fresh pot in the morning and let himself out, closing the door softly behind him.
He sat in his car for longer than strictly necessary, mind flashing through the images of the evening: the ground covered in blood, Will’s swollen features, Merlin slumped and injured. He wondered if it made him a bad person for being thankful Merlin was not in Will’s place, that it was not Merlin who had weeks of agonising recovery to look forward to. Yes, he had a cast and bruises, but it could have been so much worse, and for what? He waited, but found no answers forthcoming from the flickering streetlight on the corner. He decided he had stalled for long enough and headed back to the house he shared with his father.
His father was, as expected, waiting for him. He only gave the briefest of details. As far as his father was concerned, Merlin had attempted to break up a fight and was injured in the process, his friend far worse off than he. Arthur did not speak of the fact it was a hate crime, that Will was targeted because he was gay, or that the attackers seemed spurred on by his father’s own words. Instead, he listened to his father vary between praising Merlin for attempting to help his fellow man, and scoff that “the boy” thought himself hearty enough to break up a fight.
Arthur stopped listening after a while, knowing his father was only making the noises he thought best to hear, and eventually dragged himself to bed, not certain if his father had still been prattling on when he did so.
He drove himself to the Ministry the next morning, but was at a loss as to what to do once he got there. Merlin was not there to head off and organise everything for him, and only a trickle of the articles made it through without his purview. The emails came though, and the calls. The beating from the night before had made the news, announcers already calling it what it was, already tying it to members of the Ministry. There were no names as of yet, no suspects as they had all escaped. Watches were out for people reporting suspicious injuries, but it seemed as likely that the whole situation was to be swept under the rug as it was the perpetrators were to be found. The fact it was the week leading up to the Gay Pride events gave it more coverage. The fact it was the Ministry meant no one really wanted to look into it that much.
Arthur finally snapped when Morgana came in to his office, both looking for Merlin and wanting to know just how much anyone knew about the attack. Arthur told her everything. He told her about Will and Lance and how Merlin tried to help and was left at home with his injuries for all his efforts. Morgana had her phone in her hand in seconds, storming out the door while she dialled.
Arthur did what he had done all morning: sit back in his chair and brood. He ignored the phone knowing Merlin or Lance would call his cell if they needed anything, and he watched the messages pile up in his email in bin. He just could not cope with it right now, afraid he would do or say something he would later regret. Afraid he would do or say something his father would beyond disapprove of.
The only light in his day was a frantic call from Merlin telling him Morgana had done her duty and now Gwen was at the flat, cooking and cleaning and threatening him within an inch of his over-fluffed pillows. She had promised to take him to see Will later that day, but only if he actually consumed something other than coffee and cold cereal and slept for a minimum of two more hours. Merlin was convinced she was grinding up pills to put in his coffee at this point because he swore every sip made him want to fall asleep.
Arthur told him to suck it up and take it like a man. Also, that she had a soft spot for Ceylon tea and Hobnobs and could be bribed if need be. The call was ended when Gwen wrestled the phone away from Merlin and said her very polite and very pointed goodbyes.
Arthur turned back to a news feed he had found with the latest information on the attack, found it odd that the Ministry had already subscribed to such a thing, especially since it was actually linked to a gay rights group. A few random clicks and he found their monthly calendar of events. A few more, and he found the calendars for several more groups, including the Rainbow Coalition. He noticed more than one site had updates on the previous night’s attack. He then noticed they listed separate addresses on three separate sites.
He grabbed a pen and paper from his desk drawer and tried to figure out if there was a connection between the three attacks, something other than simply gay bashers timing their attacks to put a damper on the Pride activities. In the drawer he found a print out of upcoming Ministry discussion groups that he had tossed in there a good month or more ago. He never paid attention to the thing as a new one came out quarterly and his father never expected him to attend anything, just know they were happening should anyone ask.
He noted one group did not file an agenda. He noted the same group had meeting times that stuck out in his mind for some reason.
He compared the calendar to that of the groups he had found online, and did not like what he found. Meeting times that happened to coincide with the days before break-ins and vandalisms. Meeting times that coincided with the night before the three attacks.
He bit his lip and tried to make sense out of what he found. Right now, he had correlations only. A first year could tell you correlations could not imply causation. It could, however imply the need for further research. He just wished he knew where to begin.
He tossed his pen across the room in frustration, only to sigh when he realised he still needed it if he were to either continue what little research he had, or even sign off on the daily reports he was supposed to be doing in the first place. He reached in his drawer to grab a new one, but his hand brushed against something else.
He picked up the slightly crumpled piece of scratch paper from what seemed like ages ago, smoothing the edges out and tracing the smeared rainbow with his own ink stained fingers, his lips quirking at the way it contrasted with the crispness of the familiar Camelot logo. In that one moment, everything seemed to slide into place. He picked up his cell phone and dialled from memory. He did not bother with pleasantries, but instead greeted the voice on the other line with, “I have a really bad idea.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Live Journal:
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four
Dreamwidth:
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four
Genre: AU, Slash and Pre-Slash
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin (pre-slash), Lance/Will, slight Arthur/Gwen
Length: ~22,000 words
Rating: R
Warnings: Depictions of homophobia and the aftermath of violence. The rating is due to this more than any sexual overtones.
Synopsis: “And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:13
Prompt: 2121. Merlin, Merlin/Arthur, AU: Uther Pendragon is the head preacher at Camelot Ministries -- the American-style anti-LGBT mega-church that has become popular in Britain. Arthur knows that he's expected to marry Gwen and take over from his father one day -- but when Merlin Emrys is assigned to work as his clerical assistant, Arthur is forced to confront the fact that he is gay.
Author’s Notes: Written for
lgbtfest. I hope I did the subject matter justice.Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
Live Journal:
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four
Dreamwidth:
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four
~~~~~~~~~~
Coffee was set with Morgana and Merlin for the next afternoon. As usual, they talked about her progress and, as usual, they talked about everything else. Merlin was showing her how to fill out some of the paperwork for potential grants and licenses when something unexpected happened. Will and Lance walked through the door of the shop and spotted them almost immediately.
“And who is this beautiful thing you have kept hidden from us?” Will asked as he offered out his hand in greeting.
“My foster sister, Morgana,” Arthur said, loving to watch her bask in the attention, and knowing absolutely nothing would come out of it. He made the proper introductions and noticed Lance lean against Will, hand on his shoulder without a second thought. They were so comfortable and casual together, it nearly hurt; made him wish there was someone like that in his life, though no one seemed to make the connection that they spoke of quite yet.
Morgana took in the hand and the near constant touching as they talked all in stride. She did not seem phased in the least, and Arthur could not tell if he was disappointed by it or not. She hit it off with Will and Lance pretty much immediately, and soon they were talking openly with her ideas of a gay youth group at the centre and how she would be able to incorporate that as well as other youth groups to reach the most vulnerable of the population and provide a safe haven of protection for them if needed.
Arthur started at a hand on his wrist and looked up to see Merlin standing at his side. “I’m going to go get another, can I get you anything?” his friend asked.
“Same’s good for me,” Arthur replied.
Merlin grinned and left to place the order, and Arthur changed his thoughts to realise there was at least one person who seemed to know him well, if not quite at the same level of connection he saw in his other two friends.
His father, of course, ruined any good mood he had achieved with a particularly vicious speech the next day. Arthur reminded himself that his father always got worked up this time of the year, taking the celebrations in the park as a near personal affront to his crusade to end the gay menace to society. He also remembered a time he was not quite like this, back before the press built him up to be more than he originally was and before he started playing to the masses and purposefully choosing the hot topics to make sure he made the news as regularly as possible. Each year, it seemed, the speech grew more extreme, more hateful, more pointed in just who was to blame for society’s failings. Arthur feared what the sermon two weeks’ hence would bring, given during the height of the festival in the park.
Monday was met with the influx of calls and emails and Tuesday was met with him finding Gwen alone in the kitchenette, supposedly rinsing out a teapot, but the water had run clear long before he even caught her staring at the small plaque above the sink. “Cleanliness if Godliness” it read, with a small laminated addition taped to the bottom in her neat print that declared, “So please wash your own dishes.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, leaning against a section of counter once he verified it was dry.
“Nothing,” she said, just a bit too quickly for his liking.
“Gwen...” he wheedled in the voice he knew she always gave in to.
She set aside the teapot and turned to look at him, teeth pressing deep into her bottom lip. Several curls had escaped her bun and framed her face, somehow making her look more tired than usual rather than adding to her natural beauty. “I’m thinking of leaving the Ministry,” she said in a quiet rush.
“What?” he asked, truly taken aback. “Why? I thought you loved it here.”
He handed her a towel for her hands and she twisted it between them as much as actually tried to dry them. “I just... I don’t know if I believe in the message any more,” she said softly.
“You love God; your entire life is devoted to His work,” Arthur pointed out.
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “I love God, Arthur, not what your father purports to be God’s message.” She looked away, eyes tracing the lettering of the plaque. “I just don’t know if I can serve Him here any more. Your father, he is a righteous man, was a righteous man, but the way that he speaks of actively allowing hate towards others... I just don’t know if I can stand by and listen to that.”
“So you’re saying the wedding is off?” Arthur tried for levity.
She managed a smile, but shook her head. “You never wanted to marry any more than I did. I think only your father truly wants to see us together, and that’s more for the furtherment of the Ministry than for love.” She slowly raised her head to meet his gaze, and he knew what she next said was the truth of it all. “I care for you, Arthur, I really do. But I love only God.”
“Then you need to do what is right for you,” he told her, surprising them both. He took the towel from her and held her still damp hands. “I do wish that you will stay, perhaps help Morgana with her centre where you can serve the people on your own terms. If you need to leave, I will understand, but I do hope that you remain close as I could not bear losing you as a friend.”
“Thank you, Arthur,” she told him. She rose up on her toes and kissed him on his cheek. Her voice no more than a breath against his ear, she whispered, “You are a far better man than your father. Please do not become what he has.”
“I will try my best,” he promised.
“I know you will,” she told him, and he wanted to believe it as much as she did. She let go of his hands and turned to return to the office proper, pausing as Merlin hustled by with a handful of printouts and his ever-present phone pressed to his ear. “And you will have all the help you need, God be willing,” she smiled.
She slipped out the door and he was not surprised when she did not come in the next day.
It was Thursday before his father noticed her absence, though he had already explained what was going on to Merlin and Morgana by then. Morgana instantly called her and recruited her to work with the centre, and he shortly began to receive emails from a new address with little notes like, “Your sister is insane, but this idea might just work.”
Friday was met with the weekly get together where Will and Lance teased him about his father’s speech but offered him his favourite take out, so he figured there were no hard feelings. They joined Merlin and him at the coffee shop the next day once again, where they met Gwen for the first time, who only looked at Arthur once in question before trying to figure out just what Morgana and Merlin had come up with for their latest idea.
At the end of the day, she kissed him on the cheek again and smiled, “I was wrong, you have more than the help you need.”
He was trying to figure that out when he overheard Lance talking with someone he had seen around, but never been introduced to. “No, seriously, he’s not a bad guy. The fact he is here should be reason enough for you to believe that.”
“Whatever,” the other man said, and Arthur noted the Rainbow Coalition shirt he wore. He pushed past Arthur with a less than friendly, “Cheers,” and disappeared out the door with a shake of his head.
“Do I want to know?” Arthur asked with a jerk of his thumb in the man’s direction.
“Probably not,” Lance told him honestly, and Arthur took him at his word.
Later, as he walked Merlin back to his flat, Merlin confided, “Not everyone is as willing to accept that you are not your father.”
Arthur paused, having suspected as much, but still feeling the cut of the words. He looked up slowly to find Merlin watching him carefully, and asked, “And you?”
“I know you are not the same man, and I know you are a better man for it,” Merlin said simply. “You’ve proved that to me time and time again.”
Arthur quirked a grin that he found matched by his friend. “Gwen thinks it’s because I have the right people helping me,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Gwen’s a smart woman,” Merlin told him, and Arthur was forced to agree. Merlin surprised him though by asking, almost shyly, as if he was not certain he was welcome to such information, “Are you two still getting married now that she’s not working for the Ministry?”
Arthur shook his head. “Neither one of really wanted to be married in the first place, at least not to each other,” he explained. “We’re friends, and care for each other, but a marriage would have been solely to suit my father and what he deems as the needs of the Ministry. She loves God and wishes to devote herself to Him. I cannot and will not fault her for that.”
Merlin nodded in understanding, then looked at him quizzically, head cocked to the side. “And you? What will you devote yourself to?”
The answer came unbidden from his lips, but he knew it to be true the moment he spoke the words. “Love, in whatever form it chooses to come in.”
Merlin smiled, real and true. Not one of his goofy grins, or the quirk of his lips when he found something funny, but an honest smile with teeth and crinkling eyes and everything. Arthur decided it was a good look on him, and that he hoped so see it more often.
“Most definitely a better man,” Merlin told him, and Arthur could not help but feel proud.
It all came to a head Sunday night. His father had given his sermon that morning, working the crowd like a master. Arthur felt near physically ill at one particularly hateful part where his father compared homosexuals to mongrels to be taken to the pound and put out of their misery, and did not even have the usual benefit of Gwen at his side to smile, hold his hand, and soften the blow, promising tea and biscuits and a peaceful interlude after the smoke cleared.
He went home and debated calling her, knowing she would let him vent if need be, but he could not do that to her. She had earned a break from all of this, chosen to walk away and find her peace. So instead he locked himself in the study and pulled the oldest copy of the Word they owned down from the shelves. He found solace in the embossed and creaky leather binding, felt a peace of his own as his fingers traced the ink on the velum. His mind translated the Latin easily, the words flowing and falling around him like an old and familiar blanket that he wrapped himself up in and never wanted to leave.
He was torn from his reverie with the ringing of a phone. He frowned in distaste as he realised he had not turned off his cell. He reached for the device in the pocket of the jacket he had thrown across a chair, ready to turn it off and dive back into his solace, but a glance showed Merlin’s number on the screen, and he could not help but wonder what was so important that his friend ring him at nearly eight in the evening.
The voice on the other end of the line was Lance’s, not Merlin’s, and he sounded both rushed and panicked as he said without preamble, “We’re at hospital; I think you need to come.”
Arthur took down the details and nearly flew out the door, heart racing as he made the journey as quickly as he could, tearing up the stairs when the elevator seemed too slow, only to arrive, panting and sweating, to find Lance looking several shades too pale as he sat on a plastic waiting room chair, head held in his hands. The man looked up as if he heard Arthur’s footsteps and pushed through the small crowd of people Arthur had never met to greet him.
“Where is he?” Arthur demanded as he tried to catch his breath.
“They are still working on Will, but think Merlin should be out any minute,” Lance told him, voice void of emotion. He did not ask which of the two men Arthur was asking after.
Arthur felt as though his spirit came crashing back down into his body, the feeling of disconnect since he received the call attempting to right itself and put things back in their place. “How bad?” he managed, only peripherally aware that those who had been mulling around had ceased their activity, falling near silent at his arrival.
“It’s... it’s not good,” Lance replied.
Arthur paused to take a look at the man, a good look instead of a passing glance, and noticed the spatters of blood on his shirt, the torn knuckles and split lip and darkening bruise on his abnormally pale cheek. “Sit down,” he urged, leading him back to the uncomfortable looking chair. He crouched before him and held his shaking hand to hopefully help steady both him and his thoughts enough to tell Arthur what was going on.
“We had just finished a meeting at Jerry’s,” Lance began, a blond man at his side raising his hand to indicate his identity. “A lot of us live near by and we were walking back to the flat, probably five or six of us in all. We thought maybe we’d stop for coffee, and Will realised he’d forgotten his wallet at home.” Lance paused to take a breath, and Arthur gave him the time he needed. “He... he kissed me on the cheek and crossed the street to go get it.”
He looked over to Arthur, tears in his eyes, and it was fairly clear he was not going to be able to finish.
A man with curly dark hair sat beside him and wrapped an arm around Lance’s trembling shoulders. “I’d say they came out of nowhere, but I think they were there looking for a fight,” he started, letting Lance have a break. “There was no reason for them to be there, in our neighbourhood, otherwise. We didn’t even see them at first, since the flat was around the corner. Heard the shouts though, all sorts of derogatory remarks. By the time we got there, they were already laying in on Will. We tried to pull them off, but there were more of them and they seemed quite determined. Merlin came down from the flat and got through, tried to pull Will out of there, but got caught in the middle himself.”
A third man, this one Arthur recognised from the coffee shop the other day, chimed in with a sneer. “They were quoting scriptures and calling us dogs and mongrels amongst other things – sound familiar?”
Arthur swallowed and set his jaw as he looked up to meet the other man’s gaze. “They were from the Ministry.” It was not a question. Some part of him had known from the moment he got the call.
“They sure as hell weren’t from Colin’s Condom Emporium,” came the snide retort.
“There’s no proof,” Lance tried, and Arthur knew he was attempting to protect his feelings, even after all this. “It was dark and it all happened so fast.”
“And it just happens to coincide with my father’s speech today,” Arthur cut him off, voice like stone.
“Arthur...” Lance tried.
Arthur shook his head. He let go of Lance and stood to pace. “This is where it was heading and we all knew it, we just don’t want to admit it,” he sighed. He closed his eyes, but all he saw was Merlin laying broken on a street corner, bleeding out while people heckled and jeered nearby. He saw his father looking down on it all, Bible in hand, approving look on his twisted features. “The hate and the rousing of the crowd, playing to whoever and whatever got the best interviews on the telly... This is my father’s work, and you have every right to hate me for it.”
There were murmurs of agreement, and very few of objection. If Arthur was surprised it was only at those who were still trying to protect his feelings, even after everything that had happened.
A new voice joined the fray though, familiar despite its softness. “I don’t hate you,” Merlin said, causing Arthur to whip around to search for his friend. His heart was pounding so fast he was nearly dizzy from it, vision blurring and swaying before resolving on the figure in the doorway where the voice originated.
An intern pushed Merlin into the room in a wheelchair, his arm in a cast and face sprinkled with bruises and tiny little cuts. His trousers were torn at the knee, revealing stark white around swollen red, and covered with grime and the rust-brown of dried blood.
Arthur took a few shaky steps in his direction, mind refusing to make the connection between the damage and Merlin and the blood and the bruising and the fact that Merlin was alive and breathing and somehow pushing himself up out of the wheelchair despite the intern’s complaints to meet Arthur halfway across the linoleum waiting room floor.
Arthur caught him on a particularly unsteady limp and wrapped his arm around Merlin’s slim waist to help keep him upright. Merlin responded by bracing his good arm on Arthur’s shoulder and Arthur gave into the urge to bury his face in the mop of dark hair, felt the strands tickle his nose and lips as he whispered, “I’m so sorry. I am so very sorry.”
Merlin turned his head slightly, but Arthur refused to let go, not trusting either one of them to have the balance to stand at this point. Merlin’s bruised forehead rested against his own, breath that smelled of stale coffee and too much sugar ghosting against Arthur’s skin as he murmured, “It’s not your fault.”
“You say that, but...”
“But nothing, I know the truth, we all do,” Merlin insisted. “You were not the one throwing punches any more than you were the one riling them up to get into the state they were in.”
“If I had known,” Arthur sighed, resisting the urge to close his eyes or look away. “You must understand, if I had known something like this was even possible, I would have done everything in my power to stop it, to warn you.”
Merlin shook his head, his skin rubbing against Arthur’s with the motion. “I usually look for the warnings, for the signs. I give them a heads up to be on the lookout for idiots if I know something was coming.”
“I didn’t know,” Arthur said, wishing he had, wishing there had been some hint of what the sermon was to be about and what it had the potential to turn into.
“There’s no way you could have,” Merlin defended him.
“My father...” Arthur started, but was cut off by a gentle tug to his collar.
“You are not your father,” Merlin told him, louder, and with far more force than Arthur thought possible in his current state.
“I...” Arthur started, not even certain what he intended to say but simply feeling the need to say something, do something, at this point.
“Really need to help me sit down again before I fall down,” Merlin finished for him with a self-depreciating quirk of his lips.
It was then that Arthur noticed the way the other man was already sagging, and just how much of his weight he had taken thus far. “I can do that,” Arthur nodded. He knew Merlin was changing the subject, and he knew he would let him, for now. There was no way he was going to force Merlin to stand and argue with him when he was clearly still in pain. There was no way he was going to let him endure even a second more of that pain if there was anything in his power he could do to prevent it.
He shifted his grip and became aware of the waiting room at large once more, of the way all of Lance’s friends had fallen eerily silent and were watching them, some with guarded looks, and some with open curiosity. He did not know what to say to them, did not know if there was anything that would be remotely appropriate, so instead he started helping Merlin shuffle back towards the wheelchair, only to find two seats instantly vacated far closer with a path cleared to allow them passage.
People hovered, but seemed as much at a loss to say as he was himself, his emotions rolling and roiling through him, always staying just far enough out of reach, just far enough out of focus that he could not make sense of them quite yet. Whenever they threatened to overwhelm him, there was a gentle squeeze to his fingers, to the hand that refused to let go of Merlin’s, and somehow, someway, he was convinced things had a chance of working out all right.
Merlin refused to leave until he had a chance to see Will for himself, and Arthur intended to stay just the same. It was clear the injured man was lagging by the way he slumped heavily in the uncomfortable chair, but no one dare question the stubborn set of his jaw. Instead, there were gifts of bad vending machine coffee and various sugary and salty treats. Even the man from the coffee shop seemed hesitantly nicer, though Arthur dared not question his motives. The stress and fatigue of the evening was getting to everyone, and everyone was handling it in different ways. Lance looked ready to take up Jerry’s offer for a cigarette, though Arthur had never seen the man smoke, but feared leaving on the off chance that would be when the doctors came to make their report.
After what seemed like hours, someone finally came to do just that. Will was to stay overnight at the least, and likely for longer. There was internal bruising as well as external, and they wanted to keep him for observation to ensure no further damage was revealed as the swelling went down. He was being brought to a room, but they would have a chance for a brief visit before everyone would be kicked out for the night.
Lance surprised them by insisting Arthur and Merlin be the first in the room to visit with him. He was not planning on leaving and no one seemed inclined to make him. As they made their way up to the room, Lance had whispered his reasoning to Arthur that Merlin was not going to last much longer, and had made a personal request that Arthur see him home safe and sound. Arthur promised he would do so. It was not much, but it was something he knew he could handle, knew he needed to do for his own peace of mind even if Lance had not thought to ask.
They entered the room and Arthur froze at the damage he saw before him. Will was propped up in bed with a single light illuminating the small room, shining down like a spotlight upon him. His face was swollen beyond recognition, his left eye sealed shut and his skin near every shade of the rainbow save for his usually healthy pale. His thin hospital gown revealed multiple bandages above further discoloured skin, and four fingers were splinted, as was his right wrist. There were lines connected to machines to keep track of his pulse and respiration, and an IV that was hopefully giving him pain killers as well as fluids to his much abused body. Arthur already knew there were broken ribs and bruised vertebrae, and added that to his mental catalogue of injuries.
“How do you like God’s work?” Will asked, his voice hollow and hoarse and just barely recognisable.
Arthur heard the hate and spite in his tone, and knew he had every right to feel it. “This is not the work of God,” he replied. He was not certain if it was his voice shaking, or his body, but a touch of Merlin’s hand upon his wrist and he felt himself begin to calm again. “This is the work of Man. Of men who took the word of God and corrupted it to their needs.” He knew his father counted amongst those men, just as he knew his father would have to face judgement for that fact.
Will licked his cracked lips and asked, “Why did they feel the need to do this?” He lifted one hand as if to wave to encompass everything that had happened to him, but winced from even that little of movement.
“Because they are wrong and have been led astray from God’s true message.” Even after this, even after the damage and fear and pain, Arthur needed to believe, needed to know there was still some guiding force in his life.
Will snorted, then looked like he regretted it. “And just what might that message be?”
It was not Arthur, but Merlin who answered, hand squeezing Arthur’s wrist lightly as he simply said, “Love one another.”
“Sorry, but I’m not feeling the love right now,” Will admitted, though some of the anger seemed to have seeped from him.
Lance leaned over the side of the bed and pressed his lips to his lover’s forehead. “You will, in time,” he promised, smoothing his fringe away in a soothing motion.
“Until then, there’s morphine?” Merlin quipped, earning a hint of a grin. It looked more like a grimace, but the intent was there, as well as a breathy chuckle.
“Now that, I can get behind,” Will told them. He leaned back against his pillows and seemed prepared to do just that.
They stayed for only a little while longer before Arthur eased a sleepy Merlin out of the chair and into his sedan. He drove him back to the flat and could not help but stare at the police tape and blood smears on the pavement nearby. Merlin’s yawn drew him out of his thoughts long enough to help the injured man up the steps and through the door, taking the keys from him when it looked like he could not find the knob let alone the lock.
He tucked him away in his bed, sparing only a quick glance at the mess of the room that seemed in direct contrast to how organized he was with the rest of his life. He left a glass of water and the bottle of pain medication at his bedside, as well as placed the cell in the charger for when he inevitably called the hospital as soon as he woke, the number scrawled on a piece of notebook paper and tucked under the medicine.
He rather wanted to stay to make certain Merlin did not need anything further, but had already deleted four increasingly angry messages from his father from his own phone, and knew that was not an option at this time. Besides, he did not know if he would truly be welcome come the light of day. Instead, he programmed the coffee maker for a fresh pot in the morning and let himself out, closing the door softly behind him.
He sat in his car for longer than strictly necessary, mind flashing through the images of the evening: the ground covered in blood, Will’s swollen features, Merlin slumped and injured. He wondered if it made him a bad person for being thankful Merlin was not in Will’s place, that it was not Merlin who had weeks of agonising recovery to look forward to. Yes, he had a cast and bruises, but it could have been so much worse, and for what? He waited, but found no answers forthcoming from the flickering streetlight on the corner. He decided he had stalled for long enough and headed back to the house he shared with his father.
His father was, as expected, waiting for him. He only gave the briefest of details. As far as his father was concerned, Merlin had attempted to break up a fight and was injured in the process, his friend far worse off than he. Arthur did not speak of the fact it was a hate crime, that Will was targeted because he was gay, or that the attackers seemed spurred on by his father’s own words. Instead, he listened to his father vary between praising Merlin for attempting to help his fellow man, and scoff that “the boy” thought himself hearty enough to break up a fight.
Arthur stopped listening after a while, knowing his father was only making the noises he thought best to hear, and eventually dragged himself to bed, not certain if his father had still been prattling on when he did so.
He drove himself to the Ministry the next morning, but was at a loss as to what to do once he got there. Merlin was not there to head off and organise everything for him, and only a trickle of the articles made it through without his purview. The emails came though, and the calls. The beating from the night before had made the news, announcers already calling it what it was, already tying it to members of the Ministry. There were no names as of yet, no suspects as they had all escaped. Watches were out for people reporting suspicious injuries, but it seemed as likely that the whole situation was to be swept under the rug as it was the perpetrators were to be found. The fact it was the week leading up to the Gay Pride events gave it more coverage. The fact it was the Ministry meant no one really wanted to look into it that much.
Arthur finally snapped when Morgana came in to his office, both looking for Merlin and wanting to know just how much anyone knew about the attack. Arthur told her everything. He told her about Will and Lance and how Merlin tried to help and was left at home with his injuries for all his efforts. Morgana had her phone in her hand in seconds, storming out the door while she dialled.
Arthur did what he had done all morning: sit back in his chair and brood. He ignored the phone knowing Merlin or Lance would call his cell if they needed anything, and he watched the messages pile up in his email in bin. He just could not cope with it right now, afraid he would do or say something he would later regret. Afraid he would do or say something his father would beyond disapprove of.
The only light in his day was a frantic call from Merlin telling him Morgana had done her duty and now Gwen was at the flat, cooking and cleaning and threatening him within an inch of his over-fluffed pillows. She had promised to take him to see Will later that day, but only if he actually consumed something other than coffee and cold cereal and slept for a minimum of two more hours. Merlin was convinced she was grinding up pills to put in his coffee at this point because he swore every sip made him want to fall asleep.
Arthur told him to suck it up and take it like a man. Also, that she had a soft spot for Ceylon tea and Hobnobs and could be bribed if need be. The call was ended when Gwen wrestled the phone away from Merlin and said her very polite and very pointed goodbyes.
Arthur turned back to a news feed he had found with the latest information on the attack, found it odd that the Ministry had already subscribed to such a thing, especially since it was actually linked to a gay rights group. A few random clicks and he found their monthly calendar of events. A few more, and he found the calendars for several more groups, including the Rainbow Coalition. He noticed more than one site had updates on the previous night’s attack. He then noticed they listed separate addresses on three separate sites.
He grabbed a pen and paper from his desk drawer and tried to figure out if there was a connection between the three attacks, something other than simply gay bashers timing their attacks to put a damper on the Pride activities. In the drawer he found a print out of upcoming Ministry discussion groups that he had tossed in there a good month or more ago. He never paid attention to the thing as a new one came out quarterly and his father never expected him to attend anything, just know they were happening should anyone ask.
He noted one group did not file an agenda. He noted the same group had meeting times that stuck out in his mind for some reason.
He compared the calendar to that of the groups he had found online, and did not like what he found. Meeting times that happened to coincide with the days before break-ins and vandalisms. Meeting times that coincided with the night before the three attacks.
He bit his lip and tried to make sense out of what he found. Right now, he had correlations only. A first year could tell you correlations could not imply causation. It could, however imply the need for further research. He just wished he knew where to begin.
He tossed his pen across the room in frustration, only to sigh when he realised he still needed it if he were to either continue what little research he had, or even sign off on the daily reports he was supposed to be doing in the first place. He reached in his drawer to grab a new one, but his hand brushed against something else.
He picked up the slightly crumpled piece of scratch paper from what seemed like ages ago, smoothing the edges out and tracing the smeared rainbow with his own ink stained fingers, his lips quirking at the way it contrasted with the crispness of the familiar Camelot logo. In that one moment, everything seemed to slide into place. He picked up his cell phone and dialled from memory. He did not bother with pleasantries, but instead greeted the voice on the other line with, “I have a really bad idea.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Live Journal:
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four
Dreamwidth:
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four
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Eeee Arthur ILU. And the fact that he reads the Bible (in Latin? Oh, Arthur) to soothe his heart. Oh. <3
The whole scene with Gwen in the pantry. I am crushing on Gwen so hard. And you! You are this short to making her into a nun! lol.
Oh Will. Always the victim, hee. Ah, but you are necessary to the advancement of Plot. And Arthur's characterization. At least you're not dead? :D
And Uther went weird not because of some Tragedy, but just plain old human weakness for glory, in whatever form.
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