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Uther isn’t wearing a suit, as Merlin imagined he’d be, but his shirt is impeccably ironed (good thing Arthur ironed Merlin’s shirt—the fact that Arthur learned to iron at a young age makes Merlin sad), and Uther’s trousers probably cost more than Merlin paid for his car.
Uther awaits his guests in the sun room, having his butler, George, usher them in. Merlin thinks George’s sour-puss face reflects what working for Uther must be like. Morgana and Leon are already present, quietly sipping their drinks on the sofa. Morgana is demurely dressed—not at all like Merlin is accustomed to seeing her—and Leon has had his hair trimmed. The latter amuses Merlin greatly, and he makes sure to catch Leon’s eye and tug at his own hair in order to let Leon know Merlin noticed. Leon sticks his tongue out at Merlin, almost getting caught by Uther swinging around to pat Leon on the back, and has to turn it into the kind of lip-lick a cat might give.
“We are having a celebratory drink,” Uther says, and Merlin catches the apologetic look Morgana sends Arthur’s way, although he thinks Arthur doesn’t see it. There had been a missed call on Arthur’s mobile from her that morning, and Merlin wonders now if it had been a warning.
“Oh?” Arthur asks as he and Merlin accept their drinks from George. “What is it we’re celebrating?” He looks at Merlin, and Merlin has the sudden insight that Arthur actually thinks Uther’s going to say they’re celebrating his and Arthur’s engagement. It makes Merlin hate Uther even more, because he feels certain that’s not it.
“Morgana and Leon have just informed me that they are expecting a child,” Uther’s smile is large and magnanimous. “In February, didn’t you say?” He turns to Morgana, who looks a little green. Merlin doesn’t think it’s morning sickness, either. She knows what this is doing to Arthur.
Merlin steps closer to Arthur so that their arms brush.
“Congratulations,” Merlin says as Arthur raises his glass to them.
“That’s lovely, Morgana. Leon. Best wishes to you both.”
They drink. Merlin drinks a bit more than is probably proper for a toast. He can see the looks Uther gives Arthur and the pointed way Arthur refuses to look at his father. This is something Arthur can never give Uther—a grandchild--and everyone in the room knows it. It may not be spoken verbally, but Uther’s dissatisfaction is as plain as though he’d shouted it.
An uncomfortable silence falls in the room, and Merlin can feel sweat beginning to gather under his collar. If someone doesn’t say something soon, he knows he’s going to speak, and it isn’t going to be pretty.
“Perhaps lunch is ready, Father?” Arthur suggests. “I can hear Leon’s stomach growling.”
Everyone laughs, except Uther, of course, because he’s pure evil and probably incapable of laughter. Suitable laughter, that is; Merlin feels sure Uther laughs at other people’s misfortune. Merlin takes Arthur’s hand as they walk into the dining room, squeezing it. Arthur squeezes back as though to say, Don’t worry about me.
Because that’s just like Arthur. He’ll take whatever his father wants to dish out, as long as it’s only directed his way.
Merlin wants to flatten Uther’s face into the expensive marble-tiled floor.
And Merlin’s not a violent person. Shortly after meeting Uther, Merlin had a long conversation/rant with Gwen about this very thing. It disturbed him greatly that Arthur’s father brought out such intense, negative feelings in him. It’s so foreign to Merlin’s nature, that Merlin feels he’s infused with venom when he’s around the man.
Gwen simply told him that it’s a natural, protective reaction in Merlin because he loves Arthur. It’s not like Merlin hates Uther just to be hating him; he hates Uther because he’s a direct threat to Arthur’s emotional and physical well-being.
“You haven’t been at work much this week,” Uther points out over salad, a mixture of spinach leaves and fruit topped with vinaigrette, just proving Merlin’s point that Uther is Simon Legree personified.
“I’ve been slowing down a little because I’ve been so tired.”
Merlin silently chews his salad, unobtrusively flicking the anchovies to the side because--ick, hoping his venomous looks are somehow inflicting pain on Uther.
“Slowing down will harm the company before you realize it,” Uther says.
“Not slowing down will exhaust him and make him sick,” Merlin says, trying to keep his tone light. Leon meets Merlin’s eyes from across the table.
“True enough. Everyone needs rest at some point.”
“You just had that holiday at the shore,” Uther says.
Morgana shifts in her chair. “Four days. Hardly enough time to rest.”
“I don’t see you taking time off,” Uther points out to her.
“I work half the hours Arthur normally works.”
“Did you invite us here so you can slam Arthur for taking a few hours off his workday?” Merlin asks, setting down his fork with a clang that rings throughout the high-ceilinged dining room.
Arthur’s hand comes to rest on Merlin’s thigh under the table.
Uther appears flabbergasted. “Am I slamming you, Arthur?”
“No, Father.” Arthur squeezes Merlin’s thigh. “It’s true that I haven’t been working as much, but it isn’t going to be a regular thing.”
Merlin bites the inside of his cheek and picks up his fork again.
“I was just pointing out that it’s easy to get out of the habit of good working hours if one is not careful,” Uther sniffs.
Merlin’s stomach tightens, and he knows he can’t eat another bite. He sets his fork down, quietly this time.
“Something wrong with your salad, Merlin?” Uther is baiting him, probably hoping Merlin will explode so that Uther can later point out to Arthur how unsuitable Merlin is. How plebian.
Morgana seems very interested in her own food, her cheeks pink. Merlin has no doubt she feels guilty about her news starting the visit out on such a sour note for Arthur.
“It’s very good,” Merlin says. “My appetite is just a bit off.”
“Really? Why is that?”
Merlin opens his mouth, past temptation now, but Arthur interrupts with a work-related topic, steering the conversation away from Merlin for the time being.
George clears the plates and brings in the chicken, broiled sweet potatoes, and zucchini. Merlin’s eyes meet Morgana’s. She seems to be trying to communicate to him that it’s better to just go with it. Get the lunch over with as easily as possible. For Arthur.
Merlin glances at Arthur. His jawline is tight and there’s that line between his eyes. Merlin doesn’t want to make things worse for him. He gives Morgana a slight smile and takes a bite of food.
“Delicious.”
“I've always said Cook could work in the finest restaurants,“ Uther digs in heartily. "I'm glad to see that you recognize excellent food when it's put before you, Merlin."
Arthur's head comes up at that, and this time Merlin pats Arthur's leg under cover of the table.
Leon brings up sports, which seems to bore Uther, but it carves away another ten minutes of the excruciating lunch. Morgana then pipes up with a story of someone Uther knows that she ran into recently.
It occurs to Merlin that Morgana and Leon have carefully pre-orchestrated a conversation, because immediately that Morgana wrings out the most she can from her tale, Leon picks up with a question about the personnel department. By the time dessert arrives, Merlin’s spirits rise as he can now see the light heralding the exit from hell.
They slog through the cheesecake, Uther bringing the conversation around to Morgana’s pregnancy, although he wouldn’t be so indelicate as to call it that, and then Uther suggests an apéritif on the patio.
As they sit protected from the drizzle by the elaborate overhang, Uther finally acknowledges his son’s engagement, although not quite in the manner Merlin would have wished.
With a sigh just this side of beleaguered, Uther asks, “So when are the…nuptials…taking place?” He doesn’t look at Arthur or at Merlin when he says it, but rather out at the rain dripping off the snow-white hydrangea bushes.
“October,” Arthur answers, taking Merlin’s hand and lacing their fingers together.
Uther clears his throat. “I feel it is my duty to make an offer. I would normally do this more privately, but as we are all family, I don’t suppose it matters.” He turns and looks at Merlin and Arthur in turn. Taking a small piece of paper out of his pocket, he hands it to Arthur, who unfolds it.
“What is this?” Arthur asks, puzzled. Written on the paper is a large sum of money. Very large.
“That is what I’m prepared to put into your bank account if you will give up this idea of a legal union.”
Merlin hears Morgana’s indrawn breath.
“I believe if you really think about it, you’ll realize that it would be better all-around that you keep this relationship, should you choose to continue it, under wraps. Arthur, you could have a marriage—a very good one---and still see,” here Uther flutters his hand Merlin’s way and doesn’t even bother to say his name or look at him, “whenever you like. I know you say you prefer men, and that’s all well and good, but I’m sure you can find you a woman willing to marry you anyway for your name and fortune.”
Merlin can feel the anger building, starting from deep in his belly and welling upwards into his chest. His face feels hot. At any moment he’s going to explode—jump up and tell Uther Pendragon where he can shove his piece of paper and all his money. Arthur’s hand inside Merlin’s trembles minutely, and Merlin turns to look at him.
Arthur’s face is very white, but other than that, Merlin can’t read any emotion on it. Arthur passes the paper back to his father with his free hand and stands, pulling Merlin up with him.
George arrives with the drinks.
“No, thank you, George. We won’t be having any,” Arthur says. “Goodbye, Morgana and Leon. We’ll see you soon. Goodbye, Father. I’ll be handing in my resignation in the morning. Have a nice life.”
Uther stares at his son, open-mouthed. Arthur tugs Merlin through the doors into the house and toward the foyer, the heels of their shoes ringing on the marble floor.
Merlin’s grinning so widely his face hurts.
They race out the front door and outside again.
“What is the meaning of this, Arthur? Are you out of your mind?” Uther's shout is almost drowned out by the now-pouring rain.
Arthur doesn’t turn around. He unlocks the car doors and Merlin slips into the passenger seat. He’d offer to drive, but he doesn’t want to disturb the momentum of Arthur’s spectacular exit.
They get several miles down the road before Arthur pulls over and loses it.