Chapter Text
The sun hadn’t even rose when Merlin and Arthur went on their morning run, and Merlin took great pleasure in telling Arthur how ridiculous he looked in a headtorch. It was a welcome distraction, anyway, from the dry cold. He had a horrible feeling in his throat every time he took a breath of the February air. Everything reminded Merlin of the fresh, coastal air of Galway, the flat, blue-silver sea that stretched endlessly into the cold sky. Where his feet were crunching the frost in the grass, they should instead be wading through slimy fingers of channel-wrack. The only time he ran in Galway was towards the sea.
“Hurry up, Merlin. Are you alright?”
“Oh, the usual,” Merlin replied, gasping for air dramatically. Arthur rolled his eyes.
Merlin was in clinic all day after that, but he caught glimpses of Arthur. He spent practically all day, every day exercising the horses. Or, at least he did on those days he was at the stables. Sometimes he must be resting. Merlin wasn’t sure what he did those other days; perhaps sometimes he was just inside at home, but it seemed unlikely he spent half the time riding horses all day and the other half sitting and doing literally nothing.
Perpetually nosy as he was, Merlin decided to ask one day.
“Watching TV and wanking.”
Merlin caught sight of his face and recognised he was joking. “Har har har, very funny. What do you really do?”
“Gym. Run. On rest days, read. Go to the pub. Hack out. Watch Morgana paint.”
“You hack out?”
“I was hoping you’d be more surprised I read, but yes.”
Merlin knew he read. Merlin had been invited to a stable management meeting the other day for the first time, and Arthur had had his nose buried in East of Eden for the whole thing, even when Uther was actively discussing Arthur’s career.
Arthur continued talking. “You can’t miss the beauty spots round here, after all. I’m sure Morgana’s shown you the creek.”
“No?”
“Oh, wow. Okay, are you busy tomorrow at lunchtime? You’ve got to see the creek.”
Merlin almost felt unnerved by how much information he was getting out of Arthur this afternoon, but at least he seemed in good spirits. Merlin decided this was a good opportunity to keep prying.
“Morgana mentioned the two of you grew up on a farm. Is it far from here?”
Arthur went quiet at that, and Wishbone was still too. Absently, he stroked the side of Wishbone’s neck. “This is it. This was it, I should say. Some of the fields still have other animals, but they’re rented out now.”
Arthur remembered the lovely 19th century farmhouse that once stood where the trim redbrick mansion now was. It had been a wonky building, perpetually cold in the bedrooms, but too hot in the living-room, where the fire was forever burning turf. Arthur could leave the living-room sweating, then go and shiver in his bed for half an hour before he warmed up enough to fall asleep. The mansion was immaculate, with heated floors and a brand new boiler and electric fires, and Arthur hated nowhere more. He’d moved room every year since it was built, because Uther kept changing his mind and repurposing rooms. They kept changing staff in the house, too, and the new staff always put things in different places to the old staff. Arthur had stopped bothering to decorate, not that he was allowed to deviate far from the interior style-guide circular. Uther had designs of being the next Guinness family. Arthur just wanted to know where the eggs would be in the morning.
Arthur stewed on this some more throughout their lesson. They gave up on dressage halfway through and moved to the other pen to do showjumping. Arthur was genuinely pleased with Merlin’s jumping progress. His score improved week-on-week, though he had never yet achieved the perfect score of zero (jumping, unlike dressage, was marked on faults rather than achievements).
At lunchtime the next day, Arthur walked out to the yard to see Merlin smiling and waving next to Honey. He felt a sharp sensation of happiness stabbing at his chest. He coughed to try to make it go away, knocking at his chest with his hand.
“This had better be worth my lunch break!” Merlin called as he approached.
“Do you even have contracted hours?”
“You’d know if you paid attention in our management meetings,” Merlin replied, leading Honey toward him. Arthur made a dismissive waving gesture and went to go get Wishbone.
It was a little warmer at lunchtime, at least, than it was on their 7am runs and 4pm lessons. It was actually sunny, for a change, as they trotted through long, dewy grass down a hill toward a copse of pines. Merlin thought it might be their destination, but they rode through, making a wide arc around a few mounds covered in twigs and needle-litter.
“Burial mounds?” Merlin asked, peering at them.
“Don’t know,” Arthur replied.
They came out onto a farmland, or at least it looked like one; they were so early in the year it hadn’t even been tilled yet.
“Looks like we could ride straight across,” Merlin remarked as Arthur made for a path around the edge.
“We’re going to this corner anyway,” Arthur said, nodding to another copse with a big, crooked oak at its head.
“Looks a bit…” Merlin trailed off.
“Creepy?”
Merlin squinted into the sun. No, it didn’t look creepy; oaks always looked alive. Even in the deepest winter, every gap of an oak seemed full with curling twigs waiting patiently to leaf.
“No… More like, alive.”
“Oh, it’s alive alright.”
They dipped under the arms of the oak and Merlin saw the brook; there was a pile of rocks where water sprang from, making a bubbling noise as it escaped and curled a path down a slope toward a little pool. It was grassy near the roots of the trees around, but the pond itself was lined with large, mossy rocks. The pool was crystal clear, rippling with the contributions of the creek. Sunlight filtered through a bare willow tree into the water. A couple of ducks were swimming around, enjoying themselves.
Merlin looked over to Arthur, who was staring at the water as if hypnotised. Merlin was going to ask if Uther owned the land, but thought better of it.
“Did you come here when you were younger as well?” He asked instead.
“Yeah. Loved it here.”
There was a comfortable silence. Arthur walked Wishbone to a large rock and dismounted. He led Wishbone away and motioned Merlin to do the same. The horses went and grazed by the roots of the trees. Arthur sat down at a bank where the ground sloped down toward the pool. Merlin did the same.
“I didn’t quit eventing on purpose, for the record. My father made me.” Arthur was looking off at Wishbone as he said it.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Merlin said, genuinely.
“I should be grateful, really. He pays me a lot to be a jockey. I’m sorry if I’ve been a dick at all. I’m just worried about the next derby."
“I get that. I’m worried about my exams.”
“Yeah? When are they?”
“End of the month. They’re only practical exams, they don’t really affect my final grade beyond having to pass them. Still a bit stressful.”
“Pressure is pressure is pressure,” Arthur remarked, looking at the ducks. "I hate being a jockey," he admitted, finally.
The germs of a plan formed in Merlin’s mind.
“I mean… If you want to be an eventer and I don’t, then why don’t you just compete on Honey? Like you said, Honey doesn’t have to win, Uther just wants him entered. Does it matter who rides him?”
Arthur thought quietly for a moment, then looked at Merlin seriously. “I think it does matter, but I think it matters more that I don’t ride him than that you do. My father would be livid if I did an eventing competition, Honey or no Honey.”
Merlin bit back what he wanted to reply.
“What is it?” Arthur asked, recognising the look on Merlin’s face. It was the look Merlin gave him when his instructions were too vague in an eventing lesson.
“I just… I know that…”
“Spit it out.”
“I think you care too much what your father thinks.”
Arthur looked at Merlin, unbelieving. “Don’t you care what your father thinks?”
“My dad’s not in the picture.”
There was a beat. “Oh, well… Okay, well you care what Gaius thinks?”
“Of course.” Then Merlin added, “I respect him.”
Arthur shook his head slowly, looking straight ahead. “I know you don’t respect my father, and you probably don’t understand why I do. But it’s just not as simple as… not doing what he says.”
It really, really is, Merlin wanted to reply. Instead he said, “Okay. Well, maybe you could try riding Honey sometime anyway. He’s a good horse.”
“He is a good horse,” Arthur answered, voice a little soft, eyes following the ripples in the water. “Yeah, okay. It’d be interesting to see how he is to ride. But you have to do something for me.”
“I hardly see you trying Honey as a favour, but alright.”
“Come to the gym with me.” He smiled as if he was joking, but Merlin knew he wasn’t.
Morgana asked Arthur if they could hack out after lunch.
“Why, is something wrong? Do you need to talk?”
“God, Arthur, no! I just haven't had a chance to chat with you lately.”
So that was how they ended up in a leisurely walking gait through Uther’s cattle-fields, Morgana on Jolene and Arthur on Wishbone.
“Me and Merlin hacked out early this morning,” Morgana said easily.
“Oh yeah?” Arthur wondered what other people his age did with their weekends while they were going on about three hacks every day.
“He asked me if it was true that you hate being a jockey.”
Arthur made a face. “He asked you if… what, does he think I’m a liar?”
“I mean, it's possible I misunderstood, my Irish isn't great…”
“Your Irish?”
“We mostly speak in Irish. I’m practising and he’s a native speaker, so.”
This was news to Arthur. He realised he didn't really know much about Merlin at all.
“I was just surprised you told him, really, I feel like only I knew that for a while.” She looked over at Arthur, and he knew she was trying to gauge his reaction.
“Alright, what are you getting at?” Arthur answered, looking straight forward. Wishbone snorted.
“Well…” Morgana smiled. “Yous must be getting close to tell him that.”
“Right.” Last time he’d make that mistake.
“Arthur, don't be like that. I really like Merlin. I’m glad you don't dislike him anymore.”
“I never disliked him, it’s just that he sort of hates everything I stand for.”
Morgana slowed Jolene to a stop, and Wishbone stopped as well, to Arthur's irritation.
“Well, that's why it's important to be honest with him. You don't stand for jockeying, not really.” She paused. “You and Merlin have a lot in common, you know. If you made the effort to get to know him.”
“I’m still not sure what you're getting at, Morgana.”
“Well, for example, did you know he's gay too?”
“Should you be telling me that? God, you didn't tell him I am, did you?”
“No, Arthur, you know me better than that. He mentioned he was gay and I asked if you knew. He said he wasn't trying to hide it and I could tell you for all he cared.”
Arthur supposed he knew somewhere inside. He probably would've been even more uncomfortable around Merlin if he'd honestly thought he was straight. Stupid Merlin, why couldn't he just be straight? Then Arthur wouldn't think about it all so much. About eventing and runs and hacking and what to say when and how to say it. Morgana must have seen his mind working, because she looked at him sympathetically.
“It's okay if you fancy him, Arthur.”
Arthur’s face felt hot with shame. “I do not. Okay, we've gone far enough now. Let's loop round.”
He didn't. How could he even admit it if he did? It was just… teaching Merlin was easy. In a way he hadn't found something easy in a long time. Arthur made it harder for himself by being so in his head, but he was teaching a sport he loved to a person he found it easy to talk to. He hadn't meant to admit to Merlin he wasn't happy. It was just that he was filling up in a way he hadn't before, and it came spilling out. Arthur had a way of compressing himself, of feeling nothing so he couldn't admit things didn't make him happy. He had distanced himself from Wishbone. Pushed himself with training. Never really tried to win on Smoke Hour, but never tried to lose either. It was all neutral, it was all difficult and took up all his time and he never had to think.
Then Merlin came. Made him argue, which forced him to care. Made him spend time with Wishbone, and now Arthur missed Wishbone again when he raced. Made him teach eventing, and Arthur enjoyed a sport again for the first time in years. Then Merlin had touched him, at the derby. Something Arthur couldn't force himself not to feel.
And now when Arthur didn't feel happy, he felt empty. He had felt things and it had left a gap behind. It was unbearable. It was much easier to be nothing.
Three weeks to go until Merlin’s event. Perfect. He’d get sick of Merlin after spending three intensive weeks with him, and after that, Merlin probably wouldn't need so many lessons to keep getting better.