Chapter Text
Arthur feels his mother’s touch linger, even beneath the waterfall. Even when the wind blew so hard against his cheek it was biting. Even back in Camelot, where the memory of Ygraine had been purged just as ruthlessly as magic had. He feels it most beneath the weight of Merlin’s gaze, layered as it is.
Arthur could have a hundred years and he would still never be able to decipher every nuance in Merlin’s face. There is grief, an overwhelming, stunning grief that threatens to topple Arthur over. An ache that echoes Arthur’s own. A concern that Arthur has to look away from before something terrible happens and deep, deeper than anything else, a simmering rage that Arthur grasps with both hands as he pushes through the Great Hall doors and draws his sword.
The words that are said don’t matter. The accusations that are hurled are irrelevant. The truth is too. Uther lies. His lips open and spill deceits and it’s only then that Arthur realizes how high the pedestal he had placed his father upon really was because when it tumbles, his entire world quakes, and splits right in two.
He’s living in two eras. Before, where he was ignorant and admiring and now, eyes blown open with the truth he can’t bear and a father who would rather his son carry the guilt of his mother’s death than admit his own mistakes.
“The witch has poisoned you.” Uther spits.
“She’s not a witch. She’s a woman. A person. A human being. Just like the thousands you have had murdered and hunted and persecuted for doing nothing other than be a reminder of your sins!” Arthur yells as their swords clang.
“Their very existence is a sin.” Uther hisses, his blade flying in an arc that a lesser man might be too slow to parry but Arthur may long for peace, but he knows his body was built for war.
Metal grates on metal and the two are pushed back, panting. “Magic can heal.” Arthur’s voice is low, expression darkening like a storm, “It can grow the crops, it can bring the rain. The magic of old brought prosperity to Camelot in an age you ended.”
“Magic has been used against this kingdom every day since the moment you were born!”
“Because you killed them!” Arthur shoves his father back, blood raging, “Because you created a world of vengeance when before, there was peace. You brought discord to Camelot, not them!”
Vaguely, he hears the door opening, hears Merlin shouting his name.
Don’t look at me, he wants to say. I don’t want you to see me like this. Turn away, turn away.
But Arthur’s feet are moving on their own accord, he steps forward, back, and then spins, ducking beneath Uther’s strike before slamming the blunt side of his blade against his wrist. Uther’s sword clatters to the ground, his father looking up at him with stunned eyes.
What was he expecting? He’s had Arthur trained to kill since birth. All his life he’d been told his first kill had been his mother, that he should spend his whole life repenting by taking the lives of those who wished harm on the kingdom she loved so dear.
More lies. He’s sick of them. He’s sick.
With his left hand, Arthur shoves Uther into his seat, his gloved hand clenched around his shirt. With his right, he poises the sword right at Uther’s neck. They’re breathing hard, Arthur can’t see anything but Uther’s face, at the lack of apology, the disregard, the derision, even now. At the end of everything.
“You don’t deserve to live.” The words feel like knives in his mouth, “After everything you’ve done, the suffering you’ve caused, the murder you committed. You’re not fit to be king, you’ve lost your way, Uther Pendragon.”
They are not speaking as father and son. They are speaking as King and Successor.
“How dare you.” Even with a sword at his throat, Uther still behaves like Arthur’s just a child, with no power of his own and just a weepy heart. “I am the king and you will show me your respect.”
“Respect is not a given right; it’s earned and how have you earned it? By slaughtering innocents?” Arthur shakes his head, his eyes burning, his head pounding, “No. I can’t let you do that. I can’t let this continue. I have to protect the people of our kingdom before you do damage that can never be undone.”
Uther sneers at him, his hand gripping the blade, blood leaking through his fingers, “You would kill your own father?”
“I have only a mother.” Arthur whispers, “And you killed her. For a son you never knew how to love.”
His grip tightens around the pommel before he’s being jerked back, Merlin’s pleading face at his shoulder. “Arthur don’t! Please-”
“Let me go!” he commands, trying to shrug off his hold, but Merlin won’t budge, his knuckles white.
“I won’t!” And Merlin’s face is twisted in such a gut-wrenching display of heartbreak Arthur loses his footing.
They stumble away from the table and Merlin is holding Arthur’s wrist so tightly he thinks his fingers will go numb. Merlin’s hand slides down until he’s holding the sword with him. They’re face to face, Arthur’s cheeks are red, his lips pressed tightly to keep from trembling. Merlin is aching, his skin pale and waxy. Their gazes are trapped and Arthur doesn’t think he’s able to look away even if he wanted to.
“I saw her too.” Merlin whispers. “I saw the life you could have had. I know how much it hurts. I see it all over you.”
“You can’t know.” Arthur chokes, “Your mother would never-”
“But I know you.” Merlin says, his free hand tapping at Arthur’s cheek, “I know you. You won’t be able to live with this. No matter what he’s done, no matter who he’s hurt. He is your father and you will never be able to rule this kingdom the way I know you can with your heart tangled in tatters.”
“You don’t understand Merlin.” Arthur feels like he’s both dying and sinking, like the weight of his grief could plummet him right to the centre of the earth. “I killed them too.” He whispers, a shame too horrible to bring to words.
Merlin’s hand flattens against his cheek, it’s the only thing Arthur knows is real. “And now you’ll save them. So please Arthur.”
And his plea is so gentle, meant only for his ears and Arthur is tired. He’s wrung completely dry. His knees buckle as his sword hits the ground. He falls into Merlin and they sink to the ground, Arthur’s head at his shoulder, Merlin’s arms wrapped around his neck, pressing his cheek into Arthur’s hair. “It’s okay.” Merlin whispers, “It’s okay.”
But it isn’t, and it’s not and it will never be. Arthur is crying, he doesn’t care that he is. He feels his sadness soak through Merlin’s shirt, feels Merlin’s grip around him tighten like he could protect him from the worst of it. He hears Uther move from his chair, standing awkwardly above them. “You did the right thing Arthur, your servant-”
“I think you should leave, my lord.” Merlin cuts in and Arthur feels the way Merlin’s body tenses, how he switches from being inviting to threatening in just a moment.
No one’s ever protected him like this before.
“Let him recover. Please.” And it’s because Arthur knows Merlin just as well as Merlin knows him that sees through the veneer of politeness for what it is. “He needs time to process everything.”
“Make sure he gets to his chambers unseen.” Uther replies after a pause. “And if you speak a word of this to anyone,” the threat hangs in the air, “I’ll see you quartered.”
Arthur’s heart drops to the floor. Uther is never going to change. He can’t. He won’t. He refuses.
Merlin’s chin rests on Arthur’s head, eyes sharp, watching Arthur’s father go until he knows they’re well and truly alone. Then, and only then, does his gentleness return, his charming foolishness, and Arthur wonders about the Merlin that exists when he isn’t there to see it. The Merlin that prowls the halls when Arthur isn’t beside him, drawing out his fondness.
“I’m sorry.” Arthur says, pulling away.
Merlin looks confused. “What for?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
“Don’t I?” Arthur asks, eyes helpless and resigned.
“No.” Merlin says firmly. “Not a thing. Your father is wrong. He’s always been wrong. About this and other things. I used to wonder, how you could be you, when he was him.” Merlin smiles, Arthur’s lip twitches just by instinct, “Now that I’ve seen your mother, I understand a bit better now.”
Merlin tugs at Arthur’s hair, “You look like her, you know.”
Arthur trembles, “I do?”
Merlin nods, “Your nose, it’s a similar shape, your hair colour, obviously. The blue of your eyes. The way you carry yourselves, how your feelings are written right there for anyone to see, right all over your face.”
“You noticed all that?”
Merlin shrugs, suddenly shy, “It was hard not to.”
Arthur regards him for a moment and before he realizes it, a real smile, small it may be, pulls across his lips, “You really are a wonder, you know that?”
Merlin blinks in surprise before he grins back, “Is the wonder that I’m a bit of an idiot?”
“A bit is a little misleading, isn’t it?” Arthur returns the joke, trying hard to fall back into their routine. Into some semblance of normalcy.
Merlin snorts, getting up and reaching out a hand and leading him back to his chambers. “Let’s get you out of that armor, yeah?”
“You’re just worried I’ll ding it up more and you’ll have to spend more time polishing it.”
“You ruin your armor an unreasonably high amount.” Merlin counters.
“Saving lives, Merlin.”
“Having Kay beat you with a club to see how much damage you could take isn’t what I’d consider life-saving activities, sire.”
“It was research.”
“You’re the reason women think men are a different species.” Merlin retorts mercilessly and it’s so unexpected that Arthur throws his head back and laughs.
Merlin is his ray of light through the clouds. He’s the single sprouting seed in a forest burnt to ash.
Merlin looks absolutely delighted by his cheer, his eyes twinkling. In Arthur’s chambers, Merlin takes off his armour slower than usual, like they’re moving through a dream. Or not a dream, but the moment where you just wake up from one, caught between illusions and reality. At last, the final piece of his chainmail is removed. Merlin lingers around him, fussing. Arthur lets him.
“What do you say you go fetch us some bread and cheese. Grapes if they have any. We can play that dice game you’re so unnaturally good at.”
Merlin smiles, almost relieved. “You just can’t handle that I’m better at something than you. It’s sad really.”
“Oh I’m well aware that you’re better at things than me.” Arthur says in that tone that Merlin recognizes is a sign of rude things to come, “For example, you’re much better at making a fool of yourself, at saying the wrong thing at the wrong time,” he clicks his tongue, “at being at the wrong place at the wrong time.” Arthur looks up, genuinely concerned, “It’s actually a bit alarming how often that happens to you.”
Merlin snorts, “What can I say, it’s my stellar luck.”
“No, your stellar luck is always rolling high.”
“That,” Merlin retorts, “is my well-deserved karmic justice.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. Merlin makes a face. They both grin stupidly when the other looks away. The grin slips off Arthur’s face the second he’s alone and like Merlin was holding him up, he sags onto the floor, head hidden in his arms.
He’s good at distracting himself, always has been. It’s a skill of the trade when your life is spent fighting and battling. If you didn’t know how to hide from the fear, it would devour you whole and leave nothing behind but your brittle bones. He hears Merlin’s steps, tries to lift his head and force a smile but Merlin looks down at him with empathetic eyes.
“I knew you were forcing yourself.”
Arthur looks up with the weight of the world pushing him down. “My whole life has been upended Merlin, what am I supposed to do now?” he asks, entire heart bare on his face.
Merlin sets the tray down in front of them and settles himself at Arthur’s side. “You carry on.” He says simply, “And try to be better than those who came before.”
“I told my father I disowned him.” He whispers, only now realizing the gravity of what he has done, the things he said that he can’t ever take back.
Merlin leans on his knees, peering up at him from beneath his lashes. “Did you mean it?”
Arthur closes his eyes, ashamed at what he will say next. “I can’t bear it Merlin. I can’t bear thinking about the suffering I’ve caused to people who never deserved it when all I’ve ever wanted- all I’ve ever tried to do is-” he cuts himself off, looking pointedly away.
Merlin’s hand is steady on his arm, “You’re a good man Arthur. You can’t let Uther take that away from you.”
“A good man doesn’t slaughter innocents.” He says vehemently and Merlin flinches before pushing forward.
“You were taught your whole life that magic was evil and that those who practiced it were set on the kingdom’s destruction. Is it not the sign of a better man to change when he’s learned that he was wrong than to have always been raised with the correct ideals?”
Arthur doesn’t say anything in reply. “Thank you.” He says at last, turning to Merlin with a rare expression of true gratitude, “For stopping me.”
Merlin holds his gaze, “You’re welcome.”
“You’re a true friend Merlin.” He goes on and Merlin goes very still, like a single move might make him stop, “In fact, I think you’re my only friend.” Arthur blows out a breath, self-conscious and almost shy. “I was never really allowed any. My father always told me to keep my boundaries with the Lords and the knights, to ensure I never forgot my status and my burdens.”
Arthur glances at him, his lip quirking up, “But you don’t give a damn about any of that, and I think, if I’m being honest, that’s why I couldn’t leave you alone when we first met.”
Merlin’s eyes widen, he barely wants to breathe lest he break the moment. Arthur so rarely, rarely gets like this. He hides away the boy in him so protectively, in favour of the man.
“My father is wrong and he must either change or be stopped. My life is about to become extremely uncomfortable and extremely hard, so if you want to go, so you don’t have to face their ire as well, then you should.”
Merlin frowns, “You want me to leave you?”
Arthur frowns back. “That’s not what I said.”
“Then there’s nothing to speak about.”
Merlin looks at him, expression set. Arthur looks back with a ghost of a smile. He reaches over to break off a piece of cheese when he scowls, “Merlin you idiot, you brought the wrong one.”
Merlin makes a face, “No I didn’t-” Arthur stuffs the hard cheese they both hate into his mouth and Merlin sputters, wheezing as he spits it out, “Arthur!”
“Punishment.” He says remorselessly.
“You’re such an ass, you know that? I hope you suffer with hard cheese forever.”
“Well I hope you trip down the stairs, maybe it’ll knock some of your brains back into place.”
Merlin’s jaw drops and Arthur laughs and laughs.
The darkness inside of him grows gloomier, but somewhere in the distance, there is a tiny beam of light. Arthur has faith that one day he will the see the sun. He believes in a future where this guilt stops festering inside of him. If he could protect the people he couldn’t now, then maybe it will make up for all the red in his ledger. Maybe building a future where all can prosper will at least set the souls for those who died needlessly at rest.
Ever a man of action, Arthur doesn’t sit and plot or scheme. Instead, the next morning, he walks into the Council Chambers as he always does for the council meeting and takes a breath. Unconsciously, his gaze seeks Merlin’s out and his only friend looks back with steadfast eyes.
“Councilmen.” Arthur begins, “Recently, I’ve had an illuminating journey that I think you all will find worth looking into further. On the subject of magic, I believe that Camelot’s approach has been not only wrong, but ethically unviable. We must restore balance and-”
“ENOUGH!” Uther shouts, lurching up from his chair, face winding in fury. “Arthur,” he commands, “not another word.”
Arthur stands as well, not breaking eye contact, “Why? Afraid you will incur their disrespect as well as mine?”
Uther lifts a finger, “Arthur, I’m warning you. Any word on this matter will be considered treason against your king.”
Everyone in the room stiffens. Nobody moves. Arthur sees Gaius look at him, eyes wide, moving his head in a silent plea for him to stop. He sees Merlin, eyes glued to Uther, face dark, hand curled into a fist.
What does it mean to be a prince? Is it to do what you are told with the hope that you can use what little power you have to bend the curves of the river knowing full well you can’t control where it ends? To be a prince means to be secondary. It is to be a replacement the genuine figure can dispose of when you’re no longer necessary.
If Arthur felt less deeply, he might be able to play the game a little better.
But he’s never been good at being a prince, has always been better as a knight, so he faces his monster and says, “I cannot let injustice go unseen and abetted. You are wrong in your persecution of sorcerers and magic and if you could admit what you have done then-”
“Guards!” Uther yells, “Silence him!”
The sentries look at each other then at their King, eyes black like fog, veins pulsing. They grab at Arthur, clamping a hand over his mouth and holding his arms back. They won’t look him in the eye though as they do it and Arthur resents them for their cowardice.
“You have tarnished this castle with your disrespect for the last time.” Uther hisses, looking down at Arthur as the sentries bring him to his knees. “When you renounced me as your father yesterday, I let it go out of the goodness of my heart, but now I see that you will not be tamed. You have been poisoned Arthur and I fear that nothing I can say or do will rid you of it.”
Arthur doesn’t try to break from the hold though he knows he could if he wanted to. He stares up at his father with calm eyes, face impassive and unbowed.
“I will not have someone corrupted by sorcery seated at the throne.” The king’s voice drops and unlike the guards, Uther makes sure Arthur can see the coldness in his eyes, “From this day forward, I disinherit you as my son and you are banished from Camelot until you learn how to respect your betters.”
Arthur’s eyes widen and he thrashes upwards, brows furrowing in disbelieving anger.
“No! You can’t do that!” everyone’s heads whip around to see Merlin, jaw tilted upward like he’s looking to fight, “Arthur is your son.”
Uther takes a step, “One more word and you will be flogged in the square.”
Merlin opens his mouth again and Arthur wants to scream before Gaius stands, holding up both his hands, “My Lord, please, I beg you to reconsider, perhaps he just needs to be looked at from a medical standpoint-”
“I have made my decision Gaius. You would do well to abide by it.” Uther replies coldly.
“But sire,” Gaius’ heartbreak writes itself all over his face, “he’s just a boy.”
Softer, “He’s your boy.”
Something ruthless settles over Uther’s face.
“No,” he answers, “I don’t know what he is. But he is no one I recognize.” Turning back to Arthur, Uther nods at the guards before walking away. “Take him to his room, let him pack his things and then escort him off the grounds. No one is allowed to see him.”
The guards haul Arthur up, his body hanging limply between them. “You would really banish your only child rather than admit your mistakes?” he asks, so quietly the court has to strain to hear him.
Uther doesn’t even turn around. “My only mistake is believing you could ever be worthy of the Pendragon name.”
Arthur flinches. Merlin’s fingers dig so far into his palms they draw blood. As the guards drag him away, Arthur watches Merlin run towards him before being pulled back by a knight. “Let me go! I’m his manservant, I need to-”
“You heard the king boy.” The knight bites back, twisting Merlin’s arm behind his back so that he winces.
“I’m not anyone important! I’m just a servant.”
A servant who spoke out against the king. A servant who had more honour than any of the nobility sitting around that table.
Arthur wants to shout something to him, he wants to run towards him and rip that knight’s hands off of him. He wants to do something, anything, but it feels like the life has gone out of him. He’s just a shell and when the guards throw him into his chambers, he doesn’t know what to do other than stare.
Everything, everything has gone horribly wrong. He should have thought things through, he should have reflected on the consequences of what he wanted to do. He should have sought to make allies first before making an enemy out of everyone.
On instinct, his hands start stuffing things into a rucksack even while he feels like his true self is floating above him, watching the proceedings from its detached perspective. He’s untethered to the world, has no conception of reality because it has fractured so beyond familiarity he’s sure Merlin will wake him up from this horrible dream and he will find that none of this has ever happened and he’s still Crown Prince of the only place he’s ever loved.
But the rooster doesn’t crow and the sun doesn’t rise and no one comes to wake him.
Arthur keeps stuffing things into bags, he has no idea if he’s packing anything useful, doesn’t even know what would be considered useful. Where is he even going? Where could he go? Will the news of the prince banished in disgrace spread far and wide? Will he be haunted wherever he goes by the ghost of his potential?
He hears yelling outside his door, “Let me in!” Morgana cries and Arthur’s whole entire heart squeezes, “I demand you let me see him! I am the king’s ward!”
The guards don’t let her in. She yells for an eternity more before being turned away at last, still fighting even as she’s dragged away.
He hears Guinevere next. Her scheme is far more clever, she brings a tray of food up, pretending to be sent by the king, but they don’t believe her either, knowing her to be Morgana’s maid and send her away as well.
Merlin doesn’t come.
Arthur tries not to be hurt by this. For all that Merlin is an idiot, he’s well aware the guards know exactly who he is. He probably didn’t think it was worth the trouble.
Arthur so very rarely is.
His door opens and a knight alongside two guards walk in, “It’s time.” Is all he says.
Arthur doesn’t look at him. He trained this one. Owain, his name was. He taught him his signature bit of footwork that helped set his opponent off balance enough to make a clean stab through the heart. Does he remember? Does he feel guilty? Does he feel anything at all?
Arthur walks through the corridors in shame, every servant and visitor and noble poking their heads out to watch him. He tilts his chin higher, refuses to be who they want him to. The only one who’s brought dishonour on himself is Uther. Arthur had truth and justice on his side. He had compassion and care and the burden of ruling that urged him to protect not just those who were like him, but those who were different as well. He’s in the right.
But what are ethics to power?
What is a disappointment of a son to pride?
Arthur walks out of the castle walls and through the Lower Town with his head held high even as the populace spits at him, even as they call him names, even as they boo him for being a traitor and a treasonous son, raised without integrity.
When he gets to Camelot’s outer wall, the guards give him a shove. “You can’t step foot past these doors ever again until you do three things.”
Arthur looks at him with eyes that promise pain and feels just the smallest bit of satisfaction when the man jerks back.
“One, you must apologize for your treasonous actions towards the king. Two, you must publicly profess the dangers of magic and your dedication to upholding the law. And three,” the guard catches his gaze and Arthur grits his jaw, “you must bring back the witch Morgause’s head, for spreading lies about your mother.”
Arthur bares his teeth and lurches towards him when Owain shoves him back. Arthur lands on the ground with a sharp thud and the gate comes crashing down before him. Roaring, Arthur bangs on the door with his palm, the wood scraping his skin, but he persists, yelling for them to face him like men and not cowards, but they’ve long since gone and he is alone.
Or he’s supposed to be anyway.
“Veryck, if you could just-” the sound of a very familiar chagrin catches Arthur’s attention as does the whinny of what sounds like an extremely annoyed horse. “Look, I know I promised you an apple, but it must have fallen somewhere and-”
Arthur turns around, walking a few metres into the wood where he sees Merlin petting a horse while holding the reins of the other.
“Merlin??”
Merlin drops the reins and spins around, “Arthur!”
Merlin beams. Arthur’s eye twitches.
“What, exactly, are you doing?”
Merlin makes a face, “What does it look like? I stole some horses.” His lip quirks up, “And some of cook’s pies. But that was just because she’s been such a harpy all this time and she deserved it.”
Arthur’s still looking at him like he’s grown another head.
“Arthur,” Merlin starts, in that fake concerned voice of his, “did the knights hit you on the head on the way out?”
“No.” he growls, “I just don’t understand what you’re doing here.”
Or rather, he does. He understands completely, he just can’t bear the hope of it all. In case he’s wrong.
Merlin gives him a look pitying his lack of intelligence, “I’m coming with you obviously.”
Like Arthur’s slow.
He should say something like, great! Wonderful! Thank you! Instead he says, “What about Gaius?” because gods help him he cares more about Merlin’s happiness than his own.
Merlin looks away, “It was hard to say goodbye.” He admits, “But we’ll see him again. I know it.”
We.
Arthur suddenly wants to cry.
“Does he know I would’ve said goodbye?” Arthur asks softly, feeling inept by his own vulnerability.
Merlin holds his gaze, “Of course he does, don’t be ridiculous. He sent me off with some poultices and herbs in case we run into trouble.”
Arthur smirks, it’s small and pained, but still, it’s there. “Who, us?”
Merlin grins back, “I know. How utterly unlikely.”
There is a moment of silence before Merlin breaks it, somewhat hesitantly. “He also wanted me to tell you that even though you were foolish and rash, he’s proud of you.”
Arthur blinks, his vision suddenly foggy and he takes a minute to compose himself. He can’t really address any of that so pivots to the most obvious thing.
“This is the last chance to go back.”
“I’m already here. I’m too tired to take all those stairs again.” Merlin quips.
Arthur looks up at the treeline, the sun is still high in the sky, there’s plenty of daylight left to execute a plan he hasn’t yet thought of. “I don’t know where I’m going.” He confesses and Merlin brightens.
“I thought you wouldn’t. Fancy seeing my mum again?”
Arthur looks up, “Do you think she…”
“Of course she would. For whatever reason, she’s quite fond of you.”
Arthur tries to smile. It comes out miserable.
“Come on Arthur, let’s get going. I’ll lead the way.” Merlin’s voice has gentled and suddenly, Arthur feels like he’s made of dust, about to be blown away by the smallest breeze.
The trouble with horse rides through the forest is that they’re a magnet for drawing up your deepest thoughts, things you wanted to keep hidden and tucked safely away. Too much has happened in only two days and it feels like Arthur’s body isn’t big enough to contain it all. Worse, it feels like he’s underwater, experiencing his feelings like he’s weightless and dazed.
It’s shock, he realizes with a pang.
The kind he usually only ever feels when he’s been slammed so hard with a broadsword his ears ring. He never knew his heart could feel a pain like this. He didn’t think it was capable of such grief. Of such life-shattering betrayal.
He and Merlin ride in silence, broken only by Merlin’s insistence that he drink something or take a break for the horses or his worried eyes, darting from him to the horizon so often Arthur’s lost count. Let Merlin worry about him, he thinks. Someone should. He for one, doesn’t care at all. He doesn’t care what happens to him anymore. Why should he?
He’s a failure.
He’s a nothing.
He had the potential to be a hero and he ended up just like everyone else. His people deserve to hate him, for having been given a chance and losing it.
The sun dips under the hills and the creamy orange of the sky settles on their skin like molten gold. Merlin finds them a small clearing and slides off his horse, tying him to a branch and doing the same with Arthur’s.
“There’s a river a little aways.” Merlin says quietly, like trying not to startle him. “I’m going to fill up our waterskins, why don’t you get some firewood?”
He’s trying to keep Arthur busy, that much is obvious. He must think that even the simplest actions will be enough to keep Arthur’s mind occupied. He wants to snap that Merlin doesn’t give the orders here, that he’s overstepping his authority. But his mouth opens and the words don’t come out because they’re no longer true.
Arthur startles from his stupor, staring after Merlin as he goes down to the water, watching him leave wondering why he would ever come back. Arthur calls him friend, but they both know everything else comes secondary to Arthur being prince and Merlin being servant. There is a routine that binds them, that sets the stage for their banter and their camaraderie and without it, Arthur feels lost, unable to navigate the distance between them without the familiar tread lines of paths already traveled.
He picks up sticks and branches because maybe he really does need to be doing something to stop the anxiety in his heart, but the truth of the matter is Arthur doesn’t know how to be a person and not a role. His whole life he’d been sculpted, molded, and now he’s being told he can be free and oh, this is why the caged bird sings; we find comfort in our prisons.
Arthur dumps the wood on the ground, stacks them clumsily into a passable cone. He rummages through one of his packs until he finds a flint and strikes it, over and over, until at last, a spark bursts and the clump of leaves in the centre catches flame. He falls back, wrapping his arms around his knees and stares at the fire as though it could give him the answers he needs to continue on in this horrifying, strange, brand-new world.
Merlin comes back, watches him with sad eyes. He tries to cheer Arthur up, tries to crack jokes, tries to chat, but Arthur is unresponsive, the flames flickering in his eyes. Merlin unties Arthur’s bags from his horse, dumping them out, trying to goad him into speaking, “Let’s see what you packed without me then. Nothing useful probably.”
He pulls out some shirts, some pants, there’s a set of daggers, “What did you bring this for exactly? Who are we getting into knife fights with?” Merlin muses, almost entirely to himself before he stops speaking altogether and bursts out laughing, “Arthur, what in the bloody hell did you pack this for?”
Merlin brandishes the candelabra with a flourish and Arthur’s so startled by its presence, amongst the mud and the leaves and the stars that he can’t help the crazed laughter either. “I have no idea.” He looks at the candelabra then back at Merlin, the glitter glimmering in his eyes. “I was just grabbing anything and everything. It’s all a blur really.”
“Well,” Merlin hums, “I suppose we can always sell it, get a pretty penny or two.”
Merlin blabbers on, dividing Arthur’s belongings into things to keep and things to sell and Arthur just doesn’t understand what’s going on and he blurts out, “I can’t give you anything, you know.”
Merlin stops, tilting his head, confused. “What?”
“I mean, I suppose I can give you the candelabra.” Arthur amends, “But that won’t go very far.”
“Arthur, what are you talking about?”
“You. Being here. I can’t- I’ll never be able to-”
Merlin’s eyes widen in realization before he sighs, “And you call me an idiot.”
Arthur blinks and then glares. Merlin smiles at the sight. “We’re not supposed to have to say anything, you and me.” Merlin gripes, leaning backwards on his palms, “We let our actions do the talking.”
“This is different.” Arthur says quietly, “I don’t want you giving up your life for me when you don’t have to anymore. When it’s not your job. I’m no longer a prince, I can’t give you anything anymore.” He sees Merlin start to speak and holds up a hand, “I know you’re going to say that you’re my friend and I want you to know that I appreciate that. I do.”
“Then what are you trying to say?” Merlin presses, voice tight.
“I’m trying to say that you’re my friend too and I want you to be happy.” Arthur replies, suddenly realizing there’s just nothing left to lose anymore.
Merlin doesn’t say anything for a while, hiding a helpless smile behind his hand.
“You say you can’t give me anything,” Merlin answers at last, firelight flickering over his face, “but if you would still give me your friendship, then that would be enough.”
Arthur’s expression fractures, lip trembling.
“In between our duties, we spoke of another time and place where things might have been different and we could be happy like regular people are.” Merlin pokes at the fire and sparks unfurl in the air, “We won’t ever be regular people though. Not really.”
“I know you will be king one day.” Merlin meets Arthur’s gaze, “I know it as surely as I know where the sun rises in the morning and sets at night. You will be the greatest king this land has ever known and you will rule it fairly and justly. This,” Merlin sweeps an arm around them, “is just the middle of a legend children hundreds of years from now will never forget.”
Merlin smiles, small and hopeful, “But before we get to the legend, can we not pretend to be regular? Just for a while? Let’s leave Camelot as just two men, who want to be together because they choose to, because it makes them happy.” Merlin lays out his soul before him, breaking their gaze, shy at his vulnerability. “You’ve come after me time and time again. Let me come with you once more.”
The water inside Arthur’s heart recedes. Just a little. Just enough for him to take a gasp of air.
“Then there’s nothing to speak about.” Arthur says and Merlin blinks in surprise before smiling.
They eat in silence, except to gloat about stealing the pies. When they’re done cleaning up, they spread out their bedrolls, head to head, aligned with the fading flames.
“Merlin.” Arthur whispers.
“Mm?”
“I know that I’m broken, but I’ll fix it, so don’t worry yourself into the ground.”
Merlin shifts, “M’not worried.”
There’s a flash of hurt inside him for a second. “My mistake then.”
“Because you’re not broken, Arthur. You will overcome this and you’ll be better for it. I promise.”
Arthur doesn’t say anything, just reaches back a hand to tap Merlin gently on the head.