Chapter Text
Arthur went to see him after Lancelot, once it had been a few days. He found him sitting at Gaius’ table full of bottles and lamps, measuring some kind of pink powder into sachets. When he walked in, Merlin smiled.
“Hey Arthur,” he said, eyes going back to his powder. “I hope you’re not here to tell me to polish your armor. I’ve already done it.”
“No, I’m merely here for,” he floundered, distracted by the powder falling in a gentle stream. “That.”
Merlin looked up, forehead creased. “You’re having trouble sleeping?”
“Well,” He realized that wasn’t entirely untrue. “I suppose I might be. Sometimes.”
“You should have told me earlier,” Something clouded Merlin’s face. It happened often these days, even before Lancelot’s death. "I can make you something stronger."
He felt the urge to rub his arm and stopped himself. Not around Merlin, of all people.
“Will it taste as poorly as the breakfast you serve?” he tried, finding it coming out less teasing than he preferred.
Merlin was unphased, standing to peer at the shelf full of miscellaneous herbs and potions behind Gaius’ desk.
“It depends on your tastes,” he responded absently, “Are you making it through the night?”
“Are you?”
He stilled mid-reach, and Arthur watched as he resumed the motion to grab a jar full of something red and floral. With Merlin’s body angled away from him, he only knew what he was doing by the soft pop of a cork.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he said after a pause.
Arthur clenched his fist. “Witnessing a friend’s death takes a toll-”
“I know,” Merlin interrupted, and swirling wind and a crossbow bolt flashed across his memory. Of course, Will.
“Yes, well,” he paused. “I only meant to say, life will eventually go on, Merlin.”
“So it will.”
Arthur sucked in a breath. Merlin continued to putter around with his herbs, back to him, but he knew what expression lay on the other side: face pulled tight, frustration flashing in his stubborn eyes. Grief did funny things to a person, he knew, and Merlin had never been one to open up quickly. Like most things in their acquaintanceship, it took time and effort. Sometimes a tremendous effort, but a worthwhile one all the same.
Despite knowing all of this, he still felt himself frown.
“Merlin.”
Finally, Merlin turned around and met his eyes. The shining blue of them reminded him of the dark insides of a well. Sad, indeed. No matter the grim reality of being king, he could not deny he felt the same. Lancelot had sacrificed himself for Arthur’s kingdom, in his place. He likely would always feel a sense of guilt.
Yet Merlin had lost a dear friend. To ignore that would make Arthur a poor one.
“Arthur,” he returned simply.
Abandoning his hesitation, he took a step forward to lay his hand on Merlin’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Merlin stared at him, eyes dry but only just.
“Life will go on,” Arthur repeated, drawing his hand away from Merlin’s shoulder. “For us and Camelot, because of his sacrifice.”
Slowly, he nodded, turning back to his work. “That- is what he hoped for.”
Silence grew between them alongside a cloying, floral smell. Merlin broke it, not meeting his eyes. “I’ll see you in the morning, Arthur.”
Few people would dare to dismiss the prince of Camelot so easily, but he knew that Merlin had. He waited a breath more even as Merlin went back to his work. As he walked back to his chambers, dissatisfaction lingered, and even though Merlin had seen through him at the end, he still found a cup of reddish-pink liquid on his bedside table after his bath. He guided his fingers around the rim, dissatisfaction growing, before drinking it all.
~*~
They do not find plenty to discuss the next day, as it turns out. They hardly speak at all. He was sure Arthur wanted to, but there hadn't been any time what with the entire castle working to accommodate the event of the week. A dignitary from Gawant was set to visit in two days’ time, which pushed every servant and noble alike to prepare for his arrival.
Everyone in the castle had duties to attend to. He and Gaius had awoken to an influx of feverish patients, so Merlin himself had left to gather vials of water from the wells. While Gaius believed it to be a natural consequence of the cold season, he was being cautious. Amidst the chaos, Arthur had left to- well, for once, Merlin wasn’t sure. He might have gone with the knights sent to the lower town, or he might be preparing a speech to greet the dignitary.
With so much going on around him, it was hard to think about what happened last night. Still, the headache he'd been sporting all morning helped him find a way. He remembered bits and pieces, but the gaps in his memory gaped at him.
What was particularly concerning was that he knew he mentioned Morgana, knew he mentioned her multiple times, but he couldn't remember what exactly he had said. He couldn’t remember everything he said about a woman he once poisoned and now thwarted on a near-weekly basis, with magic, in Camelot. It was a little stressful.
(If he was honest with himself, which he wasn’t, he knew he was more worried about the flash of betrayal he remembered coming over Arthur’s face, the cause of it being lost to the drink.)
He brought his fingers to his temples to give them a slow rub, regretting that urge to drink and regretting the last few goblets even more. It was bad enough that he let himself have such a large lapse in judgment, but to have been so utterly drunk in front of Arthur of all people was the worst possible scenario. Not only did it cement Arthur’s view of him being a drunkard, but it also opened Merlin to all sorts of suspicion. Without remembering exactly what he had said, he had no idea of what suspicions to consider preparing for.
But, well, given that Merlin still had a head on his shoulders and Agravaine wasn’t personally readying a pyre, he figured he hadn’t been quite so stupid as to reveal his magic. He didn’t know what Gaius would do to him - before his inevitable demise - if that was the case.
As it was, Gaius knew very little about the incident, which he was simultaneously grateful for and discomforted by. He meant to fill him in before he left for his morning chores, but once the patients had started appearing, he’d been rushed into collecting specimens from the contaminated fields. He hadn’t had the chance to speak to him.
So Merlin was scooping water into vials with no other activity to occupy his thoughts, and his thoughts were tremendously occupied.
During his time in Camelot, he had faced thieves, undead knights, and high priestesses, and he had been afraid in those moments. But that fear diminished as those encounters grew commonplace— rather, grew into a duty. At times, he was wary of them, but he was no longer afraid, at least not for himself.
Now, awaiting Arthur’s judgment lit a fear in him that felt like the poison he had once consumed: delayed in effect but chokingly potent. At first, it had been almost comical, the fact that Arthur had to take care of his drunken self - usually it was the other way around - but as his headache faded and the reality of what he had done set in, all humor of the situation was lost.
Even if he hadn’t revealed his magic directly, he could have easily revealed one of the many lies he told on a day-to-day basis to cover it up. He tried not to use magic for everyday tasks, but he at times could not resist. The thought of something larger than that coming to light brought too many questions Merlin truly didn’t know how to answer, and the thought of Arthur’s face when Merlin couldn’t answer brought bile to his throat.
But eventually, he had to face him.
Once he had delivered the samples to Gaius, who gave absent thanks before waving him off, Merlin took his time returning to Arthur’s chambers. He knew it was silly, delaying the inevitable, but he couldn’t bring himself to quicken his pace.
Eventually, inevitably, he ended up at Arthur’s door. It was past his afternoon mealtime, but Merlin knew another servant must’ve brought it. Still, he wished he had gone to the kitchens anyway if only for something to busy his hands with.
He took a breath. Opening the door did not immediately reveal Arthur, and he frowned as he scanned the room. The door shut behind him with a quiet thump.
“Sire?” he called out.
“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur responded, his voice coming from behind the changing screen. “I was beginning to think I wouldn’t have to hear your voice all day.”
Merlin’s efforts to respond with a laugh puttered out into the room, easily outdone by the rustle of fabric.
“Has Gaius been able to find anything more on the cause of the illness? Is it merely the onset of the cold season?” Merlin could hear more shuffling from behind the screen.
“Nothing as of yet,” he said, “I’ve only just delivered the water samples to him.”
“Let us hope he finds something soon.”
He nodded, watching as Arthur came out from behind the screen, dressed in his red tunic and long coat. Arthur hadn’t worn it in a while, and even with the events of last night looming over him, he couldn’t help but take a moment to admire it.
His gaze slowly reached his eyes. Underneath his ribs, his heart thumped. The steady, strong beat traveled through his body to the pit in his stomach, filling it with dread.
Arthur raised his eyebrows at him. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like myself?”
“No,” He gestured his hand at Merlin’s person. “Like that.”
“Maybe it’s the shock from seeing you perform a simple task on your own,” he said, returning his own hand gesture at Arthur.
He rolled his eyes. “I need to speak with Laodeus about our food stores before the dignitary arrives,” Arthur grabbed his belt and sword from his chair as he spoke. “Laodeus tends to omit details in their reports. Their very boring reports, I could add.”
Merlin swallowed his heart. “I often read those reports for you, Arthur.”
“Ah, quite right,” He flashed a snarky grin at him. “I suppose I must simply be remembering your incessant complaining.”
“Then you’re going to read them yourself?”
With a snort, Arthur shook his head. “That’s what I have you for. Now come on, Merlin. I imagine you can continue your commentary while we walk.”
By placing a hand on the door, he effectively pulled Merlin from the chokehold that his own body had on him this whole time.
His hand reached out of its own accord, at the last moment coming to push the door closed again instead of arriving at its original destination. Arthur looked over his shoulder at him, face too close for comfort. This close, he could see the little spots covering his cheeks, like freckles but not quite. His jaw was as tense as it was before a battle, his shoulders braced for an impact. Arthur glanced away from him, eyes lingering.
“Arthur,”
He meant to finish that sentence, he really did.
Arthur looked back at him, waiting. When that moment turned into another, something passed over his face, removing the tension in his jaw and adding a looseness to his posture. Somehow that did the opposite of comforting him, and the buzz of fear pushed through his indecision.
“Last night, when I,” Merlin floundered, finally trying to finish that sentence, “I wanted to-”
“It is past, Merlin,” he interrupted, hand coming up in a halting motion, “The drink had quite the hold on you, and every man has secrets they’d rather only the night know. Now, if you’d remove your hand from the door, we could go on about our day.”
When he didn’t move, Arthur only huffed and moved his hand himself. He walked out the door without looking back, and Merlin stood there as his heart disappeared into his chest - protesting all the while - before he followed.
Standing at Arthur’s shoulder listening to council reports, catching the occasional shared glance at a council member's commentary, it all seemed like he and Arthur were normal.
~
The number of duties lessened only during the night, and Merlin found himself using the time to sharpen Arthur’s sword. He couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in Arthur’s chambers, or rather, the lack of one. Even at the best of times, his king could be oblivious. He simply was unsure whether to be pleased about the most recent case of it.
As he scraped Arthur’s sword against the whetstone, the dull clang of metal tied him back to the present. After he finished this, he needed to check in with Gaius if he was still awake, and if not, he would do some research into minor healing magic. It wouldn't hurt his meager skills.
After Arthur had spoken with Laodeus, he held an audience with villagers who’d traveled to Camelot for aid. No new information could be gleaned from their accounts, only that the disease had begun in the fields near the border of Caerleon and spread to the lower town, likely through some passing tradesmen for the feast being held for the dignitary.
Raising the sword closer, he could see that the blade was well-prepared. He struck it once more before he set it carefully on the table. He could perhaps start on another task, polish armor before calling it a night, yet his hands did not move to reach for anything.
He sat. He stared at his hands, lost in the stories of his calluses. Did Arthur have these same moments? Perhaps, but the stories of his hands were clearer than Merlin's, less obscured by deceit and disappointment.
The sound of footsteps stole his gaze from his hands. The metallic swish of chainmail drew closer, revealing Gwaine at the source of it. Merlin sighed. At the sound, Gwaine immediately threw his hands up, fingers of one hand clenching the hilt of his sword.
“Only here to leave my sword. What’s got you so grum?”
He gestured around the room. “What else?”
“Aye,” Gwaine said, drawing out the sound as he set his sword on the rack. It rankled Merlin’s shot nerves.
He decided it best to ignore them. “How’d you manage to wear your sword out so quickly? I seem to remember it getting sharpened last night.”
“A story best served with ale, I’m afraid,” he chuckled, leaning against a shelf.
Merlin did not press. “You knights love to create more work for servants like me, don’t you? You’re finally living up to the title.”
“Oh, don’t say that- who’d be left to give Cook a run for her money?” He turned, face lighting with a reminder. He pointed a finger at him, and Merlin raised an eyebrow in return, smiling.
“What is it this time?”
"I just remembered. Cook accused me of stealing a pitcher of wine earlier, got all up in arms about it," Gwaine shrugged. "Which is definitely somethin’ I'd do. Didn't this time though, which got me wondering…"
Merlin’s short-lived good mood disappeared.
"I'm sure there are other charlatans willing to steal something from the kitchens,” he hedged.
"Might be. Only a few bold enough to do it, though."
Merlin scowled.
"Oh, come on," he prodded. "What was it, a late-night rendezvous? Maybe fetching one at the Princess' request? Though you wouldn’t have to steal if it were that."
He concentrated on the whetstone. "It wasn’t me. Even if it was, it isn’t any of your business."
Gwaine studied him, and the tone of the room shifted. "Well, I'm happy to lend an ear."
He released a sigh. That was the thing about Gwaine - he was a good friend, even when all Merlin wanted was to be left alone and they both knew it.
“Nothing, really,” he said, pulling up a half-shrug.
“Huh,” Gwaine stared. “Figured it’d be about your recent time away.”
Who exactly knew about his kidnapping? The details had been fuzzy when he was drunk, he remembered that much, but he hadn’t remembered saying anything about it to anyone but Gaius and Guinevere. Neither were prone to gossip, but perhaps Gwen had said something to the knights.
Seeing his knotted expression, Gwaine spoke up, “It can’t have been easy, being captured by Morgana’s men. I know you two knew each other before she- damn, I don’t know,” he paused to think. “Became what she is.”
Despite the biggest danger past, his chest ached. It had started after he returned, continued with the Fomorroh, and he could almost convince himself it was a lingering effect of the magic if he did not know, so deeply within himself that it wasn’t.
“She was…” he began, wondering how to describe who Morgana had been to someone who had not known her. He could not find words that described what only he seemed to know she’d been: alone. “At first, she was led into this-” he grappled with the words.
“By Morgause,” Gwaine supplied.
“Morgause,” he repeated, “But now she has fully become her vengeance, and she sees me so differently now.” In large part because of his actions, but they were the best words he could give him. This wasn’t the conversation he’d prepared himself to have.
“I’d imagine,” Gwaine was giving him a funny look. “Given that your loyalty lies with Arthur.”
Merlin went quiet for a moment, trying to find an end to this conversation.
“Her men bore me no sympathy. I know she must look at me with malicious intent, now, when she used to treat me well.”
Gwaine hummed, arms crossed against his chest. “Sounds foul to have someone turn on you that way.”
“Yeah,” Merlin nodded, chest tight. “It is.”
Standing upright, Gwaine wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. He couldn’t help a smile: that was a rather classic comforting technique from a knight.
“Hey,” he teased.
“Oh, cheer up old friend,” he responded lightly. “You’re among friends today, and there will be tomorrow. Who knows what we could do with that and a few more stolen pints, eh?”
Momentarily, Merlin’s spirits lifted. Seeing his smile, Gwaine thumped him once last time on the back for good measure. He stumbled a little.
“See you bright and early!" Gwaine called out as he walked back out of the armory. He waved him away as the knight laughed.
Merlin’s spirits slowly fell as he made his way through the castle halls. Gwaine’s words, as they so often did, held wisdom. Tomorrow was a new day, and, if Arthur was to forget the night before as Merlin already unwittingly had, then it bore no use to think on it further.
He toiled with his thoughts as he walked on, reaching Arthur’s chambers. Having already served Arthur his evening meal and turned down his bed, there was nothing strictly for him to do there. He usually dropped in during his spare time, but he wondered if today was different. Still, he opened the door, driven by the itch in his hands.
Arthur sat at his desk this time. At the door opening, he looked up from the parchment he had been reading. His eyes ran up to meet Merlin’s, no emotions clear in his gaze, then slid back down to his reading.
“Getting back late again?” he said, still not looking at him. Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but he cut him off before he could. “Or are you off now?”
He gave him another brief glance, gaze still unreadable, but he recognized Arthur’s barbed tone. It was deceptively neutral when he wished it.
“Just coming back from the armory, with Gwaine,” he felt the need to add, mouth dry.
Arthur hummed in response.
“Did you need anything from me before I retire?”
“If you’re finished with my laundry, nothing,” he said, and it could’ve been normal. It could have been.
“I've hung it in your wardrobe.”
Arthur nodded. “Then I’ll see you in the morning, Merlin.”
“Good night, then,” he said, one foot still in the room, door open. He waited, breathing staggered, and he didn’t receive another word.
The door shut softly behind him, and he took in a full breath. Tomorrow would be a fresh start but a regular day, and he welcomed whatever relief he could scrounge up at the thought.
He did not allow himself to wonder how Arthur could have responded to his drunken missteps. Sifting through the fog of his memories that night in bed, he touched a vague memory of his drinking habits coming to light. That included Gaius’ terrible excuse. Perhaps Arthur simply did not believe him, but what about that look of betrayal from last night? He had not imagined the discomfort in his chambers, either.
He rolled over to his other side. Despite his promises to himself, dissatisfaction made its bed alongside him.