FIC: Those Things That Change Us
Title: Those Things That Change Us
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur pre-slash
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up through and including Episode 10, The Moment of Truth
Warnings: Plenty of angst, some fluff and quite possibly some cheese.
Summary: Arthur frets about his inability to comfort Merlin. Turns out he's the only one who can. Oh, and he learns some stuff about himself along the way. Takes place after Episode 10.
Disclaimer: These characters belong entirely to the BBC. I just like to pretend.
Notes: This was meant to be much shorter, but as usual, it got away from me. Been so in the mood for hurt/comfort lately and it resurrected this bunny from ages ago. This kind of thing makes me happy, which I figure is good enough reason to inflict it upon everyone else. Thanks to marzilla for helping make sure it didn't suck!
After a quiet knock, Arthur pushes open the door to Gaius's chamber. The physician looks over and rises, giving an awkward bow.
“Sire,” he says, “what can I do for you?”
“Nothing,” Arthur replies. “Please sit.” He waits for Gaius to comply before adding, “I've just come to check on Merlin.”
“Ah.” Gaius gives him a fond smile before growing serious again. “Nothing's changed much, I'm afraid.”
Arthur frowns. They'd returned from Ealdor two days prior, and he's hardly seen Merlin since. The trip back had been quiet and uncomfortable. Merlin was visibly upset over Will, and they'd all tried to give him space so he could cope in peace. Instead of getting better once they returned to Camelot, however, Merlin's mood had deteriorated. He'd returned to his duties, but Arthur had felt so guilty giving him any chores that he'd dismissed him, telling him to go rest. Apparently, it isn't doing him any good.
“Isn't there anything you can give him?” Arthur asks, a bit desperately. Gaius just shakes his head.
“I'm afraid not, sire. It's not something scientific that burdens him.”
Arthur knows this, of course he does. He just feels so helpless, and it bothers him. He can defeat any knight in the kingdom, he can lead an army into war, but he cannot for the life of him figure out how to make Merlin feel better. “May I see him?”
Gaius's eyebrows lift, as though he's surprised to be consulted. “Of course, sire. Guinevere is with him, so I'm sure he's awake.”
That gives Arthur some pause on his way to Merlin's door. Of course Gwen would be with him, he thinks, trying to ignore the slight pang of unease that curls in his stomach. He should be happy that someone can offer Merlin a bit of comfort. It doesn't matter that it's Gwen and not Arthur. She's better equipped for it anyway, Arthur thinks as he walks up the few steps to Merlin's door, shoving the jealousy aside to be dealt with later.
He knocks, waiting for a response this time. He hears a murmur of assent and enters, his eyes immediately seeking Merlin out. He's lying on his bed, arm outstretched with his hand in Gwen's lap, clasped firmly between hers. Arthur feels another pang, stronger this time, and he has to clear his throat.
Merlin pulls his hand from Gwen quickly, almost guiltily, and sits up. Gwen stands, but he waves them both down. He looks at Merlin, still sitting up on the bed. He looks awful: paler and thinner than usual, dark circles under his eyes, as though he's not slept since they returned. His hair is a mess, but, well, that's usually the case, so at least there's something that hasn't changed for the worst.
“How are you feeling?”
“Um,” Merlin says, “alright, I guess.” His voice is hoarse, as though he hasn't been using it. Hasn't anyone been talking to him? Arthur's eyes flick to Gwen before returning to Merlin.
“Any better?”
Merlin shrugs. “A bit,” he says, obviously trying to put a good face forward. A look at Gwen confirms the opposite. “Did you need something?”
“No, no, I'm alright,” Arthur says. “I just came to check on you.”
“Oh,” Merlin says, deflating a bit more. “Are you sure? I've not been doing my chores for a few days, so if you want me to--”
“Merlin,” Arthur says, cutting the other boy off, “it's fine. I'm fine. There's a squire seeing to your chores for the time being, so there's no need to fuss.”
Arthur catches the flash of indignation in Merlin's eyes, but he doesn't say anything. Arthur doesn't like it either, but he can't bear to make Merlin work while he looks so miserable. Arthur can't bear to see Merlin look so miserable.
“I've just come to tell you that you needn't rush yourself,” Arthur continues. “You can take as long as you'd like. To grieve,” he adds when Merlin looks confused.
“Arthur, that's really not necessary, I'm--”
“Merlin,” Gwen cuts in, “I think it'd be a good idea.” Arthur looks at her, trying not to be annoyed at the interference. Merlin presses his lips together.
“Alright,” he says finally, looking even more unhappy than when Arthur had arrived. Desperate to get that look off his face, Arthur asks, “Do you need anything?”
Merlin shakes his head, sinking back onto the bed. “No, thanks, but I think maybe I'll try and get some sleep now,” he says, looking apologetically at Gwen.
“Of course,” she says immediately, standing up and putting a hand on his forehead. She's just concerned, she's just concerned, Arthur repeats to himself in an effort to keep the jealousy at bay. Arthur steps aside to let her leave the room and starts to follow, but turns back to Merlin once more.
“You'll let me know if you need anything?”
Merlin nods, turning over onto his side again and staring at the wall. Arthur watches him, wanting nothing more than to go and sit next to him, just to watch and make sure that Merlin won't crumble into dust beneath the weight of his grief. Instead, he leaves, pulling the door shut behind himself.
Gwen is standing next to Gaius and wringing her hands. “I don't know what to do,” she's saying. “He's barely eating, I don't think he's sleeping,” she rambles on in that way she has, “I don't know how he's doing it, I haven't even seen him cry.”
Gaius pats her on the arm. “There, there,” he begins, “he'll be alright. We all deal with grief in our own way. When Merlin's ready to let it go, he will, and then he'll get better.”
“Do you think so?” Arthur asks, needing the reassurance as much as Gwen. He doesn't care if he seems overly concerned. He wants Merlin back.
Gaius nods. “Yes. Merlin tends to hold onto things, you know how stubborn he is,” he says, smiling at Arthur. Arthur manages to smile back. “I'm sure that he'll be alright, given time.”
“I've told him he's to take as long as he needs,” Arthur tells Gaius, for good measure. “And to tell me if he needs anything. You'll make sure of it?”
“Of course, sire,” Gaius says with a bow. “It's very kind of you.”
Arthur nods, and he and Gwen turn to leave. They're in the hall, and happen to be walking in the same direction. The silence is uncomfortable, and finally Gwen speaks.
“Gaius is right, you know,” she says, not quite looking him in the eye, “about your being kind. Not that you're not normally kind,” she says quickly, “it's just that this is especially...kind,” she finishes off, looking a bit miserable over her own stumbling. Arthur cannot resist teasing her.
“So, you think I'm...kind?”
She tuts at him, blushing and looking a bit harried before she smiles, and Arthur feels awful at having been so petty earlier. Gwen's done nothing wrong. She's probably done more for Merlin than he has, and that is what sits leaden in his gut. That is what he's really jealous of: that she can offer him comfort that Arthur cannot. She turns to him and drops a quick curtsy.
“I've lingered too long, I must go see if the Lady Morgana requires anything,” she says, waiting for him to dismiss her.
“I'm sure she'll understand,” Arthur says, waving her on her way. He watches her go, his own steps unhurried. Days like this are rare--he has nowhere pressing to be, nothing important to do. Over the last year he's grown to love days like this, but only because he's had Merlin to entertain him. Now the sense of loss, of something missing, is almost tangible.
He doesn't know how to define it, whatever it is about Merlin that makes Arthur want to shrink him down to a size so he could carry him around in his pocket, to keep Merlin safe. It's the same thing that drove Arthur follow Merlin to Ealdor in the first place. He fought against it initially, knowing the impropriety of showing favor to one servant over another, but then Merlin had gone and drank that damn poison and Arthur had felt like someone clobbered him over the head with a mace. It wasn't as easy to ignore after that, so he'd given in.
It also wasn't easy to ignore whatever else had started between them before Merlin's mother had come to Camelot. Merlin had never really known much about boundaries, or heeded what little he did know. But there had come a point where friendly touches became a little more, lingered longer than they should have. He'd started noticing it when Merlin watched him out of the corner of his eye, trying to look as though he wasn't, only because Arthur was doing the same thing. There was a time not too long ago that he'd looked forward to seeing where it all led. But now....
Now he's standing at the door to his chambers, his guards looking at him curiously. Shaking off his melancholy, he enters and takes a look around. The room is tidier these last few days than Merlin has ever managed to make it, but he's grown accustomed to Merlin's odd system of organization and now he can't find anything. He shakes himself again, determined to keep himself occupied for the remainder of the afternoon. He summons one of the guards.
“Have Gareth bring my armor. I think I'll spar for a while.”
The guard bows and leaves. When Gareth arrives, he is proper and efficient, everything a servant should be, and he's not at all what Arthur wants.
***
The following morning, Arthur is in his chambers following training. He's just settled at the table to start sharpening his sword for tomorrow when there's a knock at the door.
“Enter,” he calls, frowning at a new nick on his blade. He looks up, sharpening stone in hand, to see Merlin pushing the door closed.
“Merlin,” he says, surprised.
Merlin looks at the stone in his hand, then at the sword and finally at Arthur as he places his hands on his hips, glaring. “Are you sharpening your own sword?”
“Um,” Arthur says, looking down at it in confusion, “I was about to? Wait, what are you doing here?”
Merlin stands up a bit straighter. “Returning to my duties.”
“Merlin, I told you that you didn't have to return until you were ready.”
He doesn't look ready. He looks just as bad as he did yesterday, if not worse, since it doesn't appear he got any sleep last night either. But he just says, “I'm ready," and moves to take the sword away from Arthur.
“Merlin,” Arthur says, standing and holding the sword away, “I meant what I said, you don't have to be here.”
“I said I'm ready,” Merlin says through his teeth, holding out his hands. Arthur sighs. He's got that look on his face, the one that tells Arthur it'll do him no good to try and dissuade him. He hands over the sword and the sharpening stone and watches as Merlin settles in his chair near to the fire. Maybe he'll let him ease into his duties again gradually. A few here, a few there. Better than not having him here at all.
He sits in his own chair at the table, propping his hand on his chin as he watches Merlin. He's missed this, having Merlin in his chambers with him while he does his chores. But where Merlin usually chatters constantly while he works, today he is silent, frowning at the sword like it's the cause of all his problems.
Before Arthur can worry about its wellbeing, Merlin looks up at him. “It's not that I don't appreciate it.”
“Hmm?” Arthur says, startled out of his reverie.
“The time off,” Merlin clarifies, sliding the stone down the blade. “I don't want you to think I don't appreciate your offer. I did. I do.”
“You should be taking advantage,” he says, trying not to sound disapproving and obviously failing, because Merlin rolls his eyes.
“Don't you tire of it?” Merlin asks.
“Of what?”
“The attention.” A scrape down the blade. “The constant scrutiny.” Another scrape. “Your every move making everyone jump to attention,” he finishes with a final pass of the stone, this one particularly hard. Arthur winces.
“Everyone's just worried, that's all.”
“There's nothing bloody wrong with me,” Merlin says, flipping the blade. By the time he's done, he looks more agitated than when he arrived.
“Merlin, maybe you should--”
“No,” Merlin says, standing up. “I don't want to go back to doing nothing. I can't. I need something to distract me so I don't think about--think about--”
“Alright,” Arthur says, standing up. He waves his hand, indicating the pile of armor at the end of the table. “Take care of my armor, then.”
Merlin closes his eyes with relief, and then rushes, for once, to follow orders. Arthur grabs his arm gently as he passes by. “Merlin.”
Merlin jerks to a stop, waiting, avoiding Arthur's gaze. That won't do. “Look at me.” Merlin does, but it's reluctant. Up close his eyes are so full of pain that it nearly breaks Arthur's heart--he can't imagine what it must be doing to Merlin's. “Swear to me that if it gets to be too much, you'll tell me.” Merlin's about to protest, so Arthur cuts him off. “Swear it.”
Merlin's stubborn, but so is Arthur. He waits until Merlin gives in, his shoulders slumping a bit. “Fine. I swear it.”
Arthur watches him go, taking no pleasure in the small victory.
***
After that, things go from bad to worse. For three days, Arthur watches Merlin work. On the one hand, he's more punctual and efficient than he's ever been. On the other, he doesn't speak unless spoken to, doesn't laugh, doesn't smile. Arthur can't remember the last time he saw Merlin smile. Maybe in Ealdor. He misses the banter, the teasing, the almost-intimacy they shared. He still catches Merlin looking at him, but now it's quick, almost skittish little glances, as though he's afraid that at any moment Arthur will take this away from him.
He's tempted several times to do just that. It pains him to watch Merlin shrink into himself, shoulders hunched, as though the grief he's holding inside is slowly crushing him. He decides that if things don't improve soon, he's going to sit Merlin down and make him listen.
Tonight is a feast night, and Arthur’s sat through a near-record eight speeches. About halfway through, he realizes Merlin isn’t in the hall. Writing it off initially, he starts to worry when Merlin hasn’t returned after two speeches. Merlin has been particularly jumpy all day, looking on the verge of collapse several times. He’d insisted on coming to tend Arthur at the feast and when Arthur had denied him, he’d followed him anyway.
Now Arthur is on his way to Gaius’s to make sure Merlin is alright. The chamber is empty, so Arthur strides right to Merlin’s door and knocks. No answer. He checks inside, but the room is empty. He goes to the armory, the kitchen, outside to the stables, even checking the stocks (because one just never knows with Merlin). He is nowhere to be found.
He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. Perhaps it’s a good thing; Merlin might be off dealing with his grief, outside the scrutiny of the castle. Even Arthur’s noticed lately how people have begun to fawn over Merlin. It can’t be much fun. Besides, it’s not entirely unlike Merlin to disappear for short periods.
He’ll wait, he decides, until the morning. If Merlin hasn’t shown up by then, he’ll look for him properly. He briefly considers returning to the feast but decides against it. It’s been a long day and he’s tired. The feast is a celebration of a treaty with a neighboring land. Arthur worked hard on the negotiations with his father. All he wants now is to get out of his clothes and collapse.
Arthur nods goodnight to the guards before bolting the door behind him. His crown, cloak, and overcoat all land on the table heedlessly on his way to bed. He pauses at the doorway to his bedchamber, blinking, in case he’s imagining things. He’s not: there’s someone in his bed already.
Something inside him unclenches and he sags against the doorway, breathing easier, before moving to the side of the bed. Merlin is curled up on his side facing Arthur, his knees tucked tightly into his chest. He’s asleep, face pressed into Arthur’s pillow, hands shoved up under his cheek. Arthur swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. He looks tiny, all curled into himself on Arthur’s huge bed, and utterly defenseless.
Arthur toes his boots off and sits gingerly on the bed, trying not to disturb his sleeping servant. He shifts back and lies down, lacing his fingers behind his head and taking a closer look. The frown that’s taken up permanent residence on Merlin’s face has eased in sleep, but not entirely. There’s a worried little line between his eyes. Arthur longs to reach over and rub at it with his thumb until it disappears, taking Merlin’s melancholy with it. He turns onto his side, tucking his arm under his head and just watching. It’s the first time he’s seen Merlin at any sort of peace since they’d returned. There’s a warm feeling in his chest when he realizes that this is where Merlin’s come for solace, to his chambers. It helps ease the constant ache of helplessness he’s felt since their return.
Before long, Arthur, too, falls asleep.
It’s much later when he wakes. The candles are almost out, but there’s enough light that he can see Merlin’s face. He’s awake, taking his turn to watch Arthur sleep. They’ve moved closer to each other, and Arthur is disinclined to move away.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Merlin asks.
“You needed the rest,” Arthur says, shifting his cheek on his arm. “It’s alright, I don’t mind.”
Merlin opens his mouth to reply, his eyes darting frantically over Arthur’s face. He doesn’t know how he knows Merlin’s about to cry, but he’s suddenly reaching for him. Merlin scrambles into the embrace, and then his face is buried in Arthur’s neck, his hands clutching at Arthur’s tunic, and he just lets go.
Even though he’s been waiting for this, hoping for it, he’s completely unprepared for the intensity of Merlin’s grief. The sobs rip through him, shaking him so hard that it feels as though he’s going to fall to pieces right here and now. Arthur hangs on tight, as though he can hold him together by sheer will alone. He squeezes his eyes shut, determined to ride it out, whatever it is that’s got hold of Merlin. He can’t define it. He doesn’t entirely understand it, how it can cut so deep.
It’s not something he’s ever been allowed, to care this deeply about someone. To be so devastated about their loss to completely lose control like this. He doesn’t know that he’s even capable of it. Perhaps he’s immune; he’s been around plenty of death, to be sure, watching knight after knight fall for him in battle. He felt each and every loss and was sorry for them, but he can’t say that he grieved for them. He never knew his mother, so he doesn’t miss her, though his father does.
And isn’t it something that his father, who’s often called cruel and heartless, knows more about this than Arthur does.
Merlin gives a violent shudder in his arms, distracting him from his woolgathering. He sounds so wretched. Arthur wishes he could shoulder at least some of Merlin’s pain, any little bit, to make it easier for him. He wants things to go back to the way they were. It’s selfish and a bit beneath him, but it’s the truth. He wonders briefly if it would’ve been better for Merlin to stay in Ealdor, where he at least has his mother. The thought leaves him feeling hollow, empty, and he dismisses it.
Perhaps he’s not so immune after all.
Fine then, if he’s going to be selfish, he’s also going to make sure Merlin gets better. He doesn’t attempt to speak or to do anything else to comfort him. This feels like enough. It’s right; he knows it is.
Merlin cries for a long time, though it gradually decreases in severity until he’s finally quiet, drawing in jerky breaths against Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur is tense, one hand curled in the hair at the back of Merlin’s head, the other pressed against the small of his back. He relaxes, loosening his grip but not letting go. It feels good holding Merlin, after so many days spent so far apart. He’s not inclined to give it up just yet, so he rubs a soothing hand up and down his spine. Merlin melts a little closer, snuffling against his tunic. It’s soaked wet with tears, and Merlin lifts a hand to pick at it.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, taking in a shaky breath.
“S’okay,” Arthur says. “You’re the one who’s going to have to take care of it in the morning anyway.” Merlin snorts, and Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful sound. He shifts his face so that his lips brush Merlin’s hairline, not quite daring enough to kiss him. “You can stay if you want,” he says cautiously.
“Mmm, ‘kay,” Merlin slurs sleepily as he winds his arms round Arthur’s back, pushing a thigh between his, entwining them thoroughly. “S’easier for the morning anyway,” he concludes, mouthing the words against Arthur’s neck. Deliberate or not, Arthur’s mouth goes a bit dry. He lies still, waiting for Merlin to fall asleep before smiling and closing his eyes.
***
When he wakes, he’s alone in the bed. He’s underneath the covers, the curtains drawn. He allows himself a stretch as he rolls over onto his right side, shoving his face into his pillow. It smells a bit like Merlin, like both of them, and he finds he likes it. A lot.
Things are different now--they have no choice but to be different now because they’re different. Will’s death has changed Merlin, and through him, Arthur. He’s seen Merlin at his worst; he has no doubt that in time, Merlin will see him at his. Whatever barrier existed before that made it inappropriate to show weakness is gone. He can’t bring himself to regret it. They need to move forward from here, and not back. He doesn’t want Merlin to regret it either, so he’ll have to be careful. Only one thing is guaranteed to work:
Complete and utter distraction.
He hears Merlin moving about in the outer chamber. Arthur sits up and shoves at the curtain, hissing when the bright light hits his eyes. It’s late morning, but that’s not unusual for the day after a feast. Uther always gives the court a day of rest following a big celebration. He blinks a few times, allowing his eyes to adjust to the morning.
“You’re up.”
Merlin’s in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, but it’s much more casual than it has been. He looks remarkably better--the circles under his eyes are still there, but faded. He’s standing taller and not looking quite so pale. He actually looks a bit flushed. When he starts shuffling his feet, Arthur realizes that he’s embarrassed. That won’t do.
When he moves to get Arthur fresh clothes--he’s still in his tunic and trousers from last night--Arthur stands and stretches.
“My hunting clothes, I think, Merlin.”
Merlin stops, his brow furrowing. “Oh. I didn’t realize there was a hunt today. Shall I go round up some of the knights?” he asks while fetching the clothes from the cupboard.
“That won’t be necessary,” Arthur says, pulling his tunic off and tossing it into a corner. “I don’t think I’ll go too far from Camelot, I can forego the company.”
“Oh,” Merlin says again, stepping close to pull Arthur’s fresh tunic over his head. “I’ll have a lunch prepared for you, then,” he continues, looking a bit forlorn. Arthur is thrilled to see it--nothing pleases Merlin more than ruining a good hunt just to get on Arthur’s nerves. He gets into his trousers and boots while Merlin goes to find his hunting jacket. He turns around so Merlin can help him into it.
“Of course, I’ll need you to come with me,” he says off-handedly, carefully brushing a fleck of imaginary lint from his sleeve. “I can’t be expected to carry my own lunch, obviously.”
When he turns back round, for the first time in far too long, Merlin is smiling.
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur pre-slash
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up through and including Episode 10, The Moment of Truth
Warnings: Plenty of angst, some fluff and quite possibly some cheese.
Summary: Arthur frets about his inability to comfort Merlin. Turns out he's the only one who can. Oh, and he learns some stuff about himself along the way. Takes place after Episode 10.
Disclaimer: These characters belong entirely to the BBC. I just like to pretend.
Notes: This was meant to be much shorter, but as usual, it got away from me. Been so in the mood for hurt/comfort lately and it resurrected this bunny from ages ago. This kind of thing makes me happy, which I figure is good enough reason to inflict it upon everyone else. Thanks to marzilla for helping make sure it didn't suck!
After a quiet knock, Arthur pushes open the door to Gaius's chamber. The physician looks over and rises, giving an awkward bow.
“Sire,” he says, “what can I do for you?”
“Nothing,” Arthur replies. “Please sit.” He waits for Gaius to comply before adding, “I've just come to check on Merlin.”
“Ah.” Gaius gives him a fond smile before growing serious again. “Nothing's changed much, I'm afraid.”
Arthur frowns. They'd returned from Ealdor two days prior, and he's hardly seen Merlin since. The trip back had been quiet and uncomfortable. Merlin was visibly upset over Will, and they'd all tried to give him space so he could cope in peace. Instead of getting better once they returned to Camelot, however, Merlin's mood had deteriorated. He'd returned to his duties, but Arthur had felt so guilty giving him any chores that he'd dismissed him, telling him to go rest. Apparently, it isn't doing him any good.
“Isn't there anything you can give him?” Arthur asks, a bit desperately. Gaius just shakes his head.
“I'm afraid not, sire. It's not something scientific that burdens him.”
Arthur knows this, of course he does. He just feels so helpless, and it bothers him. He can defeat any knight in the kingdom, he can lead an army into war, but he cannot for the life of him figure out how to make Merlin feel better. “May I see him?”
Gaius's eyebrows lift, as though he's surprised to be consulted. “Of course, sire. Guinevere is with him, so I'm sure he's awake.”
That gives Arthur some pause on his way to Merlin's door. Of course Gwen would be with him, he thinks, trying to ignore the slight pang of unease that curls in his stomach. He should be happy that someone can offer Merlin a bit of comfort. It doesn't matter that it's Gwen and not Arthur. She's better equipped for it anyway, Arthur thinks as he walks up the few steps to Merlin's door, shoving the jealousy aside to be dealt with later.
He knocks, waiting for a response this time. He hears a murmur of assent and enters, his eyes immediately seeking Merlin out. He's lying on his bed, arm outstretched with his hand in Gwen's lap, clasped firmly between hers. Arthur feels another pang, stronger this time, and he has to clear his throat.
Merlin pulls his hand from Gwen quickly, almost guiltily, and sits up. Gwen stands, but he waves them both down. He looks at Merlin, still sitting up on the bed. He looks awful: paler and thinner than usual, dark circles under his eyes, as though he's not slept since they returned. His hair is a mess, but, well, that's usually the case, so at least there's something that hasn't changed for the worst.
“How are you feeling?”
“Um,” Merlin says, “alright, I guess.” His voice is hoarse, as though he hasn't been using it. Hasn't anyone been talking to him? Arthur's eyes flick to Gwen before returning to Merlin.
“Any better?”
Merlin shrugs. “A bit,” he says, obviously trying to put a good face forward. A look at Gwen confirms the opposite. “Did you need something?”
“No, no, I'm alright,” Arthur says. “I just came to check on you.”
“Oh,” Merlin says, deflating a bit more. “Are you sure? I've not been doing my chores for a few days, so if you want me to--”
“Merlin,” Arthur says, cutting the other boy off, “it's fine. I'm fine. There's a squire seeing to your chores for the time being, so there's no need to fuss.”
Arthur catches the flash of indignation in Merlin's eyes, but he doesn't say anything. Arthur doesn't like it either, but he can't bear to make Merlin work while he looks so miserable. Arthur can't bear to see Merlin look so miserable.
“I've just come to tell you that you needn't rush yourself,” Arthur continues. “You can take as long as you'd like. To grieve,” he adds when Merlin looks confused.
“Arthur, that's really not necessary, I'm--”
“Merlin,” Gwen cuts in, “I think it'd be a good idea.” Arthur looks at her, trying not to be annoyed at the interference. Merlin presses his lips together.
“Alright,” he says finally, looking even more unhappy than when Arthur had arrived. Desperate to get that look off his face, Arthur asks, “Do you need anything?”
Merlin shakes his head, sinking back onto the bed. “No, thanks, but I think maybe I'll try and get some sleep now,” he says, looking apologetically at Gwen.
“Of course,” she says immediately, standing up and putting a hand on his forehead. She's just concerned, she's just concerned, Arthur repeats to himself in an effort to keep the jealousy at bay. Arthur steps aside to let her leave the room and starts to follow, but turns back to Merlin once more.
“You'll let me know if you need anything?”
Merlin nods, turning over onto his side again and staring at the wall. Arthur watches him, wanting nothing more than to go and sit next to him, just to watch and make sure that Merlin won't crumble into dust beneath the weight of his grief. Instead, he leaves, pulling the door shut behind himself.
Gwen is standing next to Gaius and wringing her hands. “I don't know what to do,” she's saying. “He's barely eating, I don't think he's sleeping,” she rambles on in that way she has, “I don't know how he's doing it, I haven't even seen him cry.”
Gaius pats her on the arm. “There, there,” he begins, “he'll be alright. We all deal with grief in our own way. When Merlin's ready to let it go, he will, and then he'll get better.”
“Do you think so?” Arthur asks, needing the reassurance as much as Gwen. He doesn't care if he seems overly concerned. He wants Merlin back.
Gaius nods. “Yes. Merlin tends to hold onto things, you know how stubborn he is,” he says, smiling at Arthur. Arthur manages to smile back. “I'm sure that he'll be alright, given time.”
“I've told him he's to take as long as he needs,” Arthur tells Gaius, for good measure. “And to tell me if he needs anything. You'll make sure of it?”
“Of course, sire,” Gaius says with a bow. “It's very kind of you.”
Arthur nods, and he and Gwen turn to leave. They're in the hall, and happen to be walking in the same direction. The silence is uncomfortable, and finally Gwen speaks.
“Gaius is right, you know,” she says, not quite looking him in the eye, “about your being kind. Not that you're not normally kind,” she says quickly, “it's just that this is especially...kind,” she finishes off, looking a bit miserable over her own stumbling. Arthur cannot resist teasing her.
“So, you think I'm...kind?”
She tuts at him, blushing and looking a bit harried before she smiles, and Arthur feels awful at having been so petty earlier. Gwen's done nothing wrong. She's probably done more for Merlin than he has, and that is what sits leaden in his gut. That is what he's really jealous of: that she can offer him comfort that Arthur cannot. She turns to him and drops a quick curtsy.
“I've lingered too long, I must go see if the Lady Morgana requires anything,” she says, waiting for him to dismiss her.
“I'm sure she'll understand,” Arthur says, waving her on her way. He watches her go, his own steps unhurried. Days like this are rare--he has nowhere pressing to be, nothing important to do. Over the last year he's grown to love days like this, but only because he's had Merlin to entertain him. Now the sense of loss, of something missing, is almost tangible.
He doesn't know how to define it, whatever it is about Merlin that makes Arthur want to shrink him down to a size so he could carry him around in his pocket, to keep Merlin safe. It's the same thing that drove Arthur follow Merlin to Ealdor in the first place. He fought against it initially, knowing the impropriety of showing favor to one servant over another, but then Merlin had gone and drank that damn poison and Arthur had felt like someone clobbered him over the head with a mace. It wasn't as easy to ignore after that, so he'd given in.
It also wasn't easy to ignore whatever else had started between them before Merlin's mother had come to Camelot. Merlin had never really known much about boundaries, or heeded what little he did know. But there had come a point where friendly touches became a little more, lingered longer than they should have. He'd started noticing it when Merlin watched him out of the corner of his eye, trying to look as though he wasn't, only because Arthur was doing the same thing. There was a time not too long ago that he'd looked forward to seeing where it all led. But now....
Now he's standing at the door to his chambers, his guards looking at him curiously. Shaking off his melancholy, he enters and takes a look around. The room is tidier these last few days than Merlin has ever managed to make it, but he's grown accustomed to Merlin's odd system of organization and now he can't find anything. He shakes himself again, determined to keep himself occupied for the remainder of the afternoon. He summons one of the guards.
“Have Gareth bring my armor. I think I'll spar for a while.”
The guard bows and leaves. When Gareth arrives, he is proper and efficient, everything a servant should be, and he's not at all what Arthur wants.
***
The following morning, Arthur is in his chambers following training. He's just settled at the table to start sharpening his sword for tomorrow when there's a knock at the door.
“Enter,” he calls, frowning at a new nick on his blade. He looks up, sharpening stone in hand, to see Merlin pushing the door closed.
“Merlin,” he says, surprised.
Merlin looks at the stone in his hand, then at the sword and finally at Arthur as he places his hands on his hips, glaring. “Are you sharpening your own sword?”
“Um,” Arthur says, looking down at it in confusion, “I was about to? Wait, what are you doing here?”
Merlin stands up a bit straighter. “Returning to my duties.”
“Merlin, I told you that you didn't have to return until you were ready.”
He doesn't look ready. He looks just as bad as he did yesterday, if not worse, since it doesn't appear he got any sleep last night either. But he just says, “I'm ready," and moves to take the sword away from Arthur.
“Merlin,” Arthur says, standing and holding the sword away, “I meant what I said, you don't have to be here.”
“I said I'm ready,” Merlin says through his teeth, holding out his hands. Arthur sighs. He's got that look on his face, the one that tells Arthur it'll do him no good to try and dissuade him. He hands over the sword and the sharpening stone and watches as Merlin settles in his chair near to the fire. Maybe he'll let him ease into his duties again gradually. A few here, a few there. Better than not having him here at all.
He sits in his own chair at the table, propping his hand on his chin as he watches Merlin. He's missed this, having Merlin in his chambers with him while he does his chores. But where Merlin usually chatters constantly while he works, today he is silent, frowning at the sword like it's the cause of all his problems.
Before Arthur can worry about its wellbeing, Merlin looks up at him. “It's not that I don't appreciate it.”
“Hmm?” Arthur says, startled out of his reverie.
“The time off,” Merlin clarifies, sliding the stone down the blade. “I don't want you to think I don't appreciate your offer. I did. I do.”
“You should be taking advantage,” he says, trying not to sound disapproving and obviously failing, because Merlin rolls his eyes.
“Don't you tire of it?” Merlin asks.
“Of what?”
“The attention.” A scrape down the blade. “The constant scrutiny.” Another scrape. “Your every move making everyone jump to attention,” he finishes with a final pass of the stone, this one particularly hard. Arthur winces.
“Everyone's just worried, that's all.”
“There's nothing bloody wrong with me,” Merlin says, flipping the blade. By the time he's done, he looks more agitated than when he arrived.
“Merlin, maybe you should--”
“No,” Merlin says, standing up. “I don't want to go back to doing nothing. I can't. I need something to distract me so I don't think about--think about--”
“Alright,” Arthur says, standing up. He waves his hand, indicating the pile of armor at the end of the table. “Take care of my armor, then.”
Merlin closes his eyes with relief, and then rushes, for once, to follow orders. Arthur grabs his arm gently as he passes by. “Merlin.”
Merlin jerks to a stop, waiting, avoiding Arthur's gaze. That won't do. “Look at me.” Merlin does, but it's reluctant. Up close his eyes are so full of pain that it nearly breaks Arthur's heart--he can't imagine what it must be doing to Merlin's. “Swear to me that if it gets to be too much, you'll tell me.” Merlin's about to protest, so Arthur cuts him off. “Swear it.”
Merlin's stubborn, but so is Arthur. He waits until Merlin gives in, his shoulders slumping a bit. “Fine. I swear it.”
Arthur watches him go, taking no pleasure in the small victory.
***
After that, things go from bad to worse. For three days, Arthur watches Merlin work. On the one hand, he's more punctual and efficient than he's ever been. On the other, he doesn't speak unless spoken to, doesn't laugh, doesn't smile. Arthur can't remember the last time he saw Merlin smile. Maybe in Ealdor. He misses the banter, the teasing, the almost-intimacy they shared. He still catches Merlin looking at him, but now it's quick, almost skittish little glances, as though he's afraid that at any moment Arthur will take this away from him.
He's tempted several times to do just that. It pains him to watch Merlin shrink into himself, shoulders hunched, as though the grief he's holding inside is slowly crushing him. He decides that if things don't improve soon, he's going to sit Merlin down and make him listen.
Tonight is a feast night, and Arthur’s sat through a near-record eight speeches. About halfway through, he realizes Merlin isn’t in the hall. Writing it off initially, he starts to worry when Merlin hasn’t returned after two speeches. Merlin has been particularly jumpy all day, looking on the verge of collapse several times. He’d insisted on coming to tend Arthur at the feast and when Arthur had denied him, he’d followed him anyway.
Now Arthur is on his way to Gaius’s to make sure Merlin is alright. The chamber is empty, so Arthur strides right to Merlin’s door and knocks. No answer. He checks inside, but the room is empty. He goes to the armory, the kitchen, outside to the stables, even checking the stocks (because one just never knows with Merlin). He is nowhere to be found.
He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. Perhaps it’s a good thing; Merlin might be off dealing with his grief, outside the scrutiny of the castle. Even Arthur’s noticed lately how people have begun to fawn over Merlin. It can’t be much fun. Besides, it’s not entirely unlike Merlin to disappear for short periods.
He’ll wait, he decides, until the morning. If Merlin hasn’t shown up by then, he’ll look for him properly. He briefly considers returning to the feast but decides against it. It’s been a long day and he’s tired. The feast is a celebration of a treaty with a neighboring land. Arthur worked hard on the negotiations with his father. All he wants now is to get out of his clothes and collapse.
Arthur nods goodnight to the guards before bolting the door behind him. His crown, cloak, and overcoat all land on the table heedlessly on his way to bed. He pauses at the doorway to his bedchamber, blinking, in case he’s imagining things. He’s not: there’s someone in his bed already.
Something inside him unclenches and he sags against the doorway, breathing easier, before moving to the side of the bed. Merlin is curled up on his side facing Arthur, his knees tucked tightly into his chest. He’s asleep, face pressed into Arthur’s pillow, hands shoved up under his cheek. Arthur swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. He looks tiny, all curled into himself on Arthur’s huge bed, and utterly defenseless.
Arthur toes his boots off and sits gingerly on the bed, trying not to disturb his sleeping servant. He shifts back and lies down, lacing his fingers behind his head and taking a closer look. The frown that’s taken up permanent residence on Merlin’s face has eased in sleep, but not entirely. There’s a worried little line between his eyes. Arthur longs to reach over and rub at it with his thumb until it disappears, taking Merlin’s melancholy with it. He turns onto his side, tucking his arm under his head and just watching. It’s the first time he’s seen Merlin at any sort of peace since they’d returned. There’s a warm feeling in his chest when he realizes that this is where Merlin’s come for solace, to his chambers. It helps ease the constant ache of helplessness he’s felt since their return.
Before long, Arthur, too, falls asleep.
It’s much later when he wakes. The candles are almost out, but there’s enough light that he can see Merlin’s face. He’s awake, taking his turn to watch Arthur sleep. They’ve moved closer to each other, and Arthur is disinclined to move away.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Merlin asks.
“You needed the rest,” Arthur says, shifting his cheek on his arm. “It’s alright, I don’t mind.”
Merlin opens his mouth to reply, his eyes darting frantically over Arthur’s face. He doesn’t know how he knows Merlin’s about to cry, but he’s suddenly reaching for him. Merlin scrambles into the embrace, and then his face is buried in Arthur’s neck, his hands clutching at Arthur’s tunic, and he just lets go.
Even though he’s been waiting for this, hoping for it, he’s completely unprepared for the intensity of Merlin’s grief. The sobs rip through him, shaking him so hard that it feels as though he’s going to fall to pieces right here and now. Arthur hangs on tight, as though he can hold him together by sheer will alone. He squeezes his eyes shut, determined to ride it out, whatever it is that’s got hold of Merlin. He can’t define it. He doesn’t entirely understand it, how it can cut so deep.
It’s not something he’s ever been allowed, to care this deeply about someone. To be so devastated about their loss to completely lose control like this. He doesn’t know that he’s even capable of it. Perhaps he’s immune; he’s been around plenty of death, to be sure, watching knight after knight fall for him in battle. He felt each and every loss and was sorry for them, but he can’t say that he grieved for them. He never knew his mother, so he doesn’t miss her, though his father does.
And isn’t it something that his father, who’s often called cruel and heartless, knows more about this than Arthur does.
Merlin gives a violent shudder in his arms, distracting him from his woolgathering. He sounds so wretched. Arthur wishes he could shoulder at least some of Merlin’s pain, any little bit, to make it easier for him. He wants things to go back to the way they were. It’s selfish and a bit beneath him, but it’s the truth. He wonders briefly if it would’ve been better for Merlin to stay in Ealdor, where he at least has his mother. The thought leaves him feeling hollow, empty, and he dismisses it.
Perhaps he’s not so immune after all.
Fine then, if he’s going to be selfish, he’s also going to make sure Merlin gets better. He doesn’t attempt to speak or to do anything else to comfort him. This feels like enough. It’s right; he knows it is.
Merlin cries for a long time, though it gradually decreases in severity until he’s finally quiet, drawing in jerky breaths against Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur is tense, one hand curled in the hair at the back of Merlin’s head, the other pressed against the small of his back. He relaxes, loosening his grip but not letting go. It feels good holding Merlin, after so many days spent so far apart. He’s not inclined to give it up just yet, so he rubs a soothing hand up and down his spine. Merlin melts a little closer, snuffling against his tunic. It’s soaked wet with tears, and Merlin lifts a hand to pick at it.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, taking in a shaky breath.
“S’okay,” Arthur says. “You’re the one who’s going to have to take care of it in the morning anyway.” Merlin snorts, and Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful sound. He shifts his face so that his lips brush Merlin’s hairline, not quite daring enough to kiss him. “You can stay if you want,” he says cautiously.
“Mmm, ‘kay,” Merlin slurs sleepily as he winds his arms round Arthur’s back, pushing a thigh between his, entwining them thoroughly. “S’easier for the morning anyway,” he concludes, mouthing the words against Arthur’s neck. Deliberate or not, Arthur’s mouth goes a bit dry. He lies still, waiting for Merlin to fall asleep before smiling and closing his eyes.
***
When he wakes, he’s alone in the bed. He’s underneath the covers, the curtains drawn. He allows himself a stretch as he rolls over onto his right side, shoving his face into his pillow. It smells a bit like Merlin, like both of them, and he finds he likes it. A lot.
Things are different now--they have no choice but to be different now because they’re different. Will’s death has changed Merlin, and through him, Arthur. He’s seen Merlin at his worst; he has no doubt that in time, Merlin will see him at his. Whatever barrier existed before that made it inappropriate to show weakness is gone. He can’t bring himself to regret it. They need to move forward from here, and not back. He doesn’t want Merlin to regret it either, so he’ll have to be careful. Only one thing is guaranteed to work:
Complete and utter distraction.
He hears Merlin moving about in the outer chamber. Arthur sits up and shoves at the curtain, hissing when the bright light hits his eyes. It’s late morning, but that’s not unusual for the day after a feast. Uther always gives the court a day of rest following a big celebration. He blinks a few times, allowing his eyes to adjust to the morning.
“You’re up.”
Merlin’s in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, but it’s much more casual than it has been. He looks remarkably better--the circles under his eyes are still there, but faded. He’s standing taller and not looking quite so pale. He actually looks a bit flushed. When he starts shuffling his feet, Arthur realizes that he’s embarrassed. That won’t do.
When he moves to get Arthur fresh clothes--he’s still in his tunic and trousers from last night--Arthur stands and stretches.
“My hunting clothes, I think, Merlin.”
Merlin stops, his brow furrowing. “Oh. I didn’t realize there was a hunt today. Shall I go round up some of the knights?” he asks while fetching the clothes from the cupboard.
“That won’t be necessary,” Arthur says, pulling his tunic off and tossing it into a corner. “I don’t think I’ll go too far from Camelot, I can forego the company.”
“Oh,” Merlin says again, stepping close to pull Arthur’s fresh tunic over his head. “I’ll have a lunch prepared for you, then,” he continues, looking a bit forlorn. Arthur is thrilled to see it--nothing pleases Merlin more than ruining a good hunt just to get on Arthur’s nerves. He gets into his trousers and boots while Merlin goes to find his hunting jacket. He turns around so Merlin can help him into it.
“Of course, I’ll need you to come with me,” he says off-handedly, carefully brushing a fleck of imaginary lint from his sleeve. “I can’t be expected to carry my own lunch, obviously.”
When he turns back round, for the first time in far too long, Merlin is smiling.