Weep You No More Sad Fountains - Chapter 4
Weep You No More Sad Fountains
Chapter 4
Freedom
‘Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh?" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's hand. "I just wanted to be sure of you.”’
Winnie The Pooh, A.A. Milne
The day King Uther died was a sad and wicked one for almost all involved.
It seemed an eternal gloom had been veiled over the castle, the city, towns, even some of the villages on the outskirts of the kingdom, once the knowledge was attainable to them; for although the King had been a tyrant to some, he had tried for others.
Now, grey, dull clouds covered the sky; no blue sky was there to see, no vivid sunlight, no bright colours. Not anymore.
The events which led to such an advent of days were so rushed, so unexpected in their cruelty, that even now, Merlin cannot think back on them with the bittersweet joy he might have for the day the Prince would ascend the throne, however the pain they caused to the latter affected the former.
It was the Prince’s birthday, an appropriate age you can decide, dear reader. The merriment of the occasion would see brilliant smiles on the courts faces; the women in vibrant, rich colours of crimsons and blues and golds; the men in their most refined attire, strong builds accentuated and postures relaxed under the intimate pink light that comes with dim candles and food. The feast was indeed sumptuous in the choices of courses -- the entertainment expensive in the most fashionable way; the noises of a pitch pleasing to the ear however not stern to the brain, some of lutes, others of laughter, and Merlin believed his Prince may be able to relax, even for an evening.
However, it was once the festivities were at an end, and the castle was to retire, and upon the Prince to visit the King in gratitude for such grand celebrations; did one of the jesters reveal themselves to be that of a lurking assassin.
The guise of friendship was broken when a chance to take advantage of intoxicated and merry men was available, and in defence of his son, through the confusion and panic of such sudden moments was the Prince found with a foreign body discarded to the side, and the King’s in his arms: bloody and pale.
Merlin had never seen the Prince cry before; and in one look, he was able to silently and possibly unknowingly communicate his fear of being unprepared.
Merlin heard of the news of the King’s fate during the night: guards came in to awaken Gaius and he was consequently roused in the commotion. In those short moments, Merlin did feel a most strange feeling. He did not go with Gaius to examine the body; they knew the eyes did not see them, however he stayed for a while in the study, his knees suddenly weak and cold; his heart did race and a nearby chair was his only sedation.
Merlin did not cry for the King, he cried for his son.
Merlin knew the pressures the Prince would now be under, he had been in the court long enough to identify that not only were the expectations great, but also unreachable to mortal men. Merlin thought of the Prince’s blaming himself (he was noble like that): the Prince would most likely believe the death of his Father not an unfortunate event, but a result for his lack of conviction in power and strength of protection.
No doubt his mind would be destructing itself; an inner war of guilt and regret gnawing his honour. Merlin thought of how the Prince would, with his emotions of wanting to turn time’s compass, compose himself, definitely, and rise to be a man that would please everyone -- welcome everything that was right and forbid all that was evil.
Merlin, for a time, thought of how his Prince would rot away within himself trying to become something so great, so utterly untouchable and holy in judgement, it would physically erode his heart. It was not that Merlin had any lack of faith in his Prince; it was because he cared too much. Merlin knew the Prince’s good heart; it was pure and Merlin was ever so grateful that the Prince’s disposition prohibited any feelings that would tempt or feed his vexations, instead fuelling a fire that was never brighter than the stars in its creator’s eyes.
Merlin, for a time, thought of how the world was but a stage, the men and women merely players. However the Prince was an exception, for not only was he greater than any man Merlin had ever met, he had a destiny attached to his heart that Merlin believed would be realised in full force.
Merlin went to the Prince, once he dried his face, and being his manservant this task was delivered with great ease. However he was not to be admitted audience to the distraught man yet.
The King would be burnt on a pyre after being washed and prepared by the ‘pure’ women then wrapped in Camelot’s cloak. The whole court, and probably any subjects that could get there in time, then would be there and Arthur would say kind words about him, saying his goodbyes. The women, if you imagine any attending, would not be permitted to speak at all. The pyre would be lit by Arthur himself and then the remains: Merlin knew not what would happen, and nobody told him.
All these tasks were carried out with speed appropriate and respectful.
The new King did not speak.
Merlin had been able to study his friend’s character, and for once was struck speechless upon his firmness of cheek and sternness in his words when his lips unfroze.
Merlin had taken great pains, with the little power he possessed in the court, to give the late King a service that the Prince would appreciate and hopefully even like. Merlin did not want his friend to lament on past days with sadness, but look at them with fondness. However no happiness of past days did Merlin see in the new King’s face, no brightness in his brow, nor any vivid colour in his eye. Merlin felt a pang of heart when Arthur spoke to him unfeelingly, distantly; instructions to be carried out concisely and precisely; no spirit was released.
Out of all his predictions of the future, he did not expect Arthur to treat him with coldness.
But Merlin did not blame him, as Gaius almost did, for Merlin understood. Merlin bore Arthur’s pains as if they were his own, for not only had he also lost a father, but the responsibility that now hanged around Arthur’s neck like a noose, every moment it looked more disgusting and contracting round his veins, that Merlin sometimes thought he was choking.
Merlin bore this alone.
He let Arthur shout at him when things did not go according to plan, and he let him rebuke him for faults unrelated to him. The King, in the peace of his chambers, either hurt Merlin with his icy looks and distant eyes, or threw fire at him in the form of heated words.
Merlin understood.
And once the true nature of the assassin was realised -- that he was a sorcerer -- did Merlin feel breathless for Arthur’s void-like emotion towards magic.
And it was now, when Arthur didn’t refuse, but didn’t relinquish the ban on magic; did Morgana reveal herself in all her bitterness and darkness.
The recent years of Uther’s reign had made her feel more alone, thus leading to a spiteful temper, and upon Arthur’s doing nothing for now, this didn’t satisfy Morgana; in her fury, she categorised the King to be a deceiving monster like his Father --she did not wait and pray, convince him otherwise; she plotted against him and swore curses and blood on his Kingdom before almost tearing the land apart in her distraught state of emotions.
She left.
She took advantage of Arthur, almost had him killed, and she injured him deeply. He lost someone he thought a friend, and later knowledge revealed the last family he even had: a sister, however halved, but this didn’t matter to him, she was part of his blood, and that was enough.
Arthur concealed himself for days, not in his chambers, but in his nature.
Merlin understood the King’s position, understood that all his experience of magic was only tainted, corruption and evil, but still he hoped; hoped that he may be able to break the clouds with sunlight.
Merlin, alone in the early days, did pine in thought, and with a green and yellow melancholy, did he sit like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. He did not care for his own misfortunate and possibility for Arthur’s emotions to be permanently locked within the ice, forever believing magic a sin, and therefore would never be free; of course it stung, but his main concern was that of Arthur.
Merlin did not dare address him informally, however, he did smile often as he did, and did not treat the King any differently than he had as Prince. Merlin was kind and warm to his master; nostalgic of the old days and looking with hope to the new. No matter how many times Merlin was met with chills from his master, or a remark biting, he did prevail to melt the snow.
Within a four months however, of Arthur’s reign, Merlin looked to himself and found he had adorned a collection of scars. With Arthur becoming something almost god-like in his attempts to please the court, did Merlin feel as if he was fading.
The King no longer spoke in banter, or in jest, but with terse and fixed words: clipped and primed for such exchanges with a personal servant. Merlin felt at times he saw a smile, a loose one now and then, and that he lived upon. The King was not cruel in the ways of violence, but in a freezing temperament that made Merlin feel as if he was drifting from his master. Merlin tried, however all he could feel was a wedge being stuck between himself and his master; a great divide like a canyon in the Earth, or a ship upon the mirage-like horizon -- and every day the views were more unclear, and Merlin almost at times thought he could no longer see his friend.
It vexed Merlin with heat and passion that his master felt the necessity to create such a demeanour. Merlin did not feel so intensely as a direct anger at his King, but a disappointment in other external forces weighing down on his master so much, that he was forced to become such a shape. Merlin admired the King for his lack of brittle conduct, however was saddened by the consequence. He had imagined that; upon Arthur’s coronation, the world would seem brilliant: the image was still there, have no doubt, however the time were it to become realised was longer than he had anticipated.
Merlin did not feel these vexations at his King, but that he had become maybe too malleable. Merlin liked to believe that he knew his King, Merlin knew him to be a humble, honourable man; with a sweet and warm disposition with a spirit so intense and radiant in its need for justice and happiness that Merlin had become overwhelmed in moments he saw a future so spectacular and magnificent, he felt the need to lie down; the King would never stop fighting for goodness, and Merlin knew him to be so courageous in its true definition - the King would continue to fight even if he knew he was losing, he would always keep giving, until the world gave in. He’d only stop if he died trying.
However, the King was still a man, and Merlin felt great pride and happiness in the knowledge that some days, when the King became too bewildered, maybe to make a poor decision; Merlin would be there, always to support him in his views when he needed it and to guide him when he was asked.
These duties Merlin carried out, and those he lived upon.
Merlin knew his King to be a great man, no one would ever be like him; he only wished Arthur could see that too.
XxXxX
It was a sunny day, however not hot in the degree to burn one’s skin, not even feel anything. However the Knights were eager to go on a hunting trip, so long had they been cooped up in the castle and its grounds, only venturing as far as a nearby town when instructed on patrol. They gave this argument to the King, persuading him to take some pains to con a great expedition: one to be filled with great sport and greater victory. Merlin was where he was most comfortable, on the King’s right-hand side, always listening.
He looked to the King’s face, not too indiscreetly to be offensive, but enough to gain a proper gauge of thoughts. The King looked troubled, as if not even wanting to go, however this broke to a more relaxed set of features when one of the younger knights told him that he hadn’t been to the forest since he was a boy. The King felt sympathy, it seemed, and was amused by the ways in which the more experienced of swordsmen nudged him backwards for his lack of respect. Merlin hadn’t seen the King smile since his title was given to him, along with dusty clothes and a battered robe. Even this comical scene did not spurge such soft looks, but a glint of his eyes portrayed an inner acceptance.
XxXxX
When they were in the King’s chambers, newly cleaned and sharp in their polished state, Merlin packed essential equipment while the King finished some stately business by his desk.
Merlin turned to him.
He blushed for his thoughts, resumed his packing.
He turned again, a new resolve important, however fragile.
‘Sire,’ he spoke with surprising frailty, and only then, under the King’s waiting gaze, did he realise the silence and its loudness.
The King had a firm countenance upon his grace, his strong nose inflexible and brow stretched in expectation of a continuation, eyebrows high and coolly curious.
Merlin broke and retreated back to deciding if the rush in his chest had any correlation to the pound in his head.
While slowly grabbing a loaf of bread and wrapping it in silk, he dared to speak his mind,
‘Do you realise... that you’re not alone?’ Merlin spoke strongly and yet the delivery sounded weak within his ear.
He chanced a glance to his King and the expression was unmoving.
He partially broke in a different sense and was determined for the favourable outcome. Merlin strode to his master and freely and with such meaning that he was caught between extending his fingers and clenching them; anything to stop the unbecoming shaking.
With blue eyes earnest, Merlin pleaded to his King, ‘I’m always here for you sire, if you should need me.’
Few words, yes, however chosen wisely, and with the correct amount of passion, would tumble pillars of earth.
Merlin liked to believe he saw something in his King which responded, the spirit locked under the paralysed flesh, however he resumed his own tasks and then spoke heavily,
‘I don’t need anyone, Merlin.’
The manservant, acquiring symptoms of embarrassment from his exertion, not his actions, returned to the table.
The King may not need Merlin... but he needed Arthur.
XxXxX
Merlin thought the trip would be able to lighten the load which had been weighing upon the King’s shoulders.
However, Merlin was to be the carrier of what the horses couldn’t; since the rich always took luxuries as well as necessities, Merlin was forced to slow his pace as to not drop his own load.
The forest had been as it always had; however less bountiful now it seemed to Merlin.
Merlin had hopes that maybe, despite his aching limbs, there was to be a most beneficial advantage to being in the background to the party’s picture: this gave him a perfect opportunity to observe. He had hoped the Knights, with their boisterous brotherhood and generous intellect, could force the King into a way of talking again, thus giving him the opportunity to forget his woes.
However, upon being able to rearrange a bag here, and reassemble a piece there, Merlin felt his anticipation leave him chilled by the King’s blank expression, his horse separate from that of the main party. His robe flowed over the horses back, a brilliant red, a beautiful contrast to the forest’s dirge green and browns.
Even his shadow had grace.
XxXxX
Once they had slain two deer, only then did the King seem capable of loosening his tension. However he was still guarded.
They made rest in a glade by a bridleway. The Knights were seated in a circle, making idle chat with each other and some being brave enough to enquiry the King about something trivial. Merlin looked immediately to see his reactions: they were proper, respectable, and only carried remnants of a happy spirit.
While Merlin was trying to think about ways to tempt the King into good humour, did he realise that there was no birdsong. Above the noise of the Knights’ laughter and the clatter of cutlery, was nothing but the crackle of the fire, used to cook the meat.
Merlin felt a sudden unease, and looked to his King and found a similar expression of weariness. The King was alert, and subtly looking about his surroundings.
Calculating.
‘Move out.’ The King spoke with finality and no room for an alternative.
Once everything was in order and to satisfaction, they started along the neighbouring bridleway. However Merlin still felt an ominous wind and the very essence of his magic was sharp and stimulated.
He thought he heard a noise, so after leaving his last vision of the hunting party in healthy condition, Merlin turned to look beyond the track and into the distance. The dirty path was trodden into the forest floor. The wind was still.
Then through the bushes suddenly emerged a gang of men. They wore the clothes that indicated an allegiance to Morgana.
Merlin dropped the belongings like chains and his magic burst forth with speed and a rush, uprooting the bottoms of the strongest oaks and heaviest chestnuts as to create a fall that would be fatal.
Upon hearing screams and cries, Merlin snapped round to be given a vision of red merging with the trees. The Knights had dismounted their horses and drawn their swords, none had fallen yet but their initial attack had been sluggish due to the guerrilla force unexpected.
Merlin sought out the King.
He was currently battling one of the men, his sword strong and gleaming in the light that broke the branches, blood staining his armour and dripping off the blade.
Before Merlin could have time to think of a solution, or calculate an appropriate form of support, even instinctively, a silent warrior was moving quickly to the King, mace prepared and aimed, upon a horse and charging. The King’s back was turned and he was outnumbered, his struggles prevailing but only barely. Through the din of metal clashing and slitting flesh, it was impossible for him to be aware of the oncoming doom.
Merlin did only what he knew.
He ran towards the King, dodging all blows in his direction, eyes forever set on his mark. Once reached, Merlin pushed with all his might to topple the King and the next thing that he was conscious of was a searing sensation that shot from his shoulder and cascading over his body immediately with jagged and defined pain.
The Knights had driven the ambush to a retreat.
Merlin found himself suddenly unable to stand, and his legs, as if the bones had been removed, buckled from under him and the servant collapsed with a sickening plunge to the ground.
He was not worried, the King was safe; however the intensity of the wound made his eyes ache with salt, and a slow, descending darkness was his fate.
XxXxX
When the confusion of suddenly finding the canopy and sky his object had passed, the King got up onto his legs and levelled himself; only to find his manservant occupying his previous place, lying on the ground, unmoving.
Sensations of panic bit his nerves: the form before him was distorted and blood seeped through the blue fabric.
‘MERLIN!’ The King cried as he ran to his manservant and examined the body, lifting it to be placed in his lap, supporting the head while franticly looking into the closed eyes; unresponsive to his hands desperate try for revival. The skin was pale and already coolly flushed to touch and it was now that the King found the source of the pooling blood was a deep serrated wound vertically across his left shoulder.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he stripped his servant of his scarf and wrapped it tightly and securely around what he could to prevent further loss of vital blood. He thanked his stars they were close to Camelot while gathering the body in his arms and sweeping it over his own shoulder.
The Knights, upon seeing his servant unconscious, showed varying degrees of worry, however a common trait was the need to turn back and recuperate from the ordeal, and although some wanted to help, knew better than to coax the King into different methods.
The King placed Merlin across his saddle, climbed into it himself, then rearranged him limbs so Merlin was laying against him, head nestled against his neck.
The King ignored the lack of warmth he felt from the body and the ease at which it was to manipulate it to his will; instead supported it with the utmost care with his left hand, gripping the reins tightly with the other, and set a pace that would be fast enough to hope upon, but not so that he’d make the journey uncomfortable as to aggravate the wound.
XxXxX
The castle staff were easy to be rid of, and the King carried Merlin through the castle to the one place that could save him. He left the Knights to explain formally what had happened.
Upon bursting through Gaius’ door, the old man, jumped back in shock, however was quickly taken aback by a different astonishment.
‘Gaius, he’s badly wounded.’ No more meaning was necessary; all the King’s fears were communicated either in those words or the restrained frenzy in his pupil.
Gaius led the King into Merlin’s room and they placed him down with care and attention. Once the body was comfortable, Gaius immediately examined it and started to collect herbs, but only once a proper, more adequate bandage was supplied, the scarf discarded.
Gaius was deep in thought, lost in his own worries and his work; however he saw the King’s locked, stone face upon the boy. The King’s eyes were unwavering and thick, his body froze in what only could be described as if every muscle had been tensed tenfold and knotted.
‘Sire,’ only with words was the King brought back to the living, and turned to the old man.
He took pity on the tried and tired face he saw.
‘Get yourself cleaned up, sire, he’ll be alright.’
‘Isn’t there anything I can do?’
‘Not for now, thank you sire.’
He would have to be satisfied with that answer, for no other alternative was either offered or possible.
When the King showed no sign of movement, Gaius spoke calmly and clearly, ‘I’ll need some space to work, sire, don’t worry me.’
With this, the King turned to leave, and with one final longing look at his servant, exited the rooms as requested.
The air was thick around him.
XxXxX
The King had no rest.
For the rest of the day and the next that followed, his tasks were only carried out mechanically, for his thoughts were occupied and a ghost lingered near him, and pressed at his chest.
In the evening of this next day, was he given the opportunity to visit his injured servant.
Gaius had exited the room previously, informing him of how Merlin’s wound may be stable, but he should prepare himself for the worst, for the boy had lost a vast amount of blood.
The King now found himself seated next to the motionless body, a single candle the only light.
He thought it cast an unearthly glow around the room, made him realise the dire situation he was in with crushing might. Merlin’s face was pale and showed no sign of healthy blood, the surface of his skin was coated in sheen of sweat and his lips were inactive and chapped.
The King thought that he’d rather have Merlin’s body feverish and raging in the bed, for this inert being showed no visible sign of life or spirit.
The room was silent.
‘Merlin,’ the King dared to break it.
‘Merlin,’ he spoke again, his voice damp and yet still held strong.
‘Merlin, please try.’ He spoke with light demand.
‘I understand I haven’t been kind or open with you,’ and it was now that the King felt his hand seek his friend’s, the skin there was also moist and clammy to touch, cold, but he wasn’t sure if those textures belonged to Merlin or his hand was a catalyst to know his own ‘But--’ the King’s voice broke lower and he immediately stopped.
Upon regaining composure did he continue, ‘But -- I will try, I will Merlin. But first you need to come back to me.’
And now, in the silence of the room, the face once full of joy and acceptance now blank and vacant, did Arthur find his resolve slip and his hold upon the hand became tight, his muscles cramped into such a position.
He leaned forward as to be heard more, collapsed onto the floor and begged the body, ‘Please, please don’t leave me here alone.’
XxXxX
The King stared into the blazes of his fire.
The fireplace was crackling nicely, the oranges licking the hearth’s roof, almost raging forth. The warmth was not comforting; it created irritating rashes of mood. The glow however, did cast an ethereal light, however it was frightening, and not worthy of awe.
The King noticed none of this as he stared blankly into the fire, his body still, save for the firm thumb under his strong chin, the index and middle fingers of this right hand coupled together to press to his temple, as if to press some sense or maybe contain his mind from overflowing and dousing the flames.
Or increasing their strength.
His lips pursed in deep thought, his eyes reflecting great sorrow: this is what transpired in his mind:
The King had to let his servant go.
He had came to this decision deep into the night, troubles taunting his brain, gnawing at the flesh, the image of a sleeping Merlin cursed and scarred deep within his skull.
Merlin had been extraordinarily loyal, to the point of it being ludicrous and only these thoughts gave the King mild amusement, but once the realisation of what Merlin was prepared to do; what he had done, sunk in and pooled like an illness, swirling and churning in his stomach, did the King’s smile turn into a grave grieving.
He had felt these sensations before, when Merlin had risked his life to save him; back then he himself felt passionate as to save his servant, grab his hand and pull him from the mouth of hell in which Merlin took his place.
However, now, coldness entrapped him.
Never before had he been worried of Merlin’s leaving.
He believed, in the past, he had maybe felt as he did now, only buried the emotions too deep, somewhere in the recesses of his mind and forgot about them: they had been distracting and they didn’t help him rescue Merlin.
But now, with nothing to do but wait, were they able to be opened: they broke from their prison and consumed his mind like the black fog of despair they were.
The King understood that Merlin would do this again, if given the chance if he survived.
And this fact plagued the King’s mind the most, for recently, he believed he had not been very agreeable to Merlin; on a level in which he dared to think that Merlin had gone above his call of duty.
Arthur didn’t deserve such kindness.
Therefore, continuing the hours of the night at an escalating rate and frequency, did thoughts of desolation, dejection and disappointment within himself circle within his heart.
XxXxX
Merlin woke to bright sunlight.
It was blinding, concentrated and centred within his room.
He opened his eyes slowly, the pupils contracting in pain at the adjustments of not being favoured over the recent hours and found himself in his own bed.
Then a dull throb rattled his shoulder.
Despite the dreary ache the movements insinuated, he turned and found a bandage around the injured area.
He found his breathing to be laborious and upon raising as so to be leaning against what little headboard his bed produced, gathering his wits, and tried to ignore the encompassing affliction in his limbs.
Upon suddenly remembering the attack, did a knock at the door sound, tentative yet confident.
Merlin voiced for the person to enter, but found his speech to be gravelled and chained by the soreness of his throat, probably from lack of use, he thought.
The body that gave its presence was no other than the King.
Merlin felt an instant rush of exhilaration to find him in good health, and smiled that his emotions were so overwhelming.
The King did smile in return, however it wasn’t happy, and then he spoke,
‘Glad to see that you’re awake.’ His air seemed distant, but not in the ways it had been before, now it seemed he was concealing relief.
‘It’ll take more than that.’ Merlin spoke with sweet innocence.
That seemed to make a significant blow to his King, for he walked straight to the window, looking out not looking for anything, his hands behind his back.
Merlin wondered why the formalities.
‘Merlin,’ the King spoke with authority and a slight fondness Merlin hoped, ‘I’ve made a decision.’
Decision? Whatever about?
The next statement seemed to create much confliction, for the King appeared to reinforce his composure before pronouncing it.
‘I’m relinquishing you of your services, Merlin.’
A dull throb of the most unpleasant kind assaulted Merlin’s senses. Astonishment bled to panic and Merlin couldn’t contain himself before voicing in what was probably an improper manner, but the subject at hand was unbearable,
‘You’re sacking me?’ and Merlin craved a glance at the King’s eyes, his face contorting to comprehend why.
‘You’ve been a good manservant, Merlin, despite your lack of conviction to begin with. I’ll find you a post that’s still within the castle though, so that you can keep the apartments with Gaius.’
‘But I don’t want another post!’ Merlin cried with passion and only now did the King find his eyes and the locking was terrifying.
‘Merlin, try to understand,’ and the King started to make his leave.
Merlin could not, would not part on such terms. These terms were completely unexpected and the beating on his system was both terrorizing and intense.
‘No, Arthur,’ Merlin called with great vehemence, bolting from his bed and approaching the King. He didn’t care for decorum in those moments, only the realisation of the pain parting from his King caused.
However the King turned on him and thrust him against the wall. His eyes were fire and his voice burning as he shouted, ‘I can’t lose you again!’
The following silence was stunning.
Merlin was completely petrified, not in fright, but in shock.
The King heard the echoes and rings his last words created, and his animal compose broke to something vulnerable, the first sign of true emotion Merlin had seen since that wicked day.
He collapsed inwardly, light leaving his eyes, and seemed to fall under the weight in his shoulders; while dropping his heavy head, the King instantly slowly released Merlin where he had him pined by his biceps.
‘I can’t lose you again... I’m,’ Merlin listened with such severe attention, locks and strands of dirty gold all he could see, his King was breaking, or at least was his voice, ‘I’m not strong enough.’
The King looked up now, his eyes untamed, as if not only did he feel pain at not having the strength, but that the attachment he felt for Merlin was so powerful it frighten him.
His spirit seemed to plead to a wide-eyed Merlin, ‘I’ve lost so many Merlin, so many. And at times I feel it’s all slipping away.’ The King made small shallow gasps for air and Merlin realised he was doing the same silently. ‘But not you; Merlin.’ And the King swallowed, his plump lips waving damply as he communicated this truth, ‘I can’t lose you, Merlin.’
His vulnerability seemed to trouble him immensely, but that held no magnitude to the pain that was held in his eye.
This great proximity to his King, the strength of his will overwhelmed Merlin in their power and speed, but he was able to offer this one comfort.
Through a misty voice and damp exclamations, tentative knocks of his volume, he said this, ‘I’ve believed in you, Arthur, when no-one else did--’ Merlin specifically sought Arthur’s eye, in case he tried to retreat, ‘When no-one else would.’ Merlin hoped he was conveying all his feeling in these words, prayed his eyes were sincere enough.
‘So, don’t you dare, even for a moment, believe that I’d walk away -- even for a moment, believe that will ever change.’
Merlin knew Arthur tried to be what he thought a King should be like, but now he could see the man beneath.
The King held his gaze for a long while, looked down slowly to Merlin’s hand, and then, as if unsure, reached out to hold it slowly.
He squeezed tightly.
Then he let go and walked to the door, but before he left, turned and said, ‘Get some rest. You’ll need it for scrubbing my floors.’
Merlin smiled.
Arthur nodded.
And he left.
Chapter 5