So, I um...I have no idea where this idea came from. I wrote it down ages ago, and then discovered it again when going through the files on my laptop. Also, I promised this a while ago on my profile, so hey, I've checked it through as best I can. In other words, I'm really not sure about this but I figured I would publish it anyway.
Please forgive me for the title. I had no ideas what-so-ever. And before anyone asks, I'm not entirely sure which season this is set in. It's up to you, I guess.
Without further delays (unlike the trains if you live in the UK like I do) -
Sitting in the darkness, Arthur doesn't move to sweep the strands of blond hair out of his eyes. He doesn't even try to rub the drying terrible scarlet of his friend's blood off the pale silver of his armour which lies abandoned on the choked leaves of the forest floor, gleaming in a thin layer of moonlight which fights to be seen through the fog. The damp air clings to him in a shivering shadow threatening to let him give into the fears pricking at the back of his mind like tiny sharp needles. Sharp, like the ice cold metal of blade piercing the air a few hours before, the deadly weapon aimed for him, before his stupid self-sacrificing idiot of a servant appeared in front of him and didn't make a single sound or cry of protest as the sword took him instead of the blond prince.
The forest is a welcome escape from the eyes which watch him constantly back in Camelot; expectations and fears of the people demanding of him to choose the right decisions for the good of the innocents clinging to the laughter and hope which ripples through the streets and markets. Arthur has been playing this game for so long that he knows how to hide his true feelings and fears beyond the mask of royalty he wears every day. His father always taught him that true men don't cry and don't show their emotions.
Arthur knows that isn't true. He's known this since the first time Merlin broke down in his arms, sobbing. The damp fabric of shirt clung to his chest as he held his friend's trembling form close and whispered words of comfort into the raven-haired boy's ears, because despite everything, Arthur Pendragon does know what it is like to feel upset and alone. He desperately wants to show it, but he can't because he is the Prince of Camelot and he must be perfect, in his peoples' eyes as well as his father's. If he could look at himself, with his own tired blue ones which fight back the swimming tears that cling like traitors to his mind, then he would probably be the one in Merlin's arms, begging him to let him be Arthur and not Prince Arthur because he can't stand the pretence sometimes.
Sometimes, late at night, as the moonlight drifts through the heavy curtains and his people sleep peacefully in their beds, he lets himself dream. Dreams of a golden ring on Gwen's finger and his knights happy, and a cheerful Merlin next to him the whole while because he made it and they both did.
Arthur can't remember his mother. He does remember the harsh words, hurled through the corridors as the faded memories of his father's grief are blamed on him, and the young blond prince stands with a quivering bottom lip and watering eyes in the shadows just outside of Gaius' chambers. But he refuses to let the tears spill over, because your mother would have been ashamed to have a son who isn't the perfect prince like the other kingdoms. He remembers all too clearly the overly big armour dragging his shoulders down towards the ground, and how the sword felt too heavy and hung limp in his hand. He remembers the disappointed gaze of Uther boring into his back with an agonizing wave of sadness because he will never be good enough.
A soft breeze rustles the branches, and a few stray leaves filter through the dampened air towards the fire where they are consumed by the flames, dying sparks littering the forest floor as they fade into oblivion. Arthur leans over to where Merlin lies on his back, his chest moving rhythmically in time with his breathing. Arthur tries to focus on that and not on the deathly pale pallor of his friend's skin, nor the red swirls over the canvas that is Merlin. The bandages are soaked already and his medical knowledge isn't great, but he shifts a little closer, taking a little too much comfort in Merlin's heartbeat throbbing against his wrist. Because without Merlin, Arthur is nothing. Without Merlin, he would give up on a peaceful Camelot because without Merlin he would never have a chance to be himself.
He closes his eyes, replaying the terrifying images of earlier again and again in his mind on repeat and desperately longs for a bath of some kind so he can scrape the red from his skin and clothes and burn the memories from his mind as Merlin slowly collapsed as though in slow motion in front of him, and fell heavily into his arms as the blood soaked through Arthur's shirt.
'Why would you do this, you idiot,' he whispers to Merlin as his fingers fly over his friend's shivering and awfully skinny form, tugging at the frayed fabric of his shirt and feeling the warmth flow over his fingers. Merlin opens his eyes slightly, a deep startling blue against the scarlet of the forest floor and Arthur's hands.
'Because you're worth so much more than me.' The answer is short, and simple and Arthur has to fight the urge to bury his face in his friend's shoulders and sob until the pain is all gone because Merlin is so wrong and he doesn't even know it.
'Don't ever say that,' he chooses to reply in a choked whisper, his voice thick with emotion as he pulls the bandage shut and it feels like someone is shattering his heart into tens of thousands of tiny fragments as Merlin gives a small whine of pain and blinks up at him in an apology.
'But it's true.'
'No it's not. I need you to stay alive, because you're the only one who treats me like me,' Arthur doesn't even try to hold back the words because they are the truth and it terrifies him how much he trusts Merlin. Merlin, with his stupid jokes and grin and dark hair and ability to cheer Arthur up as the shadows in his mind threaten to take over.
Merlin reaches up as best he can, resting his hand against Arthur's cheek and frowns at him. 'Well I believe you're worth saving even if you don't.'
He sits there in the darkness, alone for once and wonders if they will ever be anything more than just words. Wonders if Merlin truly means them. And prays silently that he does.
Arthur opens his eyes and blinks. Merlin is warm against his chest, the heat radiating from his skinny form contrasting against the icy cold Arthur feels all over as he realises how close he's come to losing him. The terror this time can be fought as he clings to the younger boy. He buries his face in the ruffled mop of raven hair and fights the tears.
Arthur's lost so many people over his short life. His mother, even Uther at first, many of his friends, his knights, then Morgana, and so many more. He honestly wonders sometimes why he carries on, hiding behind the smile and yet he knows it's because of the families laughing in the streets of Camelot, and for Gwaine who sits most nights with Elyan or sometimes Lancelot in the tavern and for Gwen with her shy yet loving personality and beauty, and for Merlin when he's talking with Gaius and the entire father-son relationship they have going is so obvious, especially when Merlin bounds over to help the younger servants and Arthur stands in the shadows as ever, and just watches as Gaius smiles fondly and leans back in the sunlight.
For a prince, Arthur is very good at being invisible. Clinging to the shadows that envelop the corridors of the castle and watching his people and his friends because it reminds him of why he does this.
Merlin hates hunting. In a way, so does Arthur. He hates the way Merlin hates it because the loss of the animals' lives clearly means so much more to his friend than it does to Arthur, because for Arthur it's an excuse to escape from his duties and to run through the forest with his favourite horse and favourite knights and his best friend, despite Merlin's opinions on the entire matter.
Arthur has so much hurt from the betrayals over the years that he feels like he's drowning and no one can see. He desperately wants to collapse into Merlin's arms and cry and scream because he has never been allowed to break.
He sits in the darkness alone, and lets the tears burn his eyes and runs his hands through Merlin's hair in comfort to chase away his friend's nightmares, because as soon as dawn comes to life and the patrol comes searching for them he will have to put on the pretence again.
He is Arthur Pendragon to everyone else.
But to himself he is just Arthur. And maybe, just maybe, to Merlin, that's the only person he needs to be.
Hey, I said I had no idea where this came from! Anyway, please drop a review - I need all the encouragement I can get at the moment considering the work I've still got to complete on a project by Monday. Oh, and by the way - happy 2017 everyone.
Reviews? :)
Kat x