'Don't go.'
Merlin thought the man had been asleep. When he came into the room, it was only to check on him one last time. He told himself that it was just forcible habit, though he made a poor effort to hide the real reason from himself.
The warlock had made no mention of his departure and, to his knowledge, dropped no hints. The less fuss there was, the better. It would hurt far too much to say goodbye to everyone, or even just the man who had spoken. Especially him.
No, Merlin had not told anyone, but this man was his King, and the boy knew that there wasn't much that Arthur missed in terms of Merlin's moods and plans. Of course he would know this was their goodbye.
The words were said softly, just as Merlin reached the door. So softly, if the boy hadn't been expecting them, he would not have heard.
But he did hear, and so he stopped, hand resting on the wooden frame, facing forward. He knew the man standing behind him would not be looking at him either, he would be staring hard, just behind Merlin's head, refusing to meet his eyes. He knew this man far too well. Which made all of this, so much harder.
There was nothing he could say. Nothing that would change his own mind, or sooth anyone else's. Life was cruel sometimes, and they had had to learn that the difficult way, over years, years of fighting together, laughing together, mourning together. Living in a world of madness, chaos, destruction, and always together.
It was dark outside though the day was still young, he could feel it. During the colder months, Merlin noticed the light fading faster in the evening, emerging later in the morning. He noticed this, and took it into account as he planned his journey. There were things that, in all his years in Camelot, were impossible not to learn, and the ability to travel under darkness for the longest possible time was one of them. Sometimes he wondered if others knew these things. Or that it was just another reason for him not to belong amongst them.
Yes, Merlin had expected these words, or some to that affect, but it did not stop them from hitting him as forcefully as if they had been thrown.
'I don't want to.'
Merlin could hear the shuffles of the other man's feet behind him and couldn't help the tears that built up behind his eyes and he grinned so hard, he almost laughed out loud. He knew this man, better than he knew himself, and even with all his ridiculousness and arrogance, Merlin still warmed at the fact that he could predict him down to the type of sigh he would emit in reaction to the weather every day.
He couldn't turn around. If he did, then he would not be able to leave, it was as simple as that. Just the sound of his voice stopped him from walking out the door, his face would make him lose his nerve altogether, it always had.
Just by the sound of his breathing, Merlin could tell that his cold composure was not going unnoticed, and something hurt inside him because he knew that Arthur didn't know why and confusion was never an emotion he coped with well. It wouldn't be long before the shouting started, and then the pushing and 'look at me's and, and...
And it would end as it always did. With Arthur getting his way.
And oh how Merlin wished Arthur could get his way.
One of the windows was left open, only slightly, and a silent breeze crept in. It met Merlin bare skin and he repressed a shiver. The whole scene was so familiar, if he closed his eyes he would be able to see Arthur's skin prickle on his forearms, like they always did.
He couldn't turn around.
He couldn't-
Damn it, I don't care.
Merlin turned around to face his King, and was thrown by the bright blue eyes that stared straight back at him.
For the longest time, they just stood. Like they had so many times before. One standing directly in front of the other, communicating silently, solely through how well they knew each other. Through the way Merlin knew the other man's pain just by the creases in his forehead, or Arthur knew the pride in his warlock's eyes just by the way they burned into his.
Arthur always broke first. It was just his way. He always broke first.
But he didn't move. Instead, he took a step forward.
The movement made Merlin panic, and he withdrew further into himself and, for the only time since they had met, looked away first. The King stopped mid-stride, and the warlock could feel it, he could feel Arthur hurting and he couldn't do anything about it, he couldn't.
'I'm sorry,' he knew he was crying but he had known that he would. 'You have... no idea how sorry I am, Arthur, please...' he breathed heavily, not caring that he couldn't see a thing through his tears. 'Please, forgive me please...'
It was the day after the great battle at Camlann had been won, and all of Camelot's citizens were celebrating, and would be for the rest of the night, the rest of their lives. Yet within the castle, within the King's very chambers, a young boy wept, and he did not weep over lost ones or long awaited freedom, no. He wept because he was leaving. He was leaving his home and his friends and his life and his King behind him and he had no choice and it was killing him. After everything he had experienced in all his years by Arthur's side, this was what was going to kill him.
Because he could handle physical wounds, the wounds from a blade or dagger or arrow. He could handle being yelled at over and over again, treated like dirt when all his did was protect, underestimated time after time despite proving himself repeatedly. He could handle that because it was all directed at him. He could take it on his shoulders, add it to the load he already carried constantly, and just carry on.
But this, this was something that went against everything he ever knew about himself, about his beliefs. Because he did believe in Arthur. He always had and dammit, he always would. His destiny had always directed him, but his passionate loyalty to the man was what drove him. What made him always want to be the best that he could be. That made him want to spend hours studying secretly in his room a spell that he might not ever have to perform, just in case.
There was nothing else in the world for this boy. Nothing else he could give his heart to in the way he gave it to Arthur. Nothing to do. Nothing to live or die for. Just, nothing.
He didn't want to go. He knew that he was not going to find peace anywhere else as he did here. His home. His Camelot. There was never any other place for him.
Never another man for him other than the man who was leaned down in front of him.
'Merlin.' Arthur's voice was low, the words barely even spoken, as he lifted the boy's head up gently and leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.
Merlin tried to calm his beating heart but it was no use. All he could do was press back, his hands clinging to the King's bare arms, and cry silently into the air they shared.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
No other man.