I've decided to use my free time to torment myself by rewatching Merlin, and this sort of just appeared.

Set in Series 4, largely in the Sword and the Stone Part II.

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Sleep has evaded Arthur Pendragon in the four and a half months elapsing since the discovery of Guinevere and Lancelot in the very heart of his court, striking a blow to the heart of his kingdom.

The eve of his wedding was supposed to be filled with jitters, contemplations over whether he truly was the right man to be marrying such a wonderful woman, but not betrayal. Not discovering his wife-to-be within the arms of another, someone who was supposed to be the bravest and most honourable man that he knew.

He's banned even the mention of her name or hints that she ever existed since she left in the hope that not hearing the name Guinevere will allow his mind to stop making the automatic path to the thoughts of her when he wakes in a morning, when he finds himself with a moment's solace. But, despite his best efforts, absence does not make the mind forget: it simply reminds him of the huge void in his heart and his life.

He craves her. He misses her more than words could ever possibly describe – and certainly more than the words within his limited vocabulary. Despite the best tutors that money – and status – could buy, not one managed to educate him in the language of love or teach him how to convey his feelings towards the woman he loves. Loved, he tries to add onto his mind, a useless add-on.

For no matter how deep she wrenched the knife into his heart, he cannot ever imagine a world where he loves another as deeply as Guinevere. He cannot imagine a world where he doesn't love her at all.

"Good morning, sire," the usual, dulcet tones of Merlin chime, clearly expecting to arouse a King from his slumber. Needless to say, Merlin – despite the strange aura of knowledgeability of recent years – doesn't know that he hasn't slept, doesn't know just how much he hurts.

And Arthur doesn't want him to know. For how can he be King if, even after all this time, he cannot get over the betrayal of the one who he thought would never hurt him?

…

Some nights, he's angry. Angry that Lancelot could return simply to hurt him. Angry that he let Lancelot sacrifice himself on the Isle of the Blessed, for if he had not, there would have been no heartache now. Angry that he didn't do enough to make Gwen feel as though she needed to go and find solace in another's arms.

Angry that, despite doing everything that he possibly could to show that he loves her more deeply than any other, she still chose another's arms over his.

Other nights, he's catatonic with despair, reliving the moment over and over again, reliving the expression on her face when he told her of her exile. Others still, he can't hold the sobs in, crying for the loss of the future that he hadn't realised how much he had relied upon happening until it was wrestled away from him at the last moment.

Then there are the times that he becomes convinced that sorcery was involved. It doesn't make sense – after all, making Guinevere fall in love with Lancelot doesn't seem like his enemies' greatest plan – but it's possible. The way that she was drawn to their fallen friend, the suddenness of her disgust with her actions: perhaps a spell drew her to Lancelot.

Those are the nights that he turns over, and vows anew to push Guinevere and her memory out of his mind. For if he continues to try and make excuses for her actions, he won't be able to stop himself going after her and bringing her back to Camelot.

Just for her to hurt him all over again.

…

He finds her ring – his ring, the one he gave her when he asked her to marry him – in the woods when he's hunting, and he's frozen in time. His mind takes him right back to the moment he asked her to marry him, deep within the lower town, and he can't hear anything other than how happy they were. It's as if no time has passed at all; his heart heals at the memory and, for but a moment, he doesn't need to pretend that he's okay: he's the happiest he has ever been.

Then it crashes and burns around him as he remembers that he's out hunting with the person he's going to marry (who isn't Guinevere), and that she must have left this ring on her departure as an end to her time with him. Perhaps she had never loved him.

No, he thinks, that's not true. She loved him. She clearly just loved Lancelot more.

"My lord," Princess Mithian, his betrothed, repeats again, but he doesn't respond, his eyes focused entirely on the memories tied to this ring.

"There will be no more hunting today," he declares, standing up and striding away towards his horse.

He spends the rest of the day torn between the potential for his kingdom and the love he feels for another. Once again, Merlin provides the words of wisdom he so desperately needs to hear, which is a strange turn of events in itself.

The following day, he says goodbye to Mithian, and commits himself to a life of solitude and pain – at least until his broken heart can mend even partially.

…

He doesn't know how, but he awakens in a fool's outfit with not even Merlin nearby for familiarity. He's in an open field covered in a meagre scrap of cloth, and he doesn't know where he is or why he's here. All he knows is that Morgana is in his castle, in his kingdom, and he's lost it.

Again.

Last time Morgana came close to removing his father and himself from the kingdom, he had the support of his friends, people who were not nobles by birth but had the noblest spirit he had ever known. They had sat around the circular table and he had vowed to stand for Camelot until the end before they had declared the same for him. Gwen was by his side, a position he never thought she would leave, and her strength gave him the courage he needed to push on.

Now, his knights are likely dead, living to an ideal that he himself failed to uphold, and Guinevere is gone.

He reaches into the pocket of the too-short and too-tight trousers and feels a jolt of relief rush through him. The ring remains there.

All is not lost.

For now, anyway.

…

They reach Ealdor in the late evening and Arthur sees that his new friends' wounds are treated, and their bellies are filled, before he even lets anyone take a look at his stomach wound. Only once the rest of them are settled does he consent to remove his armour and allow the village's healer to apply ointment.

Merlin enters the room hesitantly, instantly making Arthur suspicious.

"What have you done now, Merlin?" Arthur asks, his voice weary. Where he would once have disguised his tiredness, now, he doesn't really care. He's no longer King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, simply a soldier who isn't quite good enough to defeat his enemy.

"Well, I haven't done anything – not now, anyway," Merlin begins, dodging the question just enough to pique Arthur's marginally. "But…the information I received about Argravaine and the siege tunnels…"

Arthur's heart sinks as, once again, he's reminded of how he put his trust in someone too easily and let others pay the consequence. "Yes, remind me again about how I failed as a King," he replies flatly.

"No, I wasn't saying it for that!" Merlin erupts. "I just wanted to let you know who told me: Gwen."

Arthur forces himself to stay silent and still, deliberately keeping his eyes trained on the ceiling above him.

"The deer in the woods? Morgana had enchanted Gwen to become an animal, in the hope that you would kill her," Merlin elaborates. "Because she had been captured by Helios, and had overheard his plans with Morgana about the siege tunnels. She was on her way to tell you – or at least someone – when Morgana found her."

"And I almost killed her," Arthur breathes, almost without realising it.

"It all came from her – I found her afterwards, in the woods," Merlin continues. "Anyway, she wasn't safe where she had been before, so I told her…I told her to come here. To Ealdor. That she would be safe here."

Arthur blinks.

"Ealdor," he whispers. "Guinevere."

And after that he doesn't say another word until Merlin leaves, his mind consumed with how, yet again, he owed his kingdom to Guinevere – and he didn't even listen to her.

He doesn't deserve to be king – or to have her, despite everything.

…

Sometime later, the door opens, but he doesn't lift his head. He knows who it will be.

He isn't disappointed. She approaches the pallet hesitantly, before sitting on the side of it, their legs touching. She reaches over and places a hand on his bandage; it's entirely psychological, but the pain seems to disappear with her touch.

"Guinevere," he murmurs, sitting upright so that he can drink in her appearance. The pain of the past doesn't matter in this moment: he needs her here to give him the strength to get through the night.

She doesn't speak, doesn't make a sound, but her eyes tell him everything he needs to know.

Within seconds, her head is on his chest and his eyes are closed, allowing him to pretend that the past seven months have been a nightmare. It's as if no time has passed at all since the eve of their engagement: she smells the same, feels the same, tastes the same. His Guinevere.

…

The next morning, the doubt resurfaces and he remembers that, despite their love, she betrayed him. Not just with anyone, but with their friend, a man he loved, and who she apparently did too.

Thankfully, she's gone before he can open his eyes, and so he puts the night to the back of his mind, determined that it was simply a vivid dream. He cannot allow himself to think of Guinevere, not now when his people are in danger.

Though the question of whether they are still his people – whether he is a capable leader, someone who deserves to rule – is hanging over him like a knife precariously balanced on a castle's parapet.

.

He tells her this as they walk through the woods. She approaches him, and he has to force himself to be the man he was when he found out she had been with Lancelot. To be ruthless and cruel, to sever his heart in two once again.

It was a mistake, he tells her, acknowledging for the first time that the previous evening wasn't a dream. You mean nothing to me, he continues with, for what better way to keep someone away from you than to tell them that they don't belong in your life?

That doesn't mean that it stops him thinking about it as they continue walking through the woods, however. It doesn't mean that he can put Guinevere to the back of his mind; in fact, it seems to heighten her presence. He can feel her, not just in his mind but in his person, too. She's three people behind him and four to the left, almost as far away as she can be in this moment. Her feet are shuffling, in the way that she does when she's upset or stressed, and she's deliberately walking slower than she normally would. Or maybe her usual gait has changed since she left.

Or perhaps he never really knew her at all.

"Arthur," Merlin says gently, causing Arthur to start. He hadn't realised that his friend was standing so close to him. "Arthur, I need to tell you something."

"What is it now, Merlin?" Arthur replies sharply. Or perhaps it's wearily – or perhaps it's a combination of both, and everything in between. He doesn't know what he's feeling, doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know anything.

All he knows is that he loves a woman who he should never have fallen in love with, and he's the king of a kingdom that is likely lost to him forever.

"I need to tell you something…about Guinevere," Merlin continues hesitantly, his voice lowered.

Arthur stops and, with this movement, the rest of the party stops.

"What is it?" Isolade calls from further behind. "Trouble ahead?"

With a deep breath, Arthur turns around and forces a smile onto his lips. "No trouble," he forces through a frozen face. "I just thought we deserve a short rest. Shall we say ten minutes, and then we shall continue?"

The party agrees and soon disperses, though Arthur forces himself to ignore Guinevere, not allowing himself to even glance in her direction.

"In Camelot," Merlin begins, as soon as they are alone, "before, you know, with Lancelot…"

"Very well," Arthur replies through gritted teeth. "If you're doing this to try and cause me pain, Merlin, or to remind me yet again of how I have been a terrible King, there's no need. I think about it all the time."

"Not at all, Arthur," Merlin replies bluntly. "I didn't want to tell you at the time because I wasn't sure, especially about Agravaine, but…I believe that Gwen was enchanted. Lancelot wasn't back, not really; he was a shade, someone brought back from the dead by Morgana. He didn't have any of his old memories, only what Morgana told him."

He can't keep his anger in, can't keep his emotions in check. To think that this pain, this torture, this never ending cycle of despair, was the result of Morgana's interference is too easy. Surely not even Morgana…

Without restraint, he removes his sword from its sheaf and launches it through the trees, emitting a roar of something between a red hot flame of rage and the injured cries of a wounded animal as he does so. Words follow too, though he doesn't know what he's saying, and he can't keep the heat within him. It has to come out, he has to let it out.

The nearest thing to him other than Merlin is a tree, so he starts to punch it, feeling the hard, rough surface under his knuckles. It's breaking the skin but he doesn't care; he can't feel anything, and he needs to feel. He needs to connect what Merlin's said to what's happened.

After a few moments, he calms down enough to let go of the tree, looking down at his hands to see the gushing of blood over his skin. Only now, with this, does he have the clarity of thought that he needed to make sense.

"That's all well and good, Merlin," Arthur replies, as though not a moment had passed since Merlin shared his news. "But even a shade – whatever it is – has the power to make another person do their bidding. Guinevere chose Lancelot. And that's fine." The last three words take more than anything to force out of himself, though it's a close competition with forcing back the tears that threaten to come to his eyes. "It's fine that she chose Lancelot over me. She made a mistake and I love her enough to forgive her for that, to not hold it against her any more. But I don't think I can see her again until my heart has healed enough to see her without it feeling like a dozen knives are piercing my skin."

"No it isn't fine!" Merlin fires back. "Because she didn't choose, not of her own free will."

Arthur pauses. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…Why would Morgana go to the trouble of bringing Lancelot back from the dead to try and tempt Gwen into falling for him again – when she didn't when he came back before – without having a failsafe?" Merlin prompts and, under his veneer of wanting to act as though he isn't listening, it makes a lot of sense to Arthur. "Think about it. How many battle plans do you draw up, how many eventualities do you consider before going ahead with one of your stupid battles?"

"You mean the battles that save Camelot from being overrun by our enemies?" Arthur retorts, an eyebrow cocked.

"You know what I mean," Merlin replies. "Even you're not stupid enough to go in without a backup – do you think Morgana would, either?"

"So what do you suppose, Merlin?" Arthur replies, the weariness creeping back into his voice. "That Morgana snuck into Camelot to enchant Gwen and decided not to use that same time to kill me? Or something else?"

"Something to do with Agravaine, I'm sure of it," Merlin says, his tone firm. "You don't need to believe me now, Arthur. But once you believe in yourself again, you can start to believe in others – especially Gwen."

He studies Merlin carefully for a moment, his eyes locked onto his loyal friend's face, looking for even a sliver of hesitation in it. But there's nothing: he at least is convinced of Gwen's innocence.

Not that it matters, of course. For Arthur had already decided that he couldn't live without Guinevere, no matter what he had said to the contrary.

"Okay," Arthur replies cautiously. "Well, we had best continue with our journey, to wherever it is that you're taking us."

"Oh yes," Merlin says with a smile, "I'd almost forgotten about that."

…

There are hundreds of people in front of him as he stands before the sword in the stone, all expecting him to do the impossible and prove his worth as the King of Camelot.

There's only one person who he wants to look at, though, as he does so. She's at the front, her gaze trained on him so intently that it could cut him in half. There's no fear or hesitancy in her eyes or expression, not even the suggestion that he could do anything but pull it out of the stone.

She's been his fiercest defender and his most trusted shoulder – and her unwavering belief now confirms it.

Pulling the sword out of the stone not only restores his belief that he is the true King of Camelot – and that he can defeat Morgana – but goes a way to mending the heart within his chest that has been broken for so many months.

Their eyes meet briefly again as they leave the clearing, and Arthur hopes that she can read everything that he wants to say in his. This might be the last time that he gets to tell her that he loves her.

…

He screams "For the love of Camelot" but, really, it's for the love of Guinevere.

They defeat Morgana in a blur, but Gwen is by his side throughout, armed with a sword and dispatching with his enemies – their enemies – almost as swiftly as he does.

She disappears after the victory, however, and he makes it his mission to find her. Not that it's hard; he goes to the first place that he can think of going.

"It's a bit of a mess," is what she says to him upon his arrival in what was to be their chambers.

"Leave it," he says, hearing a hint of a command in his voice. "Let Merlin clean it up. If…if you want to hear, I'd like to talk to you."

She's clearly hesitant as she approaches him, despite hopefully seeing the love and undiminishing adoration in his eyes as he speaks.

"Merlin told me a story yesterday about an enchantment," he begins, taking hold of Guinevere's left hand. "I think he was trying to tell me to forgive you." He pauses to take a breath, and hears one hitch in her throat. "But, I didn't need to hear this story, regardless of whether it is the truth or not, to forgive you. For I realised that the one person I needed in my life, the one person I have always needed, was back in my grasp and I couldn't let her go again."

"But, Arthur," Guinevere begins, and Arthur has to smile.

"What I'm asking, Guinevere, is will you take a very silly, selfish, stubborn, strong-minded man, who can do a lot with a sword but not much else, to be your husband?"

As he speaks, he produces the ring that he has kept close to him at all times since its discovery in the woods, and presents it to the woman he loves.

This time around, she doesn't move for a prolonged period of time, simply searches his face as if looking for some hidden message or answer on what he's feeling. Not, of course, that that would be difficult to find: he's worn his feelings on his sleeve for her since the very beginning.

"I would be honoured," she murmurs.

This time, his heart swells beyond anything he's ever felt before and he feels content.

If you have any other suggestions about Arthur/Gwen fics, please let me know!