They'd grown a bit apart lately.

It wasn't a large rift; there hadn't been a fight or anything. From the outside, it probably wasn't even noticeable. The banter between them still occurred. They still worried about each other when they were in near-death situations. Arthur still didn't appreciate Merlin, and Merlin still mocked Arthur. But somehow it was a bit different—and only they could feel it.

When Arthur had a hard day, he didn't moan to Merlin. Instead he went to Guinevere and poured his heart out, and it did him good, so Merlin pretended he didn't feel replaced.

When Merlin had a particularly good day and wanted to have fun, he didn't take his cheery self over to Arthur's rooms so he could beam about the place like a sunbeam come to earth. He went and found Gwaine and they got drunk. Arthur pretended he didn't feel slighted.

Then Arthur discovered the magic, and the distance between them grew wider. Arthur didn't spurn his servant; to his credit, he listened and he tried to understand.

But the friendship just wasn't the same as it was before, and Merlin was seized with the feeling that someone had gone and split his coin in two. They still cared… It was just… different. And neither liked it. Too much was going on nowadays. Where was the easy almost-friendship they'd had in the past years?

Why was it all changing?

Just when they both thought they'd gotten used to the distance, that they could stand it and accept it, something happened.

Uther lay down one night and didn't stand up again.

Gwen tried to comfort Arthur after the loss of his father, tried to tell him that it would be okay, that the people would mourn Uther but that it would be okay, that he would be a great king and that it would all be okay.

Gwen didn't really get it.

So he excused himself, his shoulders drooping, his head hung and his eyes burning, and he made his way to that little room at the top of Gaius's stairs. There he sat on the pathetic bed, his hands clasped in his lap, staring at the wall. And he waited. He waited for the person that always got it, the person he'd been neglecting for weeks but who wouldn't hold it against him… The person he felt drawn to for comfort.

It didn't take more than ten minutes for Merlin to come in. Arthur heard him but didn't see him. He knew it was Merlin anyway. He recognized the footsteps, the breathing, the things he'd been around for years now; the same way he could recognize the sound of Gwen or Gaius or Uther… No, not Uther, not him ever again…

Merlin's quiet footsteps got louder as he approached the bed and sat down next to his estranged master.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I know it hurts."

And that was what Arthur wanted to hear.

Arthur nodded and tore his eyes from the wall to look at his servant. "It's hard to believe he's not here anymore."

Merlin put a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"He was a strong king; he tried to be the best he could be," said Arthur. "But… he wasn't always the best father." He winced as though he'd confessed some secret, as though he shouldn't have noticed that his father floundered when it came to raising children. As though he should have thought his father was perfect.

But he didn't take back the words.

Merlin's hand was warm as he put pressure on Arthur's shoulder comfortingly. "But he loved you, Arthur. He loved you enough to die for you if it came to it."

Arthur tried to smile, but it was too painful and he gave up. He figured he didn't need to let Merlin know that his words had helped, if only a little. The warlock could probably tell. He could always tell.

Merlin didn't try to say it would be okay when it so obviously was not. So they sat there in silence, and that helped too.

A/N: I blame this on the Colin Morgan interview where they talked about Arthur and Merlin growing a bit apart in season 3 and whether they would continue to do so in season 4. It was so dreadfully depressing that I had to write this. Review and tell me what you thought?