AN: Anything you recognize, I don't own. Also, what I am describing (or attempting to describe) here is depression. As such, there is a TRIGGER WARNING for mental illness. There are also warnings for medical and historical inaccuracies and bad language. Please use discretion.
Merlin makes his way quickly through the castle, up various sets of stairs and through various hallways until he finds himself right outside Arthur's chambers. He knocks tentatively, and, after receiving no response, tells himself that no response is better than an angry one, and safer than the wordless clattering of goblets against the door, and so warily makes his way inside. Arthur is still in bed, and makes no indication of having heard Merlin enter, so Merlin quietly makes his way to Arthur's bedside, setting the vial of tonic down on the bedside table.
"Sire?" he asks carefully. Arthur still makes no response, so Merlin gently taps his master on the shoulder, saying again, "Sire?" Still no answer, so Merlin sighs and picks up the goblet, sitting on the edge of the bed beside the prince. "Sire, Gaius has sent you a tonic. Please take it. Arthur." He taps the prince on the shoulder again.
"I thought I told you to go away, Merlin," comes the muffled reply.
"I came back, sire."
"Well, then go away again." Merlin's eyes drift to the window, through which the sun is brightly shining, just as if it were any other day. After a brief silence he tears his gaze away from the window and turns his head back to the prince.
"I can't sire."
"That's an order."
Merlin shakes his head, picking up the vial again and waggles it slightly, even though Arthur has his face buried in his pillows and won't see it. "Don't mind if I ignore that, sire. Gaius sent you a tonic."
"Could have you fired."
"But you won't."
"I will."
Merlin shakes his head quickly, breaking away from the prince's not-so-subtle attempt at a diversion, and replies gently, "The tonic, sire."
"Don't want it."
"You need it."
"No I don't."
"You don't even know what it is."
At that, Arthur lifts his face away from his pillows, raises himself on his elbows, and looks at the vial in Merlin's hand. "Yes I do." Merlin frowns.
"You do?"
"Yes." Arthur slumps back into his pillows, grabbing one and throwing it over his head, pulling it down over his ears.
"What is it then?"
"Go away, Merlin," the prince replies sullenly.
"Just tell me what it is."
"It's none of your business, Merlin."
Merlin frowns slightly, but counters, "Maybe so, but Gaius has made it my business to ensure that you drink it."
"I don't want it."
"Why not?"
"It makes me… It… It makes me feel strange. I don't like it."
"But you're ill, sire. Don't you feel strange now?" Merlin inquires, confused. He trusts Gaius's concoctions (not so much his cooking – but his potions, very much so), and he'd thought the prince did too.
"No," comes the stubborn reply from underneath the pillow.
"No?"
"No."
"Sire…" Merlin sighs, confusion and worry vying for dominance in his mind. The prince is usually stubborn in admitting illness or fatigue, or anything that might imply weakness, but in Merlin's experience he's never been this stubborn. "Sire, Gaius said you need this draught."
"I don't."
"Sire, Gaius is a physician, and, no offense meant, but you are most certainly not."
"I know when I'm ill, Merlin, and right now I am most certainly not."
Tired of the game, Merlin pats the bed beside the prince and stands up again, ready to try a different tactic. "Well then, you should have no problem getting out of bed, right, sire?" Arthur does not respond, but Merlin continues on, putting the tonic back down on the bedside table and bustling about, fiddling with the curtains, pulling out things for Arthur to wear, setting his boots beside the bed and, finally, pulling the quilt quickly away from the blond boy with a cheerful, "Out of bed now, my lord! Busy day today!"
"Merlin… please." As the covers are pulled away Arthur immediately curls up on himself, and his tone has lost its defiance, so Merlin pauses, unsure how to proceed.
"Arthur?"
"Please… please just leave me alone."
"Sire…" Merlin sighs, "Sire… if you are unwell, you must take your tonic. Gaius said he'd be up to see you shortly. If you are certain that you are in good health… well, there's no reason not to get up, now is there?"
"I don't want to get up." Ah. And that, there, seems to be the crux of the matter. Merlin sits down gently on the edge of Arthur's bed again.
"Why not, sire?" His tone is soft, gently questioning.
"… I'm tired."
"Didn't sleep well last night?"
"Mmh," Arthur makes an incoherent noise of assent. Merlin frowns.
"Why not? Too hot? Too cold? Shall I get you another quilt for tomorrow? Pillows not fluffy enough, sire? Shall I fluff them?" When Arthur makes no indication that Merlin has guessed correctly, Merlin frowns, certain that had there been any problem with his covers or pillows the prince would have loudly and probably rudely expressed his displeasure. He might have even thrown something. As such, his lack of answer is concerning, so Merlin tries something else. "Nightmares?" he asks tentatively.
"No," but Arthur's reply is just slightly too strangled sounding, just slightly too quick, and Merlin has spent enough time around the boy that he's more often aware of lies than not, so he proceeds as if Arthur's answer were different.
"What about?"
"I said no, idiot."
"And I didn't believe you. So tell me – what were they about?"
"Merlin…" the tone is warning, but then, for reasons Merlin will never really know – maybe he really did want to confide in someone, maybe he was tired of being pestered for answers – Arthur continues. "I… it's always dark. Heavy… but mostly just dark. I have no way of knowing, but I'm certain I'm in a forest. Always. And… and I can feel things pressing in on my sides, but I can't… I can't move. Can't draw my sword, can't move my arms to hit anything… I can't move, and things are threatening to attack me, and in front of me is a cliff. I can't see it, but I know it's there. I'm alone – I mean, I can hear the swishing of swords about to strike, but they never do, and I can hear the angry growls of beasts, but they never bite, and there's nobody there but me, and I can't move. And… and I don't know why, but it's utterly terrifying. I … I don't know why, but it… it…" He trails off, his eyes rimmed red with unshed tears, his face slightly blotchy. He then seems to suddenly realize what he's just admitted, and clears his through roughly before throwing out, "Merlin, leave. Now."
"But sire…" Merlin starts to protest, but Arthur picks up the vial that Merlin has left on the bedside table, and is gripping it in such a way that Merlin is certain that the last thing the prince intends to do with it is drink it, so Merlin makes his hasty escape, hearing the shattering of glass just as the closes the door safely behind him.