This chapter was a MONSTER. Not even kidding.
I'm sorry I've taken so long! I thought that once I got done with my work and wouldn't have to go back to school for the remainder of the year, I would have so much more time. Turns out, celebrating one's graduation is really just spending hours doing stuff you don't want to do with people you don't like. Go figure. SAT test is this Saturday, so if I don't update before then, I'm asking you to PLEASE PRAY FOR ME. (Also, does anyone have any advice at all about it? I would love to have some since I'm an Honors grad and I have to make 1000 or more, thanks so much for letting me know so far ahead of time, my dear unorganized school.)
I hope all of you are doing well! I would love to hear about what's going on with you, if you'd like to write me sometime. I'd love to see a movie with you, too, if half of you didn't live thousands of miles away from Winston-Salem, North Carolina.
Three.
The third time, Merlin planned for it.
He knew. He knew as well as he knew himself—better, even—that Arthur was hiding. The king was not cowardly, of course not; he was never that. He was hurt, though. He was so very, very hurt and all the murmurings from the members of court and the urges from his uncle to do "what needs to be done" were doing nothing to help and everything to harm.
It had been five and a half years since he'd held him that first time. Arthur had needed comfort and support since then, and Merlin had always been glad to give him a word of sincerity or a pat to his hand or even, just very occasionally, an arm on his shoulders. This time was nothing like those times, however. This time, Arthur had been wounded worse than any time before—worse than Morgana's betrayal and his father's death. He had put all of his love and his trust, every good thought he had had in the present and every hope for the future, in one woman.
She had taken it all and pressed it to the lips of another man.
Merlin's magic had a sense (Arthur always called them "funny feelings") of the truth. He knew, deep down, that there was something more to it than Gwen's being unable to decide between two men. She loved Arthur; he knew she did. He had listened to her speak of him and watched how she'd waited to be with him. That and knowing that "Lancelot" had been a Shade sent by Morgana with intent were what stopped him from resenting her. It's what made him fight to keep her in Camelot, because of course if he were convinced that she was a liar and would only bring more harm, Merlin would tell Arthur to let her go. Gwen was his friend and he loved her, but if he knew she was truly bad, he would not want her to stay any more than he had Morgana. He knew she wasn't bad, though. She had just been tricked like an innocent animal into a trap.
All of that didn't matter, though, as he entered Arthur's chambers and found it all dark within. All that mattered now was taking care of Arthur. After so many years, he knew that.
He was glad he'd just cleaned the room, because it prevented him from possibly (probably) tripping over something as he maneuvered expertly through the dark, past the table and through the archway, until finally he reached the figure sitting on the bed.
Arthur was facing the window, but staring down at his hands; he could have been watching the way the pale moonlight outlined his palms and fingers, but Merlin knew he was seeing something much deeper and darker than that. He'd probably watched Gwen kiss Lancelot in his mind throughout the whole day, and his real nightmares always hit him hardest in the nighttime.
Merlin lit a candelabrum and set it down on the bureau, then took a step back. The soft glow lit up one side of Arthur's face, and the young man felt his own demeanor fill with compassion for him at the sight. He just sighed quietly, however, and glanced around the newly-lit floor. No bottles were present, and there was not even the faintest scent of alcohol in the place. Arthur looked like this, weak and heartbroken, without any outside influence. That almost made Merlin want to hate Gwen and Lancelot both; it made him hate Morgana even more.
"I am so sorry, Arthur."
A heartbeat passed. Arthur turned his head away from the light, just a little.
"Please, don't trouble me now, Merlin."
His eyes met his manservant's, and there was much sorrow on both sides.
"There's nothing you can do," the king told him, not angrily, just plainly and honestly. "You know that. Just…please, leave me, Merlin."
Merlin let the words settle in his mind. Arthur wasn't shouting; he wasn't trembling, or hoarse; there was not a single sign of him that Merlin recognized as a plea for help. It was a new thing for the warlock to comprehend. Perhaps it would be better to leave him alone. Perhaps he needed peace for once to bear this.
He'd barely taken a step and Arthur was speaking again, trembling and hoarse.
"Wait. Don't leave me."
And Merlin's heart broke completely for him.
He turned and planted his feet firmly on the floor, looking into Arthur's eyes, open and wide and pleading.
"I won't," he promised, quietly but surely, "I will never leave you."
Arthur's gaze dropped to the floor, his arm lowering where he'd raised it up to call Merlin back probably without realizing it. He seemed almost ashamed of his loss of control, but not quite enough to be really sorry.
"That's what Guinevere said," he murmured, faintly, and he seemed to be voicing his inner thoughts aloud rather than speaking to Merlin.
Merlin watched him with eyes filled with mercy, his spirit filled with the wish to take away the pain that turned his king's voice into a low mumble and made his movements slow and tired. Before he could think of anything to say, Arthur continued, running his hand wearily through his hair while the candles flickered violent shadows around them.
"I don't understand," he said, sounding as lost as an abandoned child. "What have I done wrong? I tried…I thought I was good to her. I tried to be good to her. What did I do, Merlin? Tell me that. Please tell me what I did."
"Nothing." Merlin couldn't bear to hear it anymore. "You didn't do anything bad, Arthur. You were good to her. You did everything right."
Of course he did. He was Arthur.
"Then why?"
There was clear distress in his voice now, as he raised his head (tilted it really, like he just didn't have the will to raise it); his eyes were desperately blue, the only color Merlin could see in the golden candlelight.
"Why did she do this?" he went on, every syllable more shaky, though he was trying to hide it. "I must have done something. There must have been some reason, some doubt, why she would choose him over me. I must have given her reason …hurt her, somehow…"
Merlin stayed silent for a long moment. His eyes blinked upward toward the canopy of the bed, then down to the candlesticks, anywhere but at his king, so that he could think clearly about his next words without the distraction of Arthur's quivering shoulders and disarrayed hair. At last, he took one step closer, but not too close; Arthur despised pity.
"Arthur, you did nothing wrong. Do you hear me?"
At the uncustomary firmness in his manservant's tone, Arthur lifted tired eyes, and there was a bit of what Merlin thought was hope there.
"You were good to her," he continued, never breaking Arthur's gaze, mixing more gentleness into his words now that he had his friend's attention. "She just made a mistake. That's all. You didn't do it."
Arthur looked away.
"It's my fault," he said, and Merlin sighed quietly.
"It's not," he told him.
Arthur was silent once more, and Merlin hoped that he was considering his sensible words; the king was always wise in taking everyone's counsel into consideration, especially Merlin's. This was different than most matters they had faced in the past, however; this was something much deeper and more permanent. He could only hope Arthur would see past the hurt clouding his eyes to the wisdom of his faithful friend. His hopes were dashed by Arthur's next statement.
"It doesn't matter," the king nearly whispered, running both hands over his temples. "It doesn't matter what I do. I'm never going to be good enough."
Merlin was shaking his head even before Arthur was done speaking. He knew this would happen. Arthur doubted himself enough as it was. This could only make it worse. He took another half-step closer.
"That's not true," he said, and he believed it with all his heart and hoped that would translate to his friend. "You are good enough. You're more than good enough. You're a great king, Arthur, and you will make a great husband someday."
He stepped close enough to touch his friend, but refrained from it as he continued, not wanting Arthur to feel that he spoke from sympathy and not sincerity.
"That's why you have to remember that Gwen loves you," he said, trying to hide the fervency that rose up in his chest. "She does, Arthur, and you love her. She made a mistake. You have such a forgiving heart; I know you can forgive her. Haven't you both suffered enough over this?"
It was Arthur's turn to shake his head, and when he lifted his eyes up to Merlin's face again, there was something so terribly anguished and guilt-ridden there that the young warlock was actually startled by it.
"You don't understand, Merlin," he said, and even his voice was saturated with that awful feeling in his eyes. "It's not just…her." (His voice stumbled away in instinct from saying her name.) "It's everyone. Everyone I come to love the most—I bring hurt to them all."
Merlin had watched the man Arthur had become. He had seen every possible emotion and mood of which he was capable, and observed every difficult decision he had ever had to make; one thing he knew about his king sprang up to the forefront of his mind—Arthur's chivalry was as harmful as it was profitable. A man who feels every sad tear of his people as a failure on his part cannot look at the consequences of others and not invent a fault for himself somewhere in it all, even if he never did any wrong.
"Arthur," he said after steadying his thoughts with a deep breath, "this is not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. You help so many. Your people love you. You never hurt anyone."
"I killed my mother."
Merlin thought he had been expecting everything, but he could only stand there, shocked mute.
Arthur's eyes were burning blue with pain, and though Merlin had only met him when they were both nearly of age, he would have been willing to swear that this was what Arthur looked like as a young child when he heard the story of Ygraine's death for the first time. He could not even think of any words to say while the older man went on, unshed tears choking his voice—the same voice with which he brought the courage and strength of his kingdom.
"I killed my mother," he said again. "She was beautiful and kind. Everyone loved her, even my father."
Merlin thought in a flash of the one and only time he'd ever seen Arthur's mother—or her spirit, at least. She'd been so young still from dying before her time, the colors of her skin, hair, and eyes all just a shade lighter than Arthur's own, her face so full of love and mercy as she touched her grown son's face and told him how proud she was of him and how she would have gladly died for the man he had become. Arthur was right. She had seemed perfect.
"If I'd never been born," Arthur was so close to tears now, closer to breaking than Merlin had ever seen him, "she would still be alive. My father would not have died to save me. Camelot would have a king and queen, and everything would have been…different."
Merlin wanted to speak then, but Arthur cut him off.
"I ruined it all." He was letting tears fall now, or perhaps trying to stop them, with his hands over his face. "I…murdered her. Someone who does that cannot be good. There's badness in me. I've finally realized that. I'm a curse to all those around me. I am the reason for all the pain that's befallen everyone."
For a long moment, Merlin looked down at his king and all he could think was how strange that truth could be mixed in with such a terrible lie. It was Arthur's birth that brought the death of Ygraine, but it was Uther who designed it all. It was Arthur's death that Uther died to prevent, but it was the doing of a king who sought revenge upon Arthur for the death of his son, when it was the other prince who had challenged Arthur in his arrogance and lost. Arthur was the pivotal point of everything, but the blame rested all around him. Merlin, for all his preparation before entering this dark and chilly room, felt anxious as he realized how difficult it would be to pick the lies out of Arthur's twisted truths.
In the end, he knelt down and carefully pulled Arthur's hand away. Arthur allowed it, but didn't look up from the floor even when another tear rolled down his face.
"Arthur, listen to me." Merlin kept his voice soft and sure. "What happened to your mother was not your fault. Uther made that decision for you both, before you were even born. You couldn't be blamed for it."
Arthur turned his head just slightly away. Merlin suspected he was trying to hide another tear, but he saw it fall to the king's sleeve anyway.
"If it weren't for me," he said as quietly as Merlin, and there was no sense of hope at his servant's words, "Morgana might not have left. Guinevere could have married Lancelot. She wouldn't have had to leave Camelot. Her father might not even have died."
Merlin wondered what wrong path of logic could possibly have led Arthur to such conclusions. Morgana had hated Uther for his lies. Uther had sentenced Tom to die. Guinevere had cheated on him, knowing the penalty was death (which Arthur's mercy only prevented). It was all the choices of others—Uther's to hate magic, Morgana's to blame everyone for the lies surrounding her life, Guinevere and Lancelot's to meet in the night, and on and on. Merlin could see it all for what it was, as he had always done—sometimes, he thought that Arthur must be the only good thing to come out of it all.
Before he could think of a way to voice any of that, however, Arthur spoke again, the saddest words yet, in a tone low and terribly accepting and nothing like the vibrant, happy King Arthur that Merlin knew.
"I was my father's worst mistake. I should never have been born. It wasn't…right."
Right he said as though the earth itself had been insulted by his birth, as though everything had begun to rot away and fall into chaos because an infant with blue eyes had lived while his mother had died.
As Arthur's words rung in his head, that Merlin could bear it no longer.
He shifted again, to a more comfortable place on his knees where he could look better at his king, and he did not care if his next declarations would sound ridiculous or out of his place as an insignificant servant; he spoke them anyway.
"Arthur, listen to me."
Arthur did not move, staring down at his hands in his lap, one side of his troubled face lit by the candles.
"Do not ever say that." He only barely managed to keep his voice from sounding angry (not at Arthur, never—not even when he wanted to be, but at everything else that had caused this), as he stared at an angle up into his friend's handsome face. "Do you hear me?"
"It's true, Merlin."
The mumbled words had barely left the king's lips before Merlin was countering them evenly.
"No, it's not. Your life is not a mistake."
He could hear the passion saturating every word, and he knew it must sound so strange to Arthur, who knew so little of how his servant loved him, and how his life was tied to him, but for once he made no effort to keep it out.
"You can't know that." Arthur still did not move.
"I do." How he did. "You've done so much for your kingdom, your people—"
"No more than my parents could have done, if they'd had the chance."
Merlin was quiet again at that. As untrue as it was, there was no way for him to counter such a notion, not with all the secrets he must keep. There was only one way for anyone to understand—one reason that he was absolutely, irrevocably certain of Arthur's superiority to Uther and his fathers before him. Arthur was the greatest king who had ever and would ever stand in Albion. Merlin knew that with all of his being, and Arthur knew nothing in comparison. How could he? He knew so little of their destiny, of who he was…of what he meant to anyone and everyone, but especially to Merlin. His life was invaluable to Merlin.
The young warlock looked up at his king again, his sharp eyes taking in every line and color of his face. With every passing moment, every flicker of the candlelight, Arthur looked more and more…destroyed. There was simply no other word, and, with every moment, it was destroying Merlin too.
"Camelot was never meant to be mine, nor was Guinevere. It all belonged to someone else, and my life, being here…I've…shattered everything that was meant to be." He said the word like it was shards of glass climbing up his throat. "I should never have been here. I shouldn't ever have lived at all."
Merlin knew that Arthur did not understand his own worth; he knew that Arthur, who was so honest that not even his expressions could lie, suffered intensely at the loss of someone's loyalty. He knew that beyond his teasing exterior and his strong leadership, Arthur was complex in a way that most would never realize. He knew that Arthur's deepest desire was to do good to his people, his court, his men, his friends, and even his enemies. He knew everything about Arthur, and yet he would never have guessed this could be a thought in his mind. To believe such a thing—that his life should never have been, when Merlin and so many others would be lost without him—was so impossible and insulting to Merlin. No one else in all the kingdom would ever think to say it about Arthur, and yet he saw past all the good he was and what he'd done and believed it about himself.
"Don't say that," the servant whispered almost unintentionally.
Arthur's expression crumpled, his hand coming up to shield from Merlin's sight the tears that were falling.
"I don't understand," he said, with a little choking sob, "why I'm even still alive now. Is this my punishment for whatever I've done—to lose everyone I love, to drive them all away, because of what my birth cost my mother? Is it my fault that…everyone…goes…like this? Everyone I love dies, or chooses…"
Fading thoughts, spoken brokenly and with tiny tremors, like a man nearly driven out of his mind, like he was moments from giving up because of what he had lost.
Merlin had never really shed tears in front of Arthur before, something—perhaps the magic—in him always leading him instinctively to give sound advice without his own feelings to affect it. Now, however, as he reflected back to so many years, to Morgana's betrayal and Uther's tyranny and a dozen other things that had twisted and shaped their destiny, he realized all at once that, though he had done all he could to help him whilst trying to fathom it himself, he had never really seen it all through Arthur's eyes. He had known the truth. He had been fortunate enough to hear it from Kilgharrah and the Druids and Gaius and many other voices. Arthur had had no one to explain it—the reasons behind the actions of his foolish and bitter loved ones. He had had only himself and that mistaken chivalry to take all the blame.
Merlin had never cried in front of him before, but now, the brave warlock was close to weeping, not for any of the people who had gone and the tragedies that had befallen them, but for Arthur and Arthur only.
"Everyone leaves me." Another choking breath that would have been a sob were the king not so strong. "Perhaps everyone always will."
"Arthur," his tone was nearly a whisper, his innermost thoughts spilling out almost before he could stop them, "there is so much…"
He forced himself to halt there, knowing that he was much too close to losing all thought for the consequences and simply telling him everything about their past, their present, the incredible prophesies of their future…everything.
Merlin swallowed and controlled his feelings and pined, just for a moment, for the day when he would be able to tell Arthur everything.
"There is so much that I wish you could understand," he said instead, quietly but intensely, resisting the urge to rest his hand on Arthur's knee like he was a child. "There's so much I wish I could explain, but there is one thing you must realize, Arthur."
The king, though his breathing was still uneven and shoulders bent with the burden he bore, had stopped weeping altogether. He sat still now, staring at the candlelight golden on the stone floor, his expression blank, like all the life had been drained from him in his few tears and he had become just a shell.
"I know you," Merlin almost whispered to him. "For years, I've been here. I've seen everything that's happened, and I've watched you, Arthur; I know you. You know that, don't you? I know you better than anyone."
Normally, he was not so forward, but he had to be sure Arthur realized that, if he hadn't ever before.
"Hey, look at me."
Arthur may have rolled his eyes just slightly in annoyance, like he was so tired and so listless that he didn't even feel any good words worth hearing anymore. Merlin didn't mind, because he looked at him anyway, despairing deep blue to steady light blue.
"I know you," he said again, even softer, never breaking his gaze. "I know your favorite shirt is the red one and that you usually fall asleep on your back and wake up on your side. I know that you hate oranges and you love to sit in front of the fireplace when it's cold out. I know what you do when you're angry and happy and sad and scared. I know why you do. I know all of it."
Arthur was fading out; Merlin could see it. He had looked away after the first few words; his weary mind simply didn't care about all of this, not when it was reeling like this. But Merlin wasn't finished yet—not nearly.
"Do you know why I know that, Arthur?"
Only the king's eyes moved, just enough so that Merlin would go on.
"I know," the warlock said, "because I was born to serve you."
There, at last, Arthur looked at him—really looked on his own, without being compelled. Merlin looked back, steadily.
"I was." He swallowed back some emotion and kept talking. "All my life in Ealdor, I knew that I was meant for something more. Then, I came here, and when Nimueh poisoned me you went against your father to find the cure when no one else would have. After that, I knew. I am meant to be your servant until the day I die."
Arthur looked so tired, but his eyes hadn't moved away from Merlin's face, so the young warlock kept going with more resolve.
"I believe in you, Arthur. I believe because of you. I believe that there is good in everyone and that kindness can bring it out. I believe that respect and honor come from justice, but real peace comes from mercy. I believe that everyone is equal, and that even a servant's life can mean something to a kingdom. I believe that because I've seen it in you, our king."
He swallowed tightly, his fingers shaking with the intensity.
"So don't you dare tell me," he said lowly, feeling his magic trembling within him, "that your life isn't worth anything, when you are the reason that I have hope. If you were a mistake, then I am too, because I was meant to be at your side and I am proud of that."
Arthur was breathing heavily again, and though Merlin could see no tears in his eyes yet, there was emotion there once more.
"All these people," Merlin went on, gripping the duvet beside Arthur to channel his own emotion, "who…who leave you, betray you…they're just…blind, I suppose. They're blinded by their own pain and they let it turn into selfishness and sometimes to hate. But that's not your fault."
Arthur looked away now, shaking his head, but not, Merlin felt, with as much conviction as before.
"They hate me," he said, and Merlin couldn't quite tell if he still blamed himself for that or if he was just heartbroken that it was true.
"None of them hate you," he replied. "They're just hurt; they don't understand love anymore and they blame you because of who you are. They betray you because it's easy to do, because you're good and you're not selfish and you don't hate and they don't have to fear that. It means you're stronger than them. It means you're good."
Arthur held his breath and released it several times, his head on his forehead as he steadied himself with Merlin's words. Merlin gave him a moment, and then he said, more to voice his thoughts than to address his king,
"There's nothing wrong with you, Arthur. You don't deserve this, and I am so sorry that you have to suffer. I would stop it all, if I could." He thought of his magic, and wished that there was some spell to rewrite the world. "But don't ever say that it's your fault, because it's not. Your life is worth more than you know. You're the Once and Future King."
It was in that moment that Arthur abruptly stood and took two steps away. Merlin stood as well but remained where he was.
"Why are you talking like this, Merlin?" The king rubbed his face wearily with his back still turned. "You complain all the time about how I treat you, and yet you're the only one who hasn't….If what you're saying is true, then tell me why you're the only one who sees it. Tell me why nobody else has."
There were so many reasons. Merlin's magic, the prophesies, and most significantly, the bond they shared, but he settled for,
"I guess I'm just clever."
Arthur's little exhale was some cross between a snort and a tiny laugh, and when he turned and met Merlin's eyes, there was finally peace there.
The servant took one step toward him and added, seriously,
"And I do understand loyalty. It may not be much comfort, but you will always have me. I promise you that."
Arthur was standing taller again, and though his handsome face was thin with exhaustion, Merlin recognized more of his friend now and less of that shadow he'd been. He took another step closer, intending to pull Arthur back to the bed so that he could get a good rest.
"Do you really believe all of that, Merlin?" the king almost surprised him by asking.
"Would I say it if I didn't?" he said simply.
Something in Arthur's face crumpled again, and then he was wrapping his arms around him—loosely at first, but then he twisted his hands in the material of the old fawn jacket, like Merlin was the only thing left in his life to hold onto in that moment and the only thing he wanted to hold onto.
Merlin felt a strange mix of sorrow and relief as he returned the embrace without a word. He listened as Arthur let a few more tiny sobs escape and then coughed roughly. The manservant tightened his arms instinctively and worried that the man would be sick by morning from all this.
"Thank you, Merlin." The whispered words were slightly slurred and muffled in his shoulder.
From nearly the beginning of his time here, Merlin had complained over Arthur's never thanking him for anything. Hearing it now, he expected that it would satisfy him, but instead he could only think of how Arthur had thought himself unworthy and how he didn't deserve to feel that way, even the slightest bit.
"Don't thank me," he said quietly. "I'm your friend, Arthur."
The king pulled away and looked into his eyes. Merlin was glad to find the dark blues were clearer now.
"You can have the morning off tomorrow," Arthur said, and his voice was strong again, too, "just this once."
Merlin considered it for a moment.
"Would you really rather have George?" he asked with a knowing smile.
Arthur's little burst of laughter was soft but real and it made Merlin's smile broader.
"No," the king answered honestly, and didn't bother offering any more explanation than that.
"I'll just stay, then." He smiled again, and then hazarded, "Are you hungry?"
Arthur swallowed, and it only took one heartbeat before he was nodding.
Merlin sighed just a little. Arthur was going to be fine.
So can you see why this chapter was so hard? Yeesh.
PS I think I've written everyone back who's written me, but if I missed your PM, please let me know. Talk to you soon!