It was Percival who found them. They were both lying motionless at the base of the tower, pale and broken. Leon and Gwaine were close behind, and their hearts weighed heavier than the whole of the world when they realized what fate had befallen their king.
The citizens of Camelot wept for Arthur. They all knew of the great sacrifice he had made in order to save the realm from Morgana's rage. Memorials took place all about the five kingdoms. Children and wise mean wept. Families and hermits wept. Sorcerers and mortals wept. All for Arthur. But no one seemed to weep for Merlin.
He wouldn't wake. He wouldn't move. He wouldn't even so much as stir. Gaius had to massage potions and pastes down his throat to keep him alive and it did nothing. Only Gwen and the knights wept for Merlin. The people didn't care. Hell, the people didn't even know. When news of the king's death is revolving around tongues and ears, no one pays any mind to the servant who lost everything.
People would come and talk to him. Gwen would visit, when she could, plead for his return, unaware as to whether or not her requests could be heard. Gwaine came. He brought ale. Often Gaius would have to treat the poor man for nearly causing his own death, he got so drunk. Leon would say things to him, small things. He often informed him on matters of state, encouraging him to wake up so that he could see for himself how many sorcerers had settled in Camelot. Percival spoke little, merely keeping him company, sometimes commenting on how thin he was or saying something offhandedly about Arthur.
When Merlin finally did wake, it was not to Gaius's chambers or the field where he last laid. No, he was in Arthur's chambers, propped up in a chair by the window. He was vaguely aware of the things that were said to him whilst he was unresponsive. He couldn't quite recall the words but he knew their meaning.
Gwen walked in on him, staring at nothing. She gasped and hurried over to him, placing her hands on his cheeks and gazing into him with fretful brown eyes.
It took a moment, but Merlin's eyes eventually focused in on hers and he saw her, truly, rightfully saw her.
"Oh, Merlin," she cried, pulling him into a hug.
He would have returned it, except he didn't know how. He felt numb.
Gwen pulled back and he blinked at her. His mind didn't know what to do. He was still stalled. He hadn't moved on. His mind couldn't move forwards because a life for him without a king to protect was unfathomable.
"Do you know how long it's been?" Gwen questioned, still searching Merlin's eyes for some sort of response or recognition.
Merlin only looked at her.
"It's been three weeks, Merlin," she sighed, pulling up a chair so that she could sit beside her friend.
Merlin looked away from her, staring blankly down at the floor.
"It's raining," Gwen commented, still eyeing the warlock with concern and a distant hope.
Merlin looked up at her for a moment, still expressionless, then turned to gaze out the window. It was indeed raining, drops of water tapping against the window. The streets glistened with a sheet of rain water, running down the cobblestones and in between the cracks like veiny rivers.
"Gaius says it's you," Gwen said, placing her hand on Merlin's knee.
He didn't look away from the window.
"That you're causing the rain," she continued.
Merlin didn't understand why it mattered.
"Merlin," she sighed, tilting her head to get a better look at him. "The fields are flooding. People are falling ill. The weather is far too brittle for such a downpour."
The warlock did not reply, did not move. His breath didn't even so much as hitch. He remained silent, seeming as though his mind was elsewhere.
But, the next morning, the city dawned a clear sky.
Now that Gwen was sure Merlin was listening, she invited his friends to visit him, if only in small numbers. He had grown irritated in days past, mumbling incoherent things when the room was too crowded in Gaius's small chambers. He'd been delusional during his first few days of waking. She doubted Merlin remembered any of it. Slowly he grew quieter and seemed to block out the outside world. That's when the queen had moved him back into Arthur's rooms, though she supposed they might as well be Merlin's now.
Regardless of whether or not Merlin could hear them, he still offered no reaction to anything. Yes, he would look if someone pointed or meet the eyes of a worried friend, but he never spoke, never showed emotion. It were as if he were drained, sucked dry of all things that made him who he was.
Gwen refused to believe that though. In her mind, Merlin was merely hiding, somewhere inside the vacant body before her, and she vowed to draw him out.
But, in the end, it wasn't her who brought their joyous Merlin back. It was Arthur. It was always Arthur.
On one of Merlin's rather good days when he had lots of visitors and looked at things more often than he often did, Gwen sat beside him and let out a weary sigh.
It was difficult seeing such a kind soul as Merlin being reduced to something so withdrawn and broken. He still needed to be spoon fed, always broth or paste, nothing solid, and anything that required movement had to be done with aid. He'd lost the will to move, to think, to feel.
The queen had been putting off this day for a while now but it had to be done. She leaned forwards in her seat until Merlin's eyes drifted towards her, his head bowed to his chest as it often was.
"Merlin," she hesitated, not knowing what reaction to expect, if any, "a funeral will be held for Arthur at dawn tomorrow."
Merlin turned his head slightly, his mind working harder than it had in a long time.
Arthur's body was still preserved. He had not been put to rest yet. He had not been buried. He had not been burned. Why?
"I wanted to know if you would like to attend," Gwen said finally, looking at Merlin with an anxious gleam, hoping with all her might that he would give some sort of answer.
To her surprise, Merlin's brow furrowed, the only expression he'd made since he'd drifted off into his own head, and his eyes went vacant as he thought about Arthur's body. He thought about what happens after death. He thought about him being trapped inside his own flesh like a prison, not being able to move on, just as Merlin couldn't.
"Merlin?" Gwen questioned again, her friend's odd face making her fret.
Numbly, Merlin nodded.
Gwen helped him dress in the morning, stripping him of his night clothes and fitting him with something more suitable, all whilst he stayed in his little chair by the window.
However, when she draped his Pendragon crested cloak over his shoulders, he turned his head and looked down at the golden dragon imbedded on his shoulder.
Gwen bit her lip, praying that the action had not triggered Merlin in anyway, but the boy just remained that way, looking down at the emblem oddly. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned as she lifted him out of his chair and aided him out the door.
She was honestly surprised at how well Merlin could walk. His legs shook and his breathing was off, but, with a hand to steady him, he could manage.
His body was brought back out to the lake of Avalon, where it all happened. It was cruel irony that it happened to be the lake closest to Camelot, large enough for a king's funeral. Again, Merlin wondered why they hadn't let his king rest as soon as possible. However, it became clear to him, as he was led to a chair by the edge of the lake where his friends all met him with sad smiles, that it was because of him. He cursed himself for acting like a hermit, shutting himself inside his own mind, for it made his friend's passing prolonged.
Arthur's body was brought out in fine chainmail and his vibrant red cloak. Merlin twisted his neck to look at him as Gwen spoke, noting that he was not the same armor he had died in. Gwaine and Percival tried to distract him, whispering into his ear that everything was alright or commenting on how nice the assembly was. But he ignored them. He had only eyes for Arthur. All other noises were drowned out as he was pushed into the lake and it worried his friends, what with how he stared out after his friend, looking lost and empty.
He gazed out at the lake, watching as Arthur drifted away, becoming so small as he once again floated towards the tower on the isle.
The fire reflected brightly in his eyes as he watched the arrow fall, landing softly down on the boat, catching the kindling and straw.
Merlin swallowed as he watched the flames eat Arthur up, growing larger and brighter until none of his king could be seen but the fragments of red cape that fluttered into the air in charred banners.
Suddenly, the fire flared as it caught on something, and Merlin felt something jolt inside of him. He sat up straight and his eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched darkness close in on him, shadows devouring all that could be seen until all he saw was that fire.
And then that too disappeared and he went limp, sliding off his chair and onto the wet ground beneath him.
Merlin's collapse started a panic to say the least. It was far too well known that he was a sorcerer and, those who still feared magic nearly jumped forwards to slay him when he passed out at the funeral. The kingdom was in a strange state of shock. The people knew that the court magician had fallen ill after his king's death, but none knew the extent of it until that day.
He seemed so frail to them. His collapse, to some, was seen as an omen of worse things to come. To others, it was magic taking its toll, corrupting him as it was meant to. Gwen shut them all out of course, caring for her friend the best she could, but Merlin had sunk even deeper inside himself. He could not support his own weight and his eyes were dark and vacant, like he was looking at nothing. He was limp, nothing but a doll with a heartbeat.
Merlin didn't understand what was happening to him. It was like he was trapped, as if whatever broke inside him on that day had been holding him up at the surface and he plummeting down uncontrollably into the never ending depths of his mind when it was taken away.
He would sometimes catch glimpses of the outside world, a face or the wall, sometimes the window, but it would always fade away. It was like he always conscious but not awake. He could see and hear things on occasions but they were like mirages and echoes before him.
He felt something else too. Whatever Arthur's passing had destroyed had also released something, something that was surrounding him inside, wrapping hot fingers around his heart and digging into his brain. He fought it, and, when he fought it, the world was black. Only when he gave in did he see Gwen's face. Each time he saw her, she looked worse, worry lines painted on her face. She was truly broken for him. It was like the thing he was fighting against was teasing him, giving him the smallest taste of the outside world whenever he gave way, making him believe that letting it win would grant him freedom. But he kept pushing against it, scratching at his heart and hitting his head until the burning hands receded. But then he would be left in the dark and he would long to see Gwen's face again, to be sure that she was alright, and he would let them back in.
One day the force inside him let his glimpse again, and he could hear a far off voice, pleading sadly as it sobbed. It was Gwen, and the woe in her broke Merlin's heart all over again. So he stopped. He let go and hot fingers prodded every inch of him, burning him on the inside until all he knew was that painful, undying heat and a bright, blinding, impossible light.
And then everything was warm.
"Merlin."
With a small, sharp intake of breath, Merlin opened his eyes. He saw the window and, in it, he could see the reflection of Gwen looking up from where she way lying food out on the table. He stared at her, wondering why he was let back into the world, pondering what the presence inside of him was. And it was still there and he felt so warm. He felt so safe.
"Merlin."
He gasped again, small and barely audible, but Gwen heard it. She raced to his side, placing her hand on his shoulder. Merlin looked at her, eyes glistening with tears he didn't know he had. Why was he crying?
"Merlin."
He sat up straight and Gwen cried out.
"Merlin."
She left him, only for the briefest moment, and then was back by his side, holding his shoulders in her hands, shaking him gently, reassuringly. "It's alright, Merlin."
"Merlin."
He knew that voice but it had been such a long time since he had last heard it, the darkness making time stretch out, unmeasurable. He couldn't place it. His mind was spinning.
"Merlin."
Gaius came bustling in. Speed he'd never seen before in the old man brought him quickly to his side. He sat beside Guinevere, rummaging through his medicine bag, telling Gwen that he needed space to work. She sat back, hand on her mouth and brow brought together in worry.
"Merlin."
He tried so hard but he couldn't recognize the voice. He knew who it was, he was sure of it, but something in his mind refused to let him have the information he craved.
"Merlin."
His heart was pounding. He could feel it hammering on inside him. Gaius announced it so and continued to dig into his supplies, pulling out a pestle and mortar and grinding up herbs.
"Merlin."
Suddenly he was aware that he was shaking, jittering, eyes fluttering wildly from face to face and back towards the window he'd stared out for so long. His hands trembled and his feet ticked against the floor. His movement was unrelenting and he was too weak and too confused to stop them.
"Merlin."
"Arthur," Merlin said, the first words he'd spoken since his death. His voice was hoarse and barely heard. But Gaius and Gwen heard it and the old man froze, a potion pressed to Merlin's lips. He drew it back and looked at his surrogate son with wide eyes.
Merlin looked up at him, gaining some control of himself, and blinked, not entirely believing his own words.
"Be calm, Merlin."
Merlin gasped, swallowing a deep gulp of air that soothed his twitches. He slumped forwards and Gwen held him.
"It's alright."
Slowly, Merlin sat back up, a cautious hand on his shoulder. He took a few more deep breaths and looked past his friends to the window. In the reflection he saw Gwaine, Leon, and Percival, standing by the door, looking on with long faces.
"I'm sorry it took so long. I tried to tell you."
"What?" Merlin whispered to himself, to the voice inside his head.
His friends all looked concerned and he couldn't fathom it. Joy sprung up inside of him and he couldn't contain it.
"They think you're ill, Merlin. You've scared them half to death. Give it time."
But Merlin didn't give it time, he couldn't. He leapt onto his feet and Gwen screamed for his safety. "Arthur!" he cried out, a smile bright on his face. His knees wobbled and knocked together but he pushed himself onto the wall where he could steady himself. He turned around, facing his friend with a renewed gleam in his eyes.
"Merlin, stop."
His breath came quickly and oh he was so tired. But his heart was beating fit to fly out of his chest. Gwaine and Leon raced forwards, each taking an arm to support his weight. Merlin sunk between them but kept on smiling through his panting breaths as the people around him shouted warnings to one another.
"Merlin, they can't hear me. You need to stop."
Merlin listened and allowed himself to be taken to his chair, where they lowered him gently down. Gaius brought the potion back up again and he sipped it down. Soon he was drifting away, falling from the real world and into sleep.
Just before he slipped away, he heard Gwen crying.
He woke a day later to the same voice but did not open his eyes. Instead he listened, treasuring its presence.
"Merlin."
"Arthur."
He smiled in his slumber, praising the sisters of fate for making the decision that led him to this moment.
"How are you here?"
"I am not, Merlin."
"Where are you?"
"Avalon."
"What is it like?"
"It is . . ." He paused, and Merlin imagined him looking around. "It is peaceful."
"Are you alone?" Merlin asked, hoping with all his might that he is not. He promises himself that, if he was, he would always keep him company, always speak to his king.
"No," he answered.
"Who is with you?"
There was a silence and Merlin's chest pumped with the anticipation.
"Everyone," Arthur said. There was a smile in his voice.
"What do you mean?" Merlin asked, a wondrous curiosity in his voice.
"All the people I have ever known and more," Arthur replied. "And they are all perfect."
"What is it like?"
"This place," Arthur explained, voice misty and full of heart, "it only holds what is good. All evil is purged from the soul and they come here, purified. Even Morgana is here, but she is kind, like she once was. My father . . . he is . . . he is just that. He is a father. He is not a king and not a tyrant. His heart is as it was before it was churned by betrayal. And my mother is here. She's told me so many things."
"Who else do you see?"
"Everyone," Arthur said again. "I have met your Freya as well, though she is not always here. She watches you in the reflections. She says she sees deep within you for she can only see you when you are looking upon yourself. She misses you.
"Your father is here also. He is proud. Lancelot wishes you luck and thanks you, as do many. Will praises you. Elyan wishes that you look after Guinevere, though I assume you'd do that anyway."
"Actually," Merlin laughed, "she's been doing more of the looking after lately."
Arthur chuckled. "Countless people give you thanks and gratitude Merlin. An endless list of names, I could give to you. Some are people we have never even met, people who know you only as Emrys who are relishing in the knowledge that their living families are free."
Merlin smiled. "It is you they should be thanking."
"Maybe so," Arthur hummed, obviously thinking the credit be due to Merlin. Their modesty rivaled each other as always.
"Merlin," Arthur calls after a moment of blissful silence.
"What is it, Arthur?"
"You must wake up," he instructed.
Merlin was hesitant and he could feel it. So, he reassured him.
"I will still be here when you wake," he promises. "You must explain to them what has happened."
"But I do not know what has happened."
"Then you must ask them for help."
"They already thing me mad," Merlin sighed.
"Then prove them wrong."
With that, Arthur pushed Merlin awake and he opened his eyes to Arthur's will. He was in his bed this time, discovering that both it and Arthur's mighty mattress had been left in their rooms. He scarcely remembers being in bed the past few months. He thought to himself that he either was too far from consciousness during those times or it was not worth the effort to move him, given he was practically in a constant state of rest anyhow.
"Do not think of these things, Merlin," Arthur told him. "You must find someone."
Merlin sat up, eyes round and blinking owlishly.
"How long has it been?"
"A day, I think," Arthur supplied.
The room was empty. Slowly, he got up, knees knocking together and legs quivering. He leaned on the wall, pressing his open palms against the stone. His arms shook and folded under the pressure, so he hugged the wall, putting his torso up against it to keep him steady.
Gradually, he slunk across the wall, feet scraping against the floor as if he'd forgotten how to walk.
Arthur let out a small laugh. "You have," he jested.
Merlin rolled his eyes and he could sense that Arthur felt it.
"Why is it that you can see into my world and hear all of my thoughts," Merlin asked, "but I can naught but hear your voice?"
"I don't know Merlin."
"How did you figure to talk to me?"
"I could feel you," Arthur said "As you felt me, I felt you. But I recognized you. You did not. I don't know why and that is why you must find someone."
Merlin agreed as he found the lip of the window with his fingers. He pulled himself to it and put a hand on either side. He paused, peering into the glass. He looked at his reflection and smiled.
"Hello, Freya," he whispered.
He received nothing in return. There was no way for his love to speak to him through the panes, but he felt content, knowing that she was with him.
He heaved a sigh and pushed away from the wall, staggering until he found his chair. He gripped it and held himself to it like a walker. Then, he stretched out his arm, reaching for the table. With a valiant shove, he threw himself onto it, locking shaking arms beneath him as he panted for breath. He looked up, eyes on the door where he would find the guards, and wished so much that he could call to them from there. However, his voice was too small. His throat would not take it. So, he straightened up and bravely let go of his support.
With whatever luck was left to him, he managed half the distance, stumbling and swaying his way forward. But that luck ran out and his feet slipped over themselves until the momentum pushed him farther than his legs could carry him and he sprawled out onto the floor, moaning as the breath was forced from him.
Arthur said something to him then, but he couldn't hear over the pain ringing in his ears. He couldn't remember being so weak, so frail. His body twanged with a sore throb that vibrated in his brain. He wanted to call out, find the someone Arthur wanted him to, but his voice could not come.
That didn't matter though because the guards had heard his flesh slap against the floor and were bursting through the doors of their own accord. They saw Merlin lying there. One left the room whilst the other circled around Merlin, sword drawn, checking for intruders.
"Get up."
"I can't," Merlin gasped, more breath than words.
"You can."
Merlin shook his head.
"I can feel you. You can."
Reluctantly, Merlin placed his hands underneath him and levered his torso up off the floor. Gaius, Gwen, and Gwaine rushed in then, all racing towards him.
Gwaine took his arms in his tight grip and hauled him up. Merlin leaned into him, legs positively shivering beneath his body. Gwen turned the chair round and the knight placed him in it, Gaius hobbling forwards with a cup of water.
"Merlin," the old man said, "what happened, my boy?"
"Gaius," Merlin wheezed, head pounding against his skull ferociously.
"We need his help," Arthur reminded him.
"Gaius, please," Merlin breathed, clutching a clump of his mentor's sleeve.
"Tell me, Merlin."
Merlin suddenly became frustrated and self-conscious, the guards and the knight and the queen all scuffling about the room, making noise. His senses splayed out unwillingly. He heard all of it; their anxious breaths, their beating hearts. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to be alone again. His eyes pinched up in pain and he held tighter to Gaius's sleeve.
The physician's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. He turned to Gwen, still knelt beside Merlin so that he could hold onto him. "I need to clear the room," he said.
Merlin winced, Gaius's voice grinding against his ears. He could hear the clack of his teeth and the click of his lips, the gurgle of saliva slithering down his throat as he swallowed.
"What's happening, Gaius?" Gwen questioned, putting a hand on his shoulder.
The queen's high voice rattled within his head, causing him to tense even further, doubling up in his chair.
"His magic is unstable, Guinevere," Gaius explained urgently. "His own senses are too much for him—I need everybody out now."
Gwen nodded and they all reluctantly scurried out of the room, throwing last second worried glances Merlin's way before closing the door.
Merlin threw his head back and let out a small cry as the bang reverberated through his ears. His breath came quickly and with difficulty as Gaius shushed him, rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder.
With time, Merlin calmed and the room around him was not so overwhelming. He let loose Gaius's robes and took slow breaths.
"I'm sorry, Merlin."
"What?" Merlin said, not realizing he was talking aloud.
Gaius looked at him questioningly.
"I shouldn't have pushed you."
"Merlin," Gaius whispered, "what happened?"
Merlin looked up at Gaius with wide, blue eyes that held far more hope than the old man had seen in the past few months. "Arthur," was all he managed.
Gaius closed his eyes and sadly shook his head. "Merlin . . . Arthur, he's . . ."
"Dead," Merlin finished, but the gleam did not falter. "But Gaius, I—"
"Merlin, he's gone."
"I can hear him."
The physician sighed and sat back in his chair. "Alright, my boy," he said quietly, sounding defeated and remorseful. "Tell me what you hear."
"Gaius, he's speaking to me from Avalon. He's there but he can speak to me. He's been here in my head. I don't understand it, Gaius. I need to know why this is happening."
"Merlin, you've been ill for months now," was all the man could say.
Merlin looked at him disbelievingly. "I'm not mad," he protested. "I can hear him. He's real, Gaius. I know for certain that it is him. I can feel him."
But all his mentor did was give him a woeful look and say, "I don't know how to help you, my boy."
Tears sprung to Merlin's eyes. He finally has the will to live again and his father figure thinks him the fool he always feigned to be.
"I'm telling the truth Gaius," he pleaded. "Please. I need your help."
The old man closed his eyes and took a few breaths before looking back at Merlin. "Fine," he agreed in a soft voice, as if he were talking to an ailing man who's mind was ebbing away. "Tell me what you see in Avalon."
The boy looked at Gaius with sorrow scratching at his heart. Then, he bowed his head, looking away. "It doesn't matter."
"Merlin," Gaius murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. The warlock shied away, shrugging him off. The physician recoiled. "I'm sorry. His lost took its toll on us all."
"He's not gone from me," Merlin uttered, barely able to hear.
"He is."
"Get out."
Gaius's eyebrow rose and he stiffened.
"Get out," Merlin repeated softly, throat thick with restricted tears.
"Merlin . . ."
"Get out," he finally sobbed, shoulders heaving with hitched breaths.
The old man left, leaving Merlin to grieve a man he believed to still be living inside of him.
Merlin tried talking to Gaius several times, but the man always treated him as a patient with a worsening mental ailment rather than the boy who had finally recovered from one. It always ended badly, with Merlin feeling abandoned. Gaius either tried to reason with him or would play along as one would with a child, pretending to be interested and believing in some fantasy world.
"We will try again."
Merlin shook his head.
"He's let you out of the room," Arthur reasoned. "He must think you're getting better."
"No. That's him giving up. He thinks I will remain like this forever. And he is right. But he does not see that it is health before him and not a horrid trauma."
"Perhaps we should try—"
"No."
"Merlin . . ."
"Percival did not listen. Leon pities me. Gwaine laughed and drunk himself giddy. What makes you think that she could be any different?"
"You must try."
"Gaius has spoken to her about it. I know he has. She thinks that I am mad as well."
"But you cannot retreat to me like this, Merlin."
"And why not?" Merlin had abandoned his senses and hidden inside his mind. Whenever he woke from these retreats it was to stricken friends and a weary physician. "The whole world thinks me insane. Why face them? I don't want to hurt Gwen."
"You won't"
"I hurt the others."
"They don't understand."
"And you think she will?"
"She is different."
"How?"
"Gwen is good as seeing people as they are. You know this. She sensed Morgana's treachery shortly after you did. If it were not for her uncertainty, she would have conspired alongside you."
"She has uncertainty now, Arthur. Already she thinks I have been lost. Seeing me in a fit of delusions will only worsen her grief."
"You must give her a chance."
"I cannot survive another heart broken, Arthur. It's tearing me apart."
"We need someone to help us figure out why this is happening, someone on your side. The people here refuse to intervene. They claim that it is not their place to say for they too are part of your mind to those in your world. If we received an explanation from them, no one would believe—"
"I know, you have told me this," Merlin growled.
"Just try, Merlin. One last time."
Merlin sighed and thought with dread about the conversation to come. "One last time," he agreed. He opened his eyes.
Gwen was bringing him his breakfast, despite him asking her not to, claiming that he could do it on his own. She was the queen and he thought she deserved to be waited on and cared for, not be the one struggling to keep others happy. He didn't complain this time, however. He had been, after all, unresponsive for days and it wasn't the first time he had become mentally secluded as he was.
"Gwen," Merlin croaked, looking at her with sad, blue eyes.
She turned to him, adjusting the last bits of his platter, and her brow furrowed. She was never happy when he woke anymore. She was always just concerned. Whatever Merlin did made her worry. Even when he managed to laugh there would be an underlying sorrow behind her joy.
And he was about to worry her again, and he hated it.
"What is it, Merlin?" she asked, coming to sit beside him.
"I want to tell you something," Merlin said, straightening his back.
"Anything," Gwen granted.
"It's . . ." Merlin hesitated, not wanting to be put down in his beliefs again. "It's Arthur . . . I wanted to . . ." He trailed off, seeing the woe and disappointment in her soft features. He froze, eyes wide with regret and fear.
"Merlin," Gwen sighed, placing a gentle hand on his knee. "Arthur's gone."
"I know that, Gwen, but he's—"
"He's dead, Merlin."
"You don't think I know that!" Merlin spat, eyes flaring.
Gwen sat back, startled.
"I had to sit there and watch as his breath left his body, Gwen!" Merlin cried, shaking in his seat. "I was so close and yet I could do nothing as his heart stopped right before me! You lost a husband and a king, but I lost so much more, Gwen! I lost everything!" His words came in through choking sobs that he futilely tried to suppress. "You didn't see what he saw! You have no idea what a hell my life has been! Arthur was the only thing that kept me here! Without him, I would have been as I was those first few weeks! I wanted to die, Gwen! Do you know what that's like? To be something so hated that your own mind is led to believing you're a monster! To be told by everyone that it is your fault even though you had no choice in it! Protecting Arthur was my only purpose and I have failed in my destiny! You have no idea what it is like to lose who you are!" He was left ogling at her, breath hitched and struggling to breathe.
Gwen's cheeks were stained with tears as she put her head in her hands and tried to muffle her own sobs. Her shoulders shook with it and Merlin leaned forwards to speak in a whisper.
"I'm sorry, Gwen," Merlin muttered. "But I need to know that I'm not mad. I need someone to listen to me so that I can try and figure this out. Please, Gwen. I don't want to be alone in this."
Merlin felt something then, like Arthur had tensed inside of him, like he realized the true extent of Merlin's struggles.
Gwen shook her head before slowly looking up at Merlin, eyes bright and red. "Gaius says you're still ill. He says it's trauma. He says you've constructed your own fantasy to forget what has happened. He says he's seen it before," she hiccupped.
"But don't you see?" Merlin pleaded. "It's not a fantasy. I haven't forgotten. I know what's happened and I'm not trying to fix things. I'm not trying to hurt you, Gwen. I'm hearing him speak to me but he is not inside my head. He's elsewhere. He's in Avalon."
The queen let out another small sob and covered her mouth with her hand before swiping the tear tracks from her cheeks.
"Don't you want to believe that it is Arthur?" Merlin questioned, trying different tactics. "Don't you want to talk to him again?"
"Of course I do!" Gwen whimpered, throwing her hands onto her lap. "But he's dead, Merlin. I've moved on. I've mourned. He's gone. If I believed you now, it would only hurt because I can't know if he's real or not. I can't handle that."
Merlin quivered, and expression of woe and defeat consuming his features. "He is here, Gwen," he rasped, barely even he could hear himself speak. He sounded doubtful and broken. "Please."
"I'm sorry, Merlin," Gwen murmured, standing slowly before hurrying from the room.
Merlin sat there, staring as where she had sat, looking at the empty seat with dread. His heart crumpled and his soul throbbed inside of him. He could feel the hot fingers of Arthur's presence wrapping around him again, trying to hold him up, keep him safe. But he did not feel safe. He felt alone. Gwen was his last hope in finding sanity, proving to himself that Arthur truly was speaking to him.
He began to think that Gaius was right. He hated the hollow feeling inside of him as he gave into the idea that he was, in truth, mad. Arthur fretted within him, making him warm, making him hot, desperately trying to prove that he was real by Making Merlin feel things that should be impossible.
Merlin pondered these feelings, thinking he could be sporting a fever, thinking a wave a heat might have passed through the door Gwen left hanging ajar. As these feelings twisted inside of him, he stood, wondering vaguely where the heat might be coming from.
Weighed back by the drag of his own mind as he again collapsed inside, he gradually walked to the door and stepped out into the hall, led astray by his own madness. He reasoned to himself that, even if Arthur truly was speaking to him, he was indeed mad, driven so by loss and the painful, pitying scrutiny of his friends. He wondered away from his room, finding the brisk air of morning and the heat of the sun against his skin that he reckoned might have found his way to his little chair moments before.
Merlin would not be seen for a very long time.