Back to Arthur and Merlin! I blame the angst in this chapter entirely on the fact that a friend recently got me addicted to Sherlock and the season 2 finale was so beautiful and terrible and angsty that I just had to find an outlet for it.
To the first Guest who reviewed last chapter: Thank you so much for your comments, I'm glad you're enjoying the story, hopefully this bit will live up to your expectations!
Maddie: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, your comments were lovely and definitely left me with a smile! :)
To the second Guest who reviewed last chapter: I will be doing a character study on Gwaine, I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and am very grateful for the review!
Remember, the darkest hour is just before the dawn... enjoy! ;D
Arthur sat by his servant's side all night, gripping the warlock's limp hand tightly between his own, as if the physical contact alone would be enough to keep the boy in the land of the living. He stared fixedly at Merlin's chest, afraid to move, afraid to breath, afraid to blink. Terrified that if he looked away, even for a few seconds, the miniscule rise and fall would cease and his friend would slip away without so much as a goodbye.
He couldn't remember ever being so scared about anything in his life. All the blood had drained from his face, leaving him deathly pale, and he could feel his heart thundering in his chest as the blood pounded through his ears. His senses were heightened and his hands trembled with the need to do something, but he couldn't; he couldn't do anything, and that was the worst part.
There was absolutely nothing he could do but sit there, willing the boy to fight, to live, even as he watched the life drain out of his thin frame. He clutched Merlin's hand close to his chest in a frantic attempt to warm the boy's cold skin; calloused fingers, searching desperately for a pulse, clamped around the fragile wrist so hard that he feared he would break it.
Leaving Merlin to go get help was not even an option; the very thought of being further than arms length away from the boy sent ice-cold tendrils of pure, unadulterated fear racing through his body. But neither could he bring himself to move his servant, to shift the delicate balance that they were hovering in. Everything felt surreal, like they were cut off from the rest of the world, encased in a giant bubble, and he convinced himself that everything would be fine as long as nothing changed.
The passage of time had no effect on the king as he sat beside his friend, body paralyzed with fear, mind racing with worries, concerns, fragile hopes, and half-made plans that were discarded almost as soon as they formed. He fell into a sort of daze, subconsciously marking the sluggish beats of Merlin's heart as they thumped beneath his fingers; holding his breath after each shaky exhale, silently counting the seconds until the harsh rattle of they boy's inhale filled the air again and he relaxed in relief.
This continued for several hours, the monotonous pattern of exhale… pause… inhale repeated over and over, lulling Arthur into a false sense of security. He built walls around his heart, reassuring himself that everything would be alright, Merlin wouldn't die, couldn't die, because he never died, he was always fine. No matter how many times he'd been on the brink of death, the boy had always managed to pull through in the past, why should this time be any different? Someone would find them, someone would help them, and all they had to do was hold on until that help came.
Everything was going well, or at least as well as could be expected in a situation like this, and if Merlin's skin seemed to be taking on a decidedly grayish hue, or his breaths were getting weaker, the silence between each inhale stretching longer and longer, Arthur ignored it, unwilling to accept the fact that Merlin was dying; that, in all likelihood, the boy wouldn't survive the night. He couldn't acknowledge, even to himself, that his friend was fading, and fading fast, because to give voice to his doubts would be to admit failure and he couldn't afford to do that. He was completely drained, exhausted both physically and emotionally, there was nothing left. He felt so empty, as if he'd cried all the tears he had left to cry and now he was just numb, incapable of feeling anything.
That idea was proved wrong almost as soon as it was formed, it turned out that Arthur was still capable of feeling, that fear was still able to penetrate the numbness that encased his body. Like so many things in life, everything was fine, until, all at once, it wasn't. All it took to obliterate his sense of safety, to smash the walls he'd erected to smithereens, was silence; the horrible, awful, oppressive silence that descended around him, stealing his breath and pressing against his ears, when Merlin stopped breathing.
He stared at the boy, eyes burning with the need to cry, but no tears came, maybe he really had used them all up. He could feel Merlin's heart slowing down under his fingers, beats stuttering erratically as the battered organ struggled to pump blood through the warlock's body without the oxygen that he so desperately needed. Arthur knew it was only a matter of time, a matter of time until those faltering beats ceased entirely and he wanted to scream, wanted to rage into the night sky at the unfairness of it all but it was all he could do to force his chest to rise and fall, almost as if his lungs had stopped working along with Merlin's.
Arthur tightened his grip on the boy's slim wrist; silently begging, pleading with his friend to breathe, just breathe. As he sat there, he was struck by the absolute wrongness of the situation; they'd succeeded, escaped from their captivity, defeating Mordred and Morgana in the process, it wasn't supposed to be like this. Merlin barely clinging to life while Arthur knelt at his side, a complete emotional wreck. They should be celebrating their victory, planning for the future of the kingdom, finally able to breathe easy knowing that their two biggest enemies were no longer a threat. Arthur should not be sitting here watching his friend die, it just wasn't right.
When Arthur could no longer feel Merlin's pulse under his fingers he relaxed his grip, letting the boy's arm flop limply to the ground, it was over. Merlin was dead. After everything they'd been through, all the threats and challenges they'd faced, this is what it had all come down to. All of Morgana's failed assassination attempts and plots to destroy him had culminated in this final act, she wasn't even alive to enjoy it but, finally, after all these years, she had succeeded. He was broken, exactly like she'd wanted, completely lost and destroyed without his friend.
He clambered heavily to his feet, turning to face the rock behind him, glaring at it with all the hatred and rage he wished he could direct at his sister, at Mordred, at himself. Merlin had always been so selfless, taking everything in stride, but he hadn't deserved any of it. Hadn't deserved Morgana's loathing, no matter what he'd done, he hadn't deserved to suffer at her hand the way he had in his last weeks; neither had he deserved the contempt with which Mordred held him, to the best of Arthur's knowledge, Merlin had done everything in his power to save the druid boy and that should have been cause for gratitude, not animosity. But most of all, Merlin hadn't deserved the jibes and half-hearted insults that Arthur had thrown at him day in and day out, it was a wonder the servant had even tolerated the king for this long, let alone sacrificed himself so that Arthur would live.
Something snapped deep inside the king and he clenched his hand into a fist as the pain rushed to the surface, breaking through all the barriers he'd spent his entire life constructing, desperate to separate himself from the emotional weakness that his father had so despised. He threw it with all the force he could muster at the wall of solid stone before him, hearing the bones in his hand snap like twigs on impact and he drew back, staring disinterestedly at the damage, barely able to feel the pain through the whirlwind of guilt, and grief, and loss that was tearing his soul apart.
He wanted to do it again, to keep throwing himself at the wall until he could feel something other than the loss ripping through him but the more rational part of his brain told him to stop before he did any permanent damage. Turning around again, he slid slowly down the rocks, relishing in the feel of the sharp stones grating against his spine hard enough to leave bruises, until he was sitting once more. He curled his knees to his chest in a childish attempt to protect himself from the pain, wanting nothing more than to escape from the nightmare that reality was fast becoming.
He rocked back and forth, burying his head between his raised knees and tried to forget, tried to forget everything, but the memories wouldn't leave him alone. No matter how hard he tried to push it away, an image of Merlin's cheerful grin and sparkling eyes kept rising to the forefront of his thoughts, taunting him with what he could never ever have again.
He was finally able to push his voice past the lump in his throat but only one word made it past the shocked, horrified daze that surrounded him. He called his friend's name in a ragged, broken whisper, barely more than a breath of air, surprising himself with the amount of raw pain and anguish that his tone held. He repeated it over and over again, in time with his rhythmic rocking almost like an incantation, as if he could bring the boy back by voicing his deepest desire.
After a few minutes, Arthur became aware of an almost imperceptible humming, so slight that he wouldn't have noticed it at all if not for the warm, tingling feeling that accompanied it, encasing his broken hand and making its way up his arm. Glancing up sharply, his jaw dropped in disbelief and his breath caught in his throat. Merlin was glowing… glowing! Muted golden light was running through his veins, almost like blood, and the longer Arthur watched, the brighter it got.
Tiny strands of light stretched from Merlin's fingertips and wrapped themselves around Arthur's injured hand, clinging to his wrist, almost like the boy was reaching out for him. There were a series of small popping noises and the king looked down in wonder, watching as his mangled fingers straightened, bones aligning themselves before snapping into place like a puzzle. Once the task was finished, the light retreated and Arthur flexed his hand experimentally, it was completely healed; in fact, it was in better condition than it had been before he'd smashed it against the stone in anger.
He stared at Merlin, waiting for the warlock to heal himself, for his crushed ribs to right themselves like Arthur's hand had, but it never happened. The light beneath his skin pulsed faster, in tune with Arthur's racing heart before, finally, Merlin's eyes flew open, blazing with golden light as he gasped in a huge breath, crying out as the movement jarred his damaged ribs.
"Merlin?" Arthur asked tentatively, not wanting to startle the boy or cause him to injure himself further than he already had.
There was no answer, so the king asked again, leaning forward slightly to put himself in his friend's line of sight, but the change in position did no good. The warlock didn't appear to hear him; his luminous eyes remained firmly fixed directly ahead, the light slowly fading as the color changed from gold back to blue.
After a few seconds, Merlin's eyelids slipped closed as he gave in to the darkness and relaxed against the ground again, oblivious to the world. A million questions flooded the king's mind and he grabbed the boy's hand once again, contemplating what he'd just seen. He was curious and he wanted answers but, more than that, he was happy; Merlin's magic obviously wasn't going to let him die without a fight and, although the boy still appeared to be deathly ill, his breathing had evened out and his heart beat steadily, reassuringly, if a little weakly, beneath Arthur's fingers.
The sun finally started to crest the horizon, signaling an end to the longest night of Arthur's life and the emptiness that had filled him retreated, giving way to relief, optimism, and pure joy. Merlin had survived the night and he would live, Arthur was sure of it. Their darkest hour truly had been just before the dawn but now the sun was rising and with it came hope; hope that Merlin would live, that they would be found, and that, someday soon, they would be back in Camelot, two friends walking side by side into the future, ready to take on whatever challenges may arise, together.
Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I can assure you that it will get better from here, there will still be some angst and hurt/comfort but probably not as much and our boys will be found by someone in the next chapter (although most likely not by who you'd expect)!
I'm working on a character study for Gwaine right now, no guarantees on when it will be up though.