~~~We all are living in a dream
But life ain't what it seems
Oh everything's a mess
And all these sorrows I have seen
They lead me to believe
That everything's a mess

But I wanna dream
I wanna dream
Leave me to dream~~~

A/N: Hey all!

So, sorry this is late! As I said last chapter, I was busy last week, and ended up not having much time. So, I didn't win the contest I entered, but that's cool. I did have fun with the scavenger hunt, though, so that was nice!

As for this chapter... a warning for Gwaine fans, I kind of give him the short end of the stick in this chapter, but please know I will put an explanation in the end notes, and do know that he will be seen again and things will work out with him.

Anyway... Thanks for the comments and reviews! I appreciate them! :-D Also! The chapter title comes from the song

Dream, by Imagine Dragons It's a great song, if you've not heard it. :-D

Enjoy!

The following two months were some of the hardest months of Merlin's young life. And that was saying something.

Practically every day he attended court, now, his father growing more and more distant and concerned as more reports came in. It often wasn't major attacks, even. It was little things. Goods caravans getting hijacked on their routes. Sorcerer houses in Mixed villages getting covered in red and gold paint. Major trade roads getting trenches dug into them. None of it was anything that couldn't be easily fixed. There were no deaths, so far, but a lot of hassle and vandalism. It was unclear if these actions were being done by the same group or not.

His father believed so. The attacks were steadily rising in number, from once every other week, to once every other day. And it was all over the kingdom. From their southernmost villages to their northern most strongholds. If the attacks were done by a single group, clearly their cause was widespread.

Merlin had no idea what to do. He'd been sent out to all corners of the kingdom, his father entrusting him to find a solution. It was pretty much the first time since he'd been crowned crown prince that he had truly been tested, discounting the time his father had nearly died. Besides, he'd pretty much failed that test, Arthur saving him, and his father more than he did, so this was the time to prove himself. To prove he was worthy of the crown he wore. Worthy of the crown his father would one day pass on to him.

And he was failing. He often didn't even have time to sit down in his room after a long day's ride before being called into Court, to discuss the next attack. And every time, everywhere he went, he found the same thing.

Nothing.

There were no tracks. No clues. He did his best to sense, to try and figure out who was responsible, but it often didn't work. He'd find too many contrasting variables, or mixed signals. His powers were failing him, and he hated it.

Worst of all, to him at least, was the distance that was growing between him and Arthur. Oh, neither of them was doing it on purpose, he was sure. But Merlin had such little time alone anymore. He was constantly surrounded by people; be it guards or Castle Mages. And he couldn't talk to Arthur as much as he longed to when others were around. When home, he had barely enough time to eat before being yanked into a different direction, leaving him wane and thin. Most of his free time, pathetic amount that there was, was spent practicing his magic, needing to build it up enough to not fail his father or his kingdom.

But it wasn't enough.

He wasn't enough.

Almost as bad, or maybe equally so, was the fact he had almost no time to write Gwaine. He'd explained early on that he was being stretched thin and that he was so, so sorry for his short replies, but he felt it wasn't enough. Gwaine was sweet and said it was fine, often offering sympathy, but Merlin knew the man was upset by it. He was probably privately rooting for the rebels, too, Merlin would muse bitterly. Gwaine never wrote it, never even indicated it, but Merlin was sure of it. After all, he knew Gwaine fairly well, the pair being in a pseudo relationship for over a year. He still hated royalty and nobility, even though he made an exception for Merlin. It made things awkward and strained between them, and Merlin was a second away from ending the whole thing. He still loved Gwaine, don't get him wrong. But he had no time for anything. For anyone.

Not even Freya.

That hurt him a lot, too. He rarely got to see the girl. She would usually stay home when he'd go out, the king not seeing reason for her to be involved. He honestly spent more time with Morgana than anyone else, as she had quickly become his right-hand man. Or, well. Woman. He'd spend hours talking to her, pouring over plans and ideas. He honestly trusted her almost as much as he trusted Arthur, at this point.

All in all, he was feeling insanely stressed out and pulled tight. Never, in all his years of being a prince, had things been quite so hard. And nothing had really even happened yet. A few spontaneously painted houses, a couple holes in a road. What did it matter, in the end? It was all so random. So unconnected.

"Maybe that's the point," Arthur had pointed out, a couple weeks ago. "If I were trying to hide something, I'd hide it in a bunch of seemingly innocuous events. What we need to figure out is what the lowest common denominator is."

Which, yes. Thank you, Arthur. Merlin was a complete moron who hadn't already bloody figured that out. He knew he had to find what the events had in common. Or else figure out what they didn't have in common so he could figure out their similarity through their differences. If that made any sense whatsoever.

The problem was that he had no idea how to do that! He'd almost snapped at Arthur when he had said that, one thread away from snapping and losing his sanity entirely. He'd just settled on glaring daggers at the man, forcing Arthur to put his hands up in a sign of peace, muttering an apology.

He knew he was being difficult and a horrible person to be around. But he had no idea what to do. He was just so very afraid. He'd never felt so powerless before. All his life he'd been commended for his power, even as a toddler. And yet, for all that power, here he was. Nothing to show for it. His kingdom was at risk and he had no idea how to save it.

It was enough to drive him to insanity. He had no relief. Gaius had been making him calming potions and teas, but it was a salve. A balm on a gaping wound. He'd get relief for a couple hours before bed, and then wake up to a fresh hell. It was unending. All encompassing. If something didn't happen soon, for better or for worse, he was going to fucking snap.

It was a cold late February day when things finally reached their boiling point.

He'd just come back from his most recent trip, Buttercup whinnying horribly as she was forced to march through cold slush, the snows turning to frigid rain. It was nearing sunset (or so he assumed, though the sky was almost pitch black with rain clouds), Arthur riding silently beside him, the guard stonily bringing up the rear. They'd been sent out to a nearby western town, where a prized cow had been slaughtered and covered in red and gold paint. The cow had been owned by a warlock, though a low level one. The man had been furious, yelling at Merlin, asking how he was going to make his potions now. Merlin, two seconds away from cursing the man into oblivion, had smiled tensely and promised to send two cows in compensation. When the warlock had tried to argue he should receive three, since old Gertrude had produced more milk than two measly cows, Arthur had had to practically drag him away before he committed murder.

It had honestly been the first death, so far. The rebels had, until that point, kept mostly to vandalism and low-level crime. It wouldn't have been worrying if it wasn't so organized. This? This meant they were increasing their ante. It wasn't much now, a simple cow, but who knew how long until they started killing people, too?

Part of him had wanted to, naively, hope that it wasn't done by the rebel group (he was privately calling them the Dragons. No reason, honest), but his vain hopes had been dashed when he'd entered the pen. It had the exact same feeling as the other scenes.

What tipped him over the edge, however, was how, not even a minute after dismounting Buttercup, a guard had run up to him and informed him his father wanted to see him.

As he stormed through the castle, magic swirling around him like a storm cloud, making every magical person he came across dart out of his way, he wondered what it was now. After all. It was always something.

Entering the courtroom, Merlin had a second to breathe, to take in a merciful breath of air. And then he saw his father, face like stone, and everything came crumbling around him.

"There have been reports of an attack on a village. There is no word on how many dead, but the number is likely great. I've dispatched the army, but there is no saying if they will get there in time. We are on high alert, locking down the citadel. No one is allowed in or out except for an emergency. I want you to head into the lower town and make sure everyone has enough supplies for several days of lock down. We are also instigating a curfew. Everyone must be inside by sundown."

Merlin felt his knees weaken and would have collapsed had he not forced himself out of it. It wasn't like they'd never attacked before. His father had waged countless wars in his 20-year reign, forcing the city into lockdown at least once every other year. But this?

This felt different. Worse. Because they had no idea what they were up against. Because they didn't have a single clue as to who was causing this whole thing.

(Well, actually, that was a lie. Merlin did have a clue as to who was behind all of this. But he'd promised his fucking servant that he'd not chase that line of inquiry, even though everything inside of him screamed to pursue it. He trusted Arthur. He did. He did.)

"I understand, father. I will ride out there in the morning, to-"

"No!" His father boomed, startling Merlin backwards, bumping into Arthur, who had apparently been standing silently behind him. Huh. He hadn't even noticed.

"No," his father repeated, calmer. "No one is to exit the citadel. It is unsafe. I will send some remote Mages to assess the scene, to determine the proper cause of action. I want you to stay here and keep an eye on the citizens. Keep the peace. Try and sniff out any sympathizers. I want a full sweep of castle servants, to ensure we have no traitors in our midst."

At his words, Merlin felt Arthur tense from where he was still pressed up against the other. Merlin took a step away, though he wondered what the action had meant. If he was just concerned, as any servant would be. Or if he had an actual reason to feel concern.

But… no. He trusted Arthur. With his life.

Didn't he?

This wasn't the time, he thought fiercely, even as he nodded his ascent to his father.

"Of course, father. I will head out at once."

With that, he nodded respectfully at the king and turned to exit, Arthur following silently behind him, like a ghost. He valiantly ignored the rumbling in his stomach and headed into the lower town, frigid rain pouring over him.

By the time he had made the sweep of the area, getting complaints and handling the fear that was bubbling up, it was long passed nightfall and the start of their new curfew. Almost all of the citizens in the citadel were magical in some way, shape, or form. The news of the rebellions, though his father had tried to stifle them, had gone around. Now, the citizens of the city were terrified, wondering what they were doing to stop the 'monsters.' Merlin had felt Arthur tense again when an older woman had used the term, though he'd pushed aside his unease. After all, he had disliked the term as well. The rebels weren't monsters, he felt. Just desperate people trying to be heard.

Now, however… now that they've attacked, likely killed… it was reaching the point of no return. They wouldn't be able to afford the rebels any mercy, whatsoever, even if Merlin kind of wanted to. His father would never have agreed in the first place, but now there was no chance. They'd have to eradicate the entire enterprise.

"How do you kill a virulent weed, Merlin?" His father had asked him once, when he'd been very, very young. Merlin had thought about it intensely, before giving up and asking for the answer. His father had smiled, but it hadn't been a good smile. A kind smile. "You burn it until it is ash. That way it will never grow again."

He thought of that now. He hadn't understood, at the time. He did now.

He did now.

But the problem with burning a weed to the ground, he thought as he entered the castle, body weighed down by water as his mind was weighed down with fear, was that nothing would ever be able to grow in that area again. It would be infertile for any other life, for some time yet.

Merlin marched on; eyes distant as he tried to keep a handle on his powers. He felt like he was about to explode, one second away from a catastrophe. He was so lost and confused; so helpless. No prince with the power he wielded should be so powerless. He could do nothing.

He was nothing.

"Here, sire. Let me grab your cloak," he heard Arthur mutter to him. Merlin looked up in shock as he realized he had arrived at his rooms. He'd been so lost in his head that he hadn't even realized he'd made it. He numbly allowed Arthur to grab his soaked cloak, the servant folding it and placing it neatly in the hamper by the door. Arthur then proceeded to help him strip off the wet shirt and trousers he was wearing, tutting when Merlin let out a soft noise of protest.

"Please. It's my job. Let me help," the man muttered softly, voice next to his ear, making him shudder lightly, which he wished he could say was due to the chill in the air. He'd lit the fire, but it did nothing for the winter chill that had settled in before he'd arrived. He didn't complain, though, just let Arthur remove his clothes and rub him dry.

It was oddly intimate. Merlin had been getting dressed by servants since his childhood but had taken over the job himself once he hit puberty, too embarrassed to keep letting his (typically male) servants dress and undress him. It still wasn't an unusual duty of a servant. But feeling Arthur's too warm hands on him… the appendages not quite lingering, but also not quite as quick as Merlin knew them to be when completing tasks… it was torture on his already bedraggled mind.

Finally, the man was done, hand lingering a second too long on Merlin's now toned chest. Merlin tensed at the feeling; eyes intense as he stared at the servant. Arthur didn't look at him, though the soft blush on his face indicated he understood the intimacy of the moment.

"You should eat, Merlin. It's almost time for bed and you've had nothing since lunch. And even then, you had barely a piece of bread. You need to keep your strength up," Arthur stated moments later, standing beside the food his father had had sent up to his rooms earlier. It was kept warm under a heating charm, but he felt almost sick as he looked at it. He couldn't imagine eating anything. Shaking his head, Merlin went over to his desk, intending to answer some paperwork.

What he found, instead, was a nondescript letter, addressed to him. His heart, for whatever reason, plummeted as he recognized the handwriting, before it began to pound, almost deafening him. Opening the letter, he began to read, Arthur's annoyed voice washing over him.

"-honestly, you're so stubborn. Just eat something, damn you. Lord. Is this how you felt those first seven months? I'm surprised you didn't throttle me. Merlin? Are you listening to me? Wait. What's wrong? Oh, God, did something else happen? Christ, will it never end? What happened? Merlin you can tell me, I promise-"

"Gwaine broke up with me."

The words hung heavy in the air, which was suddenly ice cold, despite the raging fire that had been steadily fighting the winter chill. Arthur shut up with a click of his jaw, but Merlin barely noticed. All he could see was the words 'might be best to take a break, wouldn't it, my love,' and couldn't focus on anything else. The words repeated in his head, increasing like a symphony until all he could hear was yet another failure. Yet another mistake. Yet another person he had let down and failed.

Oh, God. He wanted to cry, but he was strangely empty. Nothing came up. He'd always been so emotional, so easy to cry. But now? Now he felt nothing. Nothing but pain and heartache. And so much numbness.

"Merlin," he heard a voice whisper, above his ear. He didn't turn to it, just stared blankly at the paper. He did nothing as the letter was pulled gently from his hands, his servant inhaling harshly a moment later. Merlin knew he should be angry, furious that the man dared read his private correspondence, but he couldn't muster up the feeling. It wasn't until Arthur spoke, voice tinging with anger, that Merlin found the strength to look up.

"That bastard. I'll kill him. How dare he do this to you? Now, of all times! Wait, no, no. Killing him is too kind. I'll castrate him, that will make him regret what he did. That complete and utter bas-"

"No," Merlin claimed, eyes heavy on Arthur. The man looked furious, on his behalf, but the fury turned into confusion quickly. It was almost adorable. Like a puzzled puppy. Merlin wanted to smile but couldn't.

"Don't be mad at him. I've seen this coming for a while. He- he never had wanted a relationship. He told me that the first time we were together. I had never... never expected anything. I just wanted to make sure he was alright, as he travelled. Things have been strained these past couple months, so I don't blame him for wanting to put an end to it. Besides, he- he said he wanted a break. Not… not forever."

Maybe if he told himself that often enough, he'd actually believe it.

In the letter, Gwaine had insisted that he still loved Merlin, that if he had ever intended to settle down, that Merlin was the person he'd settle for. But they were too different. Their paths had diverged ages ago and their passionate letters were only holding together what had long since faded. Gwaine still wanted to be friends, would still write once a month, like he'd promised, even if Merlin never wrote back again. But he couldn't keep trying to pour his heart out over letter after letter and receive almost nothing in return. Gwaine had assured him that he didn't blame him. But that it was just getting too hard for him. And he assumed that Merlin had much bigger things to worry about, saying that he'd heard about the rebellions that were steadily rising.

Merlin wondered, blithely, if Gwaine was a part of them. If he'd have to face his (now former) paramour on the battlefield. Wouldn't that have been a cosmic joke?

God, he didn't need this right now! Everything was going to hell, his heart had already been stretched to its breaking point, and now this?! He was dumped by his first real lover?

Merlin gasped heavily as the emotions rose in him, but still no tears formed. He wished they would. He wanted release from the pain that was consuming him.

It was when he felt a soft hand gently touch his shoulder, a tender voice sorrowfully calling his name, that he snapped.

Eyes filled with fury and rage, Merlin screamed, letting the agony in his heart out. The windows burst as his power surged through him, everything in the room blasted back as the wave of power ran through him. He had a second to feel remorse, to feel ashamed, but then the anger and pain rushed back in and he screamed again, power radiating off him like steam.

It wasn't fair! It wasn't! Why?! Why was this happening?! It was too much! Too much, all at once! How could any man bear it?! How was he supposed to be calm and rational and save his people when all he could feel was dead inside?!

He wanted everything to stop. He longed for the days before, before he'd had this terrible responsibility. The past year had been the best of his life, his father finally acknowledging him, Freya happy and healthy with Morgana at her side. And he had two men he loved so fiercely.

And now he had nothing. He barely saw his father, outside of Court meetings when he'd be so tense he was more reminiscent of the statue he'd been all of Merlin's life, not the almost caring man he'd come to know for the past year. He barely had time to see Freya, let alone speak with her or have a meal with her. And Gwaine…

Gwaine didn't want him anymore. Couldn't handle his non-answers and pitiful attempts at holding onto a relationship that had long since died.

And now... Arthur…

Merlin gasped as he felt a strong hand grab his arm, yanking, making his scream of rage die, the power leaving him as everything in the room crashed onto the ground, free from the spiral he had unconsciously forced them into. He didn't even want to look at the destruction he had wrought, his heart aching.

Arthur would hate him, he realized, as strong hands turned him to face the one person who had remained unaffected by his stream of power. He shut his eyes tight, not wanting to see the hatred. Not wanting to see the fear and disgust. Oh, God. He couldn't. Please. Please.

A sob was released from his throat, even as still no tears rose to his eyes. He felt like he was drowning, suffocating under the pressure. He wanted relief. He wanted to stop feeling pain. He wanted-

"Shh, Merlin. Merlin, shhh. It's alright. I'm here. I know things are shit right now, but I promise you, I'm here. It's okay. I'm not leaving you. I will never leave you. I vow on my life. I will stay beside you through this all. And you will get through it. I believe in you, Merlin. You are the most incredible person I know. You will find a way to fix this. I have faith in you."

There were warm fingers caressing his face, his cheeks, even as he sunk down to his knees, unable to find the energy to hold himself up. The body he felt before him sunk down with him, toned chest pressed tightly to his own. Any other time and he'd feel a shot of arousal flood through him, but at the moment all he felt was numb. He felt arms wrap around his body, holding him tight to that overly warm chest, but he couldn't move his own, too frozen and numb. Words were whispered into his ear, promises and declarations of devotion.

Declarations he had still done nothing to earn.

At least it finally got him to cry, he thought mirthlessly, as tears finally spilled out. He gained control of his limbs then and wrapped them tightly around the person before him. The scent of cinnamon and clove assaulted his nose, the heady scent of the expensive perfume he'd given his servant as a present for the new year lingering on his tongue. He gasped heavily as he clutched the other man, knowing that this, too, would be ripped from him when he least suspected it. But, dear god, was he going to hold on tight while he still could. He had nothing else left.

"Shhh. That's it. Let it out, love. Just let it out. I won't judge you. It's okay. It's okay," a sweet voice whispered into his ear, strong arms rocking him softly. Merlin gasped, shame rushing through him. Christ. He'd thought he'd gotten over this. Over crying like a child over everything that went wrong.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, eyes still shut tight as more tears leaked out. Arthur shushed him, but he shook his head harshly, pulling back as he tried to scrub the shame away. "God, I'm sorry. I should be able to keep it together. I'm so fucking weak. How the hell am I going to fix this, Arthur? What on earth can I possibly do?"

The words were angry but held a hint of desperation in them. He could feel Arthur reaching for him, fingers trying to grasp him, but he pulled away, falling on his arse as he scrambled back. He hissed in pain as his palm caught on something, accidentally cutting his hand on a piece of broken glass as he made his retreat, forcing his eyes fly open as he watched the bright red blood flow from the open wound. It was strangely calming, as the pain washed over him, taking some of the panic with it. Christ...

"Shit," Arthur cursed softly, but Merlin didn't look up from his cut. Couldn't. He heard Arthur stand, rummaging around in the mess, before he returned. Merlin watched, listless, as deft fingers began cleaning the wound with a miraculously unbroken bottle of antiseptic that he had made, under Gaius's watchful eye. Thank god for unbreakable charms, he thought with a humorless smile.

Soon the hand was clean and bandaged, though bright red blood soon stained the previously white fabric. Good, he privately thought, glad he was ruining something so clean. So pure. He wanted to ruin everything.

"This has got to stop," Arthur muttered, sighing as he rested his forehead against Merlin's shoulder. He hadn't realized the two were so close together. Merlin said nothing, just stared at his hand, waiting for the ax to drop. For Arthur to forsake him, too. For Arthur to quit, return home, claiming it was just too hard. Too challenging. His love was a curse, determined to destroy all who fell in its wicked path. His mother was the first to suffer its vile magic. She would not be the last.

Distantly he remembered words, soft and sweet, whispered into his hair; words promising the owner of them would never leave. Would stay by him, always. But he didn't trust those words. Couldn't. People lied. Or they were wrong. They didn't realize how hard things would get and they left. Or they died. It was life.

"Merlin. Look at me. Please," the voice begged, the warmth at his shoulder pulling back enough, the heat of a gaze burning him. Merlin yearned to follow the request. But he couldn't. He was paralyzed, heart somehow both racing and frozen in his chest. It felt like he was dying.

"Merlin," the voice breathed, before a warm hand touched his face. He felt as it gently turned his cheek, forcing his face to turn. He resisted for a second, but the pressure remained, even as it paused, clearly letting him decide if he wanted to pull away or not.

But he was tired of being a coward, he realized, as he gave in and let it finish its action. He was tired of being so utterly weak. It was time to face the music. To get it over with and learn how to live when everything he had ever loved had gone. Had been ripped cruelly from his hands.

Kings didn't hide away in their castle as war raged on around them.

Kings were on the front line, fighting for the lives of their people. They didn't cower in fear, terrified of the loss they could face.

So, neither would he.

It made something deep inside him ache, to see the exhausted sorrow on Arthur's face. The man was usually so stoic, never expressing the emotions he felt inside. He was what a prince should be, he felt. Not Merlin. Girly, emotional Merlin, who felt everything so keenly; too keenly. Who couldn't help but cry when he failed to save a baby bird. Who couldn't help but laugh when he saw something that tickled him. Who wore his bloody heart on his sleeve, for the whole world to see, despite everything he tried to keep it down and hidden and safe.

He'd sobbed to Gaius once, when he'd been seventeen (secretly mourning the loss of his friend), asking why he couldn't contain himself. Why he felt so much more than what other people seemed to feel. Asking how he could stop feeling it, as it hurt too much. Gaius had shushed him and held him tight, whispering that his emotions weren't a curse. Weren't a burden. They were what gave him strength. Gave him power.

He highly doubted that, as he sat in his destroyed room, his (soon to be former, again) servant staring at him with fucking pity in those oceanic eyes. Merlin wanted to be angry. Wanted to scream at the man. To send him away before he could possibly even think of leaving himself. It would still hurt, yes. But at least it would be on his own terms.

But he couldn't, he realized, as Arthur grasped his cheek, palm so wondrously warm on his frigid cheek. The winter air was flowing in through the window he'd shattered, rain soaking the floor beneath the gaping hole. He'd have to fix that, he thought distantly, before the night ended. The fire that still raged had no hope of heating the broken room.

As Arthur opened his mouth, Merlin closed his eyes against his will, suddenly so afraid for the words he knew he was about to hear. After all. Who would want to remain bound to a pathetic warlock like Merlin? To think, he was often considered the most powerful warlock in all of Albion. Ha! He was nothing like that. He was nothing at all. He was even too afraid to face rejection like any grown adult. Pathetic.

"Merlin. Please, look at me," Arthur begged yet again. Merlin felt a warm weight press against his forehead, solid and steady. He could feel air puff against his lips, almost like a kiss. He longed to lean forward, to press his lips to his servant's. To kiss him and to never stop kissing him. To hold on and never let go.

But he couldn't.

Arthur wouldn't want that.

Not now.

Still. He opened his eyes, gasping at the emotion he saw within the cerulean gaze. He couldn't even describe it. It was just…

Warm.

"I know things are bad right now. They're likely going to get worse before they get better. I can't make that stop. I can't take this burden from you. Nor can I carry it for you. I wish that I could. All that I can do is stay beside you, through it all. To give you the support you need. I know I am just a servant. That you have no reason to care at all for my loyalty. But I serve you not because of your position. Not because of your power or your might. Not because I fear retribution or punishment. I serve you because I truly believe that you will become a great king one day. And, as best I can, I will serve you until that day comes. And, if you allow it, I will serve you for as long after as I possibly can. Because you are the future of Albion. You will bring peace to these lands. Not these rebels. Not their war. I believe it, Merlin. And I will not rest until you believe it, too."

Oh.

God.

It was somehow both better and worse than he'd expected. Instead of scorn and hatred he got…

Love.

Devotion.

Loyalty.

God. What had he done? What had he done to inspire such faith in him?

He didn't realize he'd asked that aloud until he felt a puff of air against his lips, a small smile teasing at Arthur's lips in response.

"You were yourself," was the answer. Merlin waited for more, but it was clear the man had finished as he sat back and smiled softly at Merlin. Like he had hung the moon and the stars, and the sun for good measure.

Like he was everything.

Merlin felt tears rise to his eyes again and had to gasp and look up to keep them from escaping. Even still, a few fell out. He hated them. Arthur just hummed, reaching out and wiping the tears away. It was so unbelievably tender Merlin thought he was about to die.

It had been a while since he'd been touched so tenderly. Arthur had been distant the past year and a half, since Fayford. He rarely touched Merlin, if ever. And while his father was more tactile now than ever before, he still rarely touched Merlin with care. And since everything had begun, he and Freya rarely were together, nor did he spend much time with Gaius. Morgana was out of the question entirely, his relationship with the girl purely business these days.

In fact… he'd probably been touched more today than in the last few months combined. It was doing something to his head. It hurt, so much. But he couldn't bring himself to pull away.

Weak.

"I, I t-thought… I thought you'd hate me," he rasped, voice heavy and torn from his earlier rage and subsequent emotion. He could only watch, dumb, as Arthur shook his head purposely, eyes bright and sharp.

"No. Never, Merlin. I could never hate you. Not in a million years. And there is nothing you can do to tear me from your side. Even if you tried to send me away, I'd just come back. Arrest me and I'd just break out. You'll never be rid of me, I'm afraid."

Arthur said it lightly, his mouth smiling a secret grin. But his eyes were serious. He meant it.

Merlin had no idea how to respond. Gwaine (and ow, thinking of the man hurt, but he pushed it aside. He didn't want to hate everything they had shared because of how it had ended. Gwaine had even asked him to think of him fondly, if it was at all possible) had always told him that Arthur adored him. That Arthur… that Arthur loved him.

It wasn't until this moment that he fully believed in the words.

Maybe they couldn't be together romantically. Maybe they were not destined for that. But they could be friends. He'd say brothers if his love were not distinctly inappropriate for such a relation. He didn't need to hold and kiss Arthur to love him fiercely, with all his heart. Or to be loved so fiercely in return.

It still hurt, he thought, as he smiled brokenly and watched as Arthur nodded back, like he was confirming something Merlin had never asked. Arthur then stood and looked around the room, frowning. Merlin felt hot shame creep in as he glanced briefly around.

Luckily most things were not shattered or broken. He'd had enough outbursts of his magic as a child to learn to protect everything valuable with an unbreakable charm. Meaning the things themselves couldn't break, of course. Most things were just scattered around, papers everywhere. The window was shattered, his magic too strong to protect against the fragile glass. It was strange that his outburst hadn't affected Arthur, though. He knew the man still wore his merlin pendant, the magic strong and steady, but the thing didn't really protect against instinctual magic like what he had released earlier.

Perhaps, he thought with a humorless smile, even his magic wanted anything but to hurt Arthur.

"You should head to bed, Merlin. I'll deal with this mess," Arthur claimed, but Merlin shook his head.

"No… no, that's not fair. I- I'll clean it. Y-you should head back to Gaius. I'm sure he's worried about you. I can handle myself."

Arthur just gave him a fond look, helping him stand on unsteady legs.

"Don't you ever listen, Merlin? You can't get rid of me. Don't try and send me away. You are exhausted, your power waned from earlier. Let me take care of you. Please."

Oh fuck. How was he supposed to handle this, he thought hysterically? This man was going to be his death. He was positive of it.

"Besides. I need to eat food and I've been stealing yours for so long I don't think I can go back to any other. I'm going to order some food to be sent up to us, alright? You stay here and don't even think of cleaning. Got it?"

Arthur raised his eyebrow at Merlin, doing such a good job at impersonating the Dreaded Eyebrow of Doom (as Arthur had taken to calling it. The first time he'd heard the other man refer to it as such he'd burst out laughing and determined he would use that description always) that Merlin shuddered unconsciously. Merlin didn't intend on following the order, but he nodded absently regardless. Arthur looked satisfied at the response and turned to exit the room. He promised, as he exited, that he would return as soon as he found someone to send word to the kitchen. He'd been very insistent on that, so Merlin just nodded again.

As soon as he left Merlin wandered over to the window, staring at the broken glass. Part of him wondered, had things gone differently, if he wouldn't have just tossed himself out the gaping hole, like part of still longed to do. But he couldn't do that. Not to Arthur, who would return to find his body, cold and dead on the ground a hundred feet below. No. He couldn't do that to his… friend.

Instead, he let his battered magic coil around him, like a snake, and magicked the broken glass back together. It was a mild time altering spell, altering the glass's memory until it was whole again. It felt strange, sometimes, thinking about inanimate objects having memory, but Gaius had assured him that everything had a sensory memory of the state it was before, or the matter that it was made out of. That's why it was technically possible to turn blood into pure iron, or to unbake a cake. One just had to reverse the sensory memory, until it reached its former state. Or, to alter the sensory memory until it was something new, but still ultimately a sum of its parts.

Regardless, soon the window was whole again, though the bitter chill lingered. Merlin converted the water that had entered from the rain into air vapor, the floor dry but the air colder with the humidity. It was strangely comforting, at least.

Before he could set about cleaning the room (most of which he'd want to do by hand, his magic still so fragile and angry that he couldn't do the precise spells that fixing the mess would require), Arthur came back, his genial expression turning stern.

"Merlin, I thought I told you that I'd take care of the cleaning," Arthur chided, rolling his eyes. Merlin couldn't help how his eyes crinkled with the smile that bloomed on his face at the words.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Please, tell me how you intended to fix the window with your abundant magic. I'm so eager to hear," Merlin teased, lightheaded with how simple it was. Arthur scowled exaggeratedly, but he wasn't able to hide the smile that was fighting to make its way known.

"Oh, piss off. Prat," Arthur muttered, eyes rolling. Merlin couldn't help the grin that rose on his face.

"Dollophead," he rejoined, tone so unbelievably fond he might have been saying 'I love you.'

"Clotpole," Arthur returned, tone the exact same.

"Hey! That's my word!" He yelped, trying so hard to sound offended when all he felt was exhausted and unbearably fond. He felt he failed, but Arthur was kind enough not to call him out on it. Instead, the man just smirked.

"Then stop acting like one. Clotpole."

Merlin laughed, his heart and stomach aching with the sound, but it felt so good. He hadn't laughed in a long time. Since before this whole thing began.

"You know what we should do? We should do something fun. To hell with everything that's going on. We need to get out, stretch our legs. Maybe a picnic? No… your father shut down the citadel. We could escape, I suppose, head to that lake you adore so much. Just you and me. Or we could bring Freya and Morgana! It doesn't, well. Have to be just us. It would be nice. Or we don't have to, I mean, it's probably a bad idea-"

"I'd love to," Merlin breathed, eyes wide as he watched the rambling man. Arthur shut his mouth with a snap, but he couldn't help the hapless grin that made its way up onto his cheeks. His heart sunk, however, as he recalled why they couldn't. "I have my duties, though. With the rebels now taking direct action... I barely had time before. Now I probably will never have time again. I, I'm sorry Arthur. I really am."

And he truly was. For a moment there, he'd allowed himself to pretend that he was normal. That he was a boy, being courted by a gentleman suitor. That he could actually do something simple like have a picnic with the man he so desperately loved.

But he wasn't. Normal. He had responsibilities and duties. And besides, even if he didn't. Arthur didn't, couldn't, love him that way. Refused to, if nothing else. It was nice to dream, but he couldn't ever forget reality. Not fully.

To his surprise, Arthur just smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"Just leave that to me. As long as the rain lets out, I promise I will bring you on a picnic by the lake come morning. We will feast and have at least one good day. Even if I have to battle God himself to do it."

The way he said it… like it was the most important task on earth. Like it meant more to him that words could say. It made him ache inside, heart yearning for something he couldn't have.

Before he could say anything more, there was a knock at the door. Arthur turned towards it, reluctant grimace on his face. He gave Merlin an apologetic smile before he turned to answer the door, mercifully keeping the door closed enough that whoever had delivered the food wouldn't see and potentially spread rumors about Merlin's rage and pain. He'd hate for word to reach his sister or father. That would be the worst.

Luckily nothing of the sort happened and Arthur closed the door firmly a moment later, hands full of a tray overflowing with food. He brought the food over to the table, frowning when he realized it was upturned still. Merlin, with barely a thought, whispered a spell and righted the table. Arthur, inexplicably, glared at him, even as he put the food down.

"I thought I told you that I was going to clean up," he grumbled. Merlin didn't know if he should laugh or not. God. He swore, Arthur was the only servant who actually demanded more chores.

"You were holding a tray of food!" Merlin retorted, trying to keep the smile off his face. It hurt, feeling so light after he'd just had his heart ripped out (not because of Gwaine, not necessarily. But because of everything that was going on), but it was good. Arthur was the only person in the world who could actually make him genuinely smile after the shit he'd gone through the last several months. He doubted even Freya would have been able to do it.

"I still could have had it!" Arthur insisted, pointing at Merlin with the chicken leg he'd picked up, after having righted a chair for himself to sit in. Merlin couldn't help the laugh that burst from him at the sight. God. It was so good.

"I adore you," Merlin muttered, freezing as soon as the words passed his lips. Shit. He hadn't meant to say that. At least he'd said a slightly less damning word, but still…

Merlin held his breath as Arthur froze too, clearly hearing the words, even though part of Merlin had been hoping he wouldn't. It was like the world was on pause, like those moments when his magic would slow everything down to a crawl to let him process things faster. Luckily (or unluckily), all too soon Arthur snapped out of it and grinned at him, eyes radiating light and sunshine and happiness.

Oh, he was so very, very fucked. Why had he agreed to a picnic with this incredible man?

"The feeling is mutual," Arthur hummed, eyes practically begging Merlin to see the emotion he held inside.

But suddenly Merlin was afraid. Afraid of the sunshine and heat and devotion he saw in those ocean blues. So, swallowing thickly, he looked away and nodded tightly. Arthur sighed and gestured to the chair beside him, which he had picked up at the same time he'd righted his own. Not wanting to fight the man, he took a seat and allowed Arthur to fuss over him like a mother hen. Honesty, for a man who claimed he hated acting girly, he sure had a mean mothering streak.

As he slowly ate the array of food Arthur had forced onto his plate (an entire roast chicken breast, a heap of mashed potatoes, some boiled vegetables, a side of carrot soup, and various cheeses and breads. Merlin had rolled his eyes at the array but didn't complain, knowing how fiercely stubborn his servant was), he began to relax. A little. Somewhat. Not much, but enough.

Finally the food was all gone, his stomach aching but he knew it was better to eat, even as his stomach churned horribly, than to forgo the act. He then stood and looked around the room, still dismayed at the mess, but knew Arthur would gag and bind him to the bed if he tried to pick anything up. Treason be damned.

"Lie down, Merlin. I'll take care of the mess, you don't have to worry about it," Arthur muttered softly, hand gently touching the side of Merlin's hip, approaching him from the back. Merlin could feel his warm breath against his neck, making him shudder fiercely. It was incredible. Arthur pressed his hand to his hip more firmly, stepping up so close Merlin could feel his heat.

He could also feel the dampness of a cloth. He frowned, realizing with a jolt that whilst Arthur had helped him change his clothes earlier, the man had never changed his outfit himself. He'd been in wet clothes this entire time, the room steadily getting colder the longer the window had remained broken. Shit.

With a muttered spell, he heard a hitch in breathing as the man behind him shuddered at the sudden warmth. Arthur pressed firmer to his back, practically every inch of him pressed tight to his body. It was so incredible.

Especially as he felt the distinct hardness pressing against his lower back.

Oh, shit. Fuck. Damn. The arousal that had been missing earlier due to his heartbreak came flooding in with a vengeance. He gasped silently at the feeling, Arthur's other hand rising to hold his chest, fist over his racing heart. It was so much. Too much.

With intense regret as soon as he did it, Merlin tore himself away, eyes downcast and face bright red as he mumbled something even, he couldn't make out. Arthur wasn't doing much better, the man coughing lightly and shuffling his feet. Merlin couldn't see his face, given the fact he had his own face turned as far down as his neck allowed, but he figured it would be similarly red.

"Y-you should get some rest, though. The next several days are going to be hard. You look exhausted. Sleep. I'll clean the room. I swear."

Merlin wanted to argue, but he knew Arthur was right. And knew that arguing would just result in Arthur getting upset. The man seemed to enjoy cleaning, sometimes. He said it helped clear his head. Ridiculous man. Reluctantly, he trudged over to his bed, groaning as he sat and let the soft feather bed welcome him. He adored his bed, he had to admit that much.

But even as he laid down and watched, eyes both amused and embarrassed, as Arthur tenderly tucked him in, he couldn't help how his mind refused to shut down long enough to let him sleep. Instead he watched, eyes hidden by the covers, as Arthur puttered around, cleaning the room with nary a sound. Sometimes he'd hum softly, a tune that sounded like old lullabies his nannies would sing him before his father determined he was too old for such babying. It was nice. Pleasant.

Finally the man finished for the night, likely an hour later. He couldn't see the moon with how the clouds hung in the sky, but he figured it was passed midnight. The room wasn't fully clean, the papers still a mess and certain things still upturned. But it was at least organized. Merlin's hand throbbed as the anesthetics Gaius mixed into his antiseptic recipe began to wear off, but he welcomed the pain. It made him feel real. Alive.

He closed his eyes hurriedly as Arthur approached him, not wanting the man to see that he'd not listened to him (not that it was his fault. He hadn't meant to not sleep). To his shock, Arthur paused at the head of the bed, sitting carefully on the mattress as he leaned over Merlin's body. He almost started when he felt a gentle hand caress his forehead, sweeping the wild bangs that covered his eyes. His heart began to pound widely in his chest as he felt Arthur lean over him, warm breath passing on his lips as the man hovered over his face. For a split second, he had the wild thought that the man was about to kiss him.

And then, shock of all shocks.

Arthur did.

Merlin felt his heart stutter as he felt lips tenderly brush over his forehead, the warm lips lingering for several seconds, the man breathing heavily, puffs of air tickling his hair. It felt like both an eternity and not nearly long enough passed before the lips were gone, though the face lingered. Merlin did his best to stay neutral, to pretend he was still asleep.

But as Arthur began to pull away... as Merlin could feel Arthur shifting to go...

He realized that he wanted nothing more than for the man to stay.

And so, not bothering to think it through, his exhausted mind reeling from sensory overload, Merlin allowed his hand to dart out, grabbing Arthur's wrist, causing the man to yelp in shock. Merlin opened his eyes, almost amused to see the wide-eyed look on the usually unflappable man's face. Almost, he said, as most of him was feeling a sick form of anticipation mixed with dread as he tried to formulate the words he wanted to get out.

"Stay," was what he eventually mumbled, eyes heavy as he blinked. Arthur only stared; his breathing stopped as he turned his whole body towards Merlin. "Please," he added, after a minute had passed with no response.

Arthur swallowed thickly, nodding heavily.

"Yeah," he rasped, voice tight, "yeah, okay. I can… I can sleep in the chair. Or on the floor. It's fine, I don't min-"

"No," Merlin interjected, eyes drooping, even as he held tight to the other man's hand. "Stay here. With me. In… in bed. Please," he whispered, feeling so stupid but knowing he couldn't help it. He was just so tired. So tired, and scared, and heartsick. So much had happened these last two months. He'd been forced to feel helpless and powerless as a rebel group created terror in his kingdom. He'd self-isolated from his friends, allowing himself to grow more and more distant as the days passed. He'd grown cold and sick inside with each day he failed to do as his father asked, failed to find the rebels and bring them to justice.

And to top it off, the only romantic relationship he'd ever had, had been ended unceremoniously, all because he hadn't been emotionally available enough to maintain the long-distance relationship, likely hurting Gwaine in the process. He realized that, now, heart twinging with sorrow. Gwaine had always been the kind of man to feel everything so deeply. So keenly. It was like how he, himself was, but Gwaine manifested his emotions differently. He put on an air of detachment, designed to scare people away, but it was only to protect the bleeding heart he had underneath. He'd hurt Gwaine by his short, sometimes taciturn replies to long, heartfelt letters. He knew it. He felt horrible about it, now, but had no idea what else to do. Everything was falling apart around him. It wasn't Gwaine's fault their relationship had failed, but he didn't want to believe it was his, either. It was just… circumstance.

Still. It hurt. Everything hurt. He wanted so badly to stop hurting, for one minute. For one night. To be held and loved and wanted.

To be wanted.

Arthur gasped, a sharp inhale of breath that the man held as he stared, wide eyed, at Merlin. Merlin, to his credit, said nothing, just stared firmly back. It was only after two minutes had passed with no response that Merlin started to grow concerned. For one, Arthur was starting to turn blue from lack of oxygen. For another, he realized how odd the request must sound, his cheeks heating as more time passed.

"Y- you don't have to. It's not an order. I just… I just don't want... b-but it's fine! I'll be... be fine. I just-"

"Okay," Arthur breathed, cutting him off. The color returned to the man's face, cheeks rosy and bright in the dim firelight as a slow smile bloomed on his rugged face. It was Merlin's turn to stare, dumbly, as he tried to process the words. Slowly, they sunk in, causing a wide, only slightly manic grin to appear.

"Okay! O-okay," he repeated, heart pounding a mile a minute. "I have some old, stretched out sleep clothes in the cabinet. I, uh. Think they should fit you. I mean, it's too cold to sleep without clothing, and I, I mean, I-"

He cut himself off before he could make a bigger fool of himself, but Arthur was just smiling fondly, even as he stood to wander over to the cabinet. Merlin watched as the man rummaged around, the cabinet luckily having not been affected by his earlier storm since it was bolted firmly to the ground with magic. For good reason.

Finally, the man found the outfit he'd referred to. It had been an old favorite of his, though it regrettably got stretched out when he'd tried to force a cow to wear it (don't ask. It was a long, long story). It was clean, obviously, but he watched as Arthur brought it to his face, breathing in the old fabric. Oh, shit. Oh, Fuck. Goddamn.

He then could only watch, helpless, as Arthur stared straight into his eyes. Blue eyes boring deep into his soul, as the man began to strip off his clothes, slowly. Sensually.

Oh fuck. Ohhhh fuck. Shit. Fuck. Damn.

Gwaine had liked to do this, he thought hysterically, eyes not tearing away for a second. Liked to tease Merlin by slowly stripping before he ravished him.

This was different, though. Those times had always held some strange form of expectation, the secure knowledge of what was about to follow. This moment… this moment was electric. Sizzling. Heady. It made him feel so Much, so very, very Much, but he had no idea where it would lead. If this meant anything. Or if it was just a tease. Just Arthur reacting to the strange energy the night had gained. Nothing truly meant.

It seemed an eternity passed before Arthur finished dressing. Merlin finally understood Gwaine's obsession with getting Merlin into his clothes, though. It was fucking intoxicating to see the man he loved wearing clothes that belonged to him. He didn't even know how to explain the feeling. It made no sense, yet it felt oh so amazing to see.

Slowly, like he expected Merlin to snap at him and yell at him to leave (ha! Fat chance), Arthur stalked towards the bed, movements slow and languid. Days passed as Arthur slithered forward, Merlin about ready to pass out from anticipation. It was not the first time they'd shared a bed, but it was the first when they weren't intoxicated or otherwise impaired. It was also the first time he'd shared a bed with someone who he hadn't fucked minutes before. Hm. Probably shouldn't be thinking about fucking with how hard he currently was.

Finally, though, decades later, Arthur arrived at the bed. Merlin watched as Arthur slowly, painstakingly slowly, pulled down the covers he'd tucked in only an hour before and carefully slid under the warm sheets.

It was awkward. Merlin strangely felt like it shouldn't have been, but it was. Almost painfully so. Arthur was just so tense, even as he laid down facing Merlin, looking unendingly uncertain. He wanted to wipe the look off the man's face, but he had no idea how. He was so uncertain himself, after all.

Finally, it was as Arthur began to look away and lie on his back that Merlin had had enough. Sighing lightly, he crossed the mere inches of space between the pair and slotted himself in the crook of Arthur's arm, heart pounding as he rested his head over the other man's heart. At least he wasn't alone. Arthur's heart was pounding, loud and sure, under his ear. He secretly adored it.

It took several minutes for both boys to relax, but eventually they did. Arthur adjusted his position and pulled Merlin closer, so that he was flush against Arthur's side. It was probably the most intimate thing he'd ever experienced, and he'd both fucked and had been fucked by another man. So that was saying something.

Part of Merlin hated himself for having done it. After all, he was the man's master. He had power over him. Could he truly trust that Arthur wanted this? That he wasn't doing it out of some sick form of obligation?

Then again… then again, he felt, as he heard the man above him sigh happily a minute later, nose buried deep in Merlin's hair, breathing deep (he probably would have been creeped out by all the sniffing if he wasn't currently doing it, too, the scent of the perfume he'd gifted Arthur intoxicating to him), he figured he'd know if Arthur truly hated it. Arthur was not an open book, like Merlin was, but he wasn't the kind to go along with something he hated without making his displeasure at the very least known.

So… so, he must not mind. Too much, at least. Maybe he gained some comfort from it, too. It was nice, to not be so very alone, after all. Plus, he had a very comfortable bed. After sleeping on the mattress that had been Arthur's bed for twenty years, he knew this must feel like a dream.

"Go to sleep Merlin. I swear your racing brain is keeping me up," Arthur muttered sleepily, pulling Merlin tighter to his side. Merlin couldn't say a single thing, throat too thick. He was so tired, but he didn't know how he was going to sleep after this, with how his mind raced. He heard Arthur sigh above him, then felt warm lips press firmly to the top of his head, causing his heart to stutter. Warm fingers twined in his hair, petting him softly, like he was a cat.

"Sleep, Merlin. Don't make me drug you. I'll still be here when you wake. I promise. Now close your eyes and go the fuck to sleep."

Well. Merlin was never one to deny such a sweetly worded request.

Rolling his eyes, Merlin did as was asked and closed them, allowing himself a moment to take in the sensations he hadn't had the ability to fully appreciate the last two times he'd found himself lying in Arthur's arms. The radiating heat that the other man gave out. The unbearable tenderness with which he was being held. The feeling of a hard body pressed against his, so very tightly. He was sure that his arousal was obvious to the other man, his groin pressed firmly to Arthur's thigh, but Arthur didn't mention it. In fact, he seemed to press against it, making Merlin have to suppress a moan in Arthur's borrowed sleep shirt. And, he was nearly positive he was hearing things. Because it almost sounded like Arthur moaned back, soft and breathy, and oh so amazing.

But he didn't have time to think on it as much as he'd like, as a wave of tiredness hit him, washing over him like a mollusk at the shore, buried under sheets of water and sand.

He barely had time to hear Arthur mutter something to him, tone warm and beautiful, but the words distant, when he'd fallen into a deep sleep.

That night he dreamed of fire and death, battle and bloodshed. He'd almost have been afraid it was a prophetic dream if there hadn't been too many illogical elements, like the sky raining blood and the rebel leader's face (which had looked a touch like Arthur's, for some reason) melting into a decaying skull. Of course, it was possible to be a future event, but it would have been unlikely.

However, above it all. Above the nightmares and the fear.

He dreamed of blue eyes, tender, looking at him like he was the center of the universe.

He figured it balanced out.

A/N: So! Gwaine!

This chapter got so dramatic, aha. I didn't edit it, so I don't remember a lot of the details, but I do remember it's melodramatic. Gwaine was not meant to be a bad guy here, or made to seem like he was trying to be cruel to Merlin. He's not, at all. He doesn't realize that Merlin is struggling, since Merlin hasn't written to him about his problems, since Merlin doesn't want to worry Gwaine or anything. So, to Gwaine, Merlin has just been distant and seemingly uninterested, and Gwaine doesn't want to force Merlin to stay in a relationship he doesn't want. He wants the best for Merlin (and Arthur, aha), so he's letting Merlin free so he can pursue happiness, or something. If he knew that Merlin was struggling or in a bad place, he wouldn't have done it. He was trying to do the noble, good thing, and it just... fell kind of short. He does come back in later chapters, though, and "redeems" himself.

Anyway! Hope you liked! :-D