XVI.
Merlin slams back into his body.
There is no other way to describe it. It is as if someone has taken his very essence and hurled it across a great distance, disintegrating in an instant the him that existed there before. His hands tremble, the pitcher he is clutching rocking forward, its contents licking hungrily up the sides in a bid to escape. Luckily, it is half empty, saving him the embarrassment of scrubbing perfectly good wine off of the stone floor, which Arthur would have ensured -
He blinks.
Blinks again.
"Dozed off for a moment?"
The question startles him, and he nearly spills the wine again. Carefully, he adjusts his hold and turns to look at Gwen, who is standing next to him with one eyebrow arched up in delicate admonishment. "What?" He asks, feels the reflexive clumsy smile. "Me? No, of course not."
Gwen hums, clearly not believing him; but there is amusement sparkling in her eyes. She reaches out and takes the pitcher from him. "Steady, Merlin. Arthur's watching."
Merlin's eyes shoot up, panicked realization clawing into his chest as two realities collide into one.
The feast.
This feast.
The one that started everything, the one that -
That never happened?
But then his eyes find Arthur's. And in Arthur's eyes, as the bafflement fades in step with his own, he sees it, feels its weight echoing back into his own chest.
Knowledge.
Arthur reaches out and curls his fingers around his wine goblet, sliding it across the table towards him. His fingers tremble ever so slightly as he lifts it to his mouth, takes a sip. Then he puts it down again, pushes it away from him, like the drink has sullied his stomach rather than settling it.
Uther leans towards him then: cheerful, amused, wanting to share a joke. Arthur's face pales when their eyes meet, but he admirably doesn't flinch back, even though the memory of how Uther had last looked at him - had never looked at him, now? - must be fresh in his mind. Instead, Arthur dredges up a smile, and then a warm chuckle, and if no one but Merlin notices how Arthur's throat works up and down, bobbing as he wrests back control from his emotions, well, that is really nothing new.
But what is new, and in a way that leaves Merlin's stomach churning with panic and dread, is the way that Arthur's eyes do not seek out his, not even once more, for the rest of the feast.