Percival was sleeping soundly in his quarters when a hand shaking his shoulder woke him. Thinking it to be a page boy he slapped it away, only to find that same hand now prying his eyelids open.
"I'll have you flogged, boy," he grabbed the wrist that the hand was attached to, sitting up and blinking sleep from his eyes. That was when he realized it was the king staring back at him, his expression half irritated and half amused.
"I'd like to see you try," Arthur replied coolly. "Boy."
"My lord." Percival swiped a hand across his face hurriedly and tried to compose himself, feeling his cheeks redden. He had called the king of Camelot boy. "I... I apologize. I thought-"
"Merlin is missing." Arthur cut him off and the knight froze, fully awake now.
"Missing?" It was all he could think to say and it resounded through his bedchambers, dumb and echoing. Missing from where? A stupider part of his brain wanted to ask, and how do you know?
"He's not in his quarters. I just thought that since the two of you go everywhere together lately, you might have some idea about where he is." Arthur was pacing now as Percival dressed quickly.
"Did Alice-"
"She thought he was in bed." Arthur waved the question off like an irritating gnat. "Percival, where would he have gone?"
"We only ever go into town, and just for deliveries. Arthur, I swear, I don't know where he could be." His mind, slow with sleep, was working as fast as it could. "We only ever go into town but I can't imagine-"
"Town?" Arthur's voice was sharp and Percival imagined that the king had some idea of what his subjects thought of the sorcerer.
"Deliveries for Alice. But he's not... I mean... They're not typically happy to see him."
"Do you think it possible he's gone there?"
"Maybe," Percival closed his eyes, feeling a pang of sorrow for Merlin. "But I hope for his sake that he hasn't."
Merlin couldn't sleep, and his old servant's bed wasn't even big enough for him to toss and turn. He was hearing the words of the peasants in his mind, repeating, a cacophony of resentment and pain.
You did this to him.
We don't need no monsters here.
The king may have forgiven you, but we never will. Never.
He sat upright, a cold sweat beading over his face. Rest would not come to him tonight. He hugged his knees, rocking back and forth like a child over blankets he hadn't even bothered to turn down. He had been saved from semi-oblivion, but at what cost? This felt worse, somehow. He felt hated. Like a monster. Guilt was washing over him in waves, crushing him, and he didn't know how to bear it.
He whimpered softly to the dark, empty room, and there was no response.
He wanted to die. Just cease to exist. But then the problems he had created would linger on, festering like hidden wounds. There were families hungry tonight because Nimueh- no, because he- had destroyed them. And who could relate to his anguish? Not Arthur, the once and future king, the shining figurehead of Albion. Not Percival, the pure and noble knight, without sin or sorrow besides watching his friend die. Not even Alice, who had tried and failed to poison the king. No one.
He wanted to be adrift from himself. He wanted to be the Merlin from before, who's biggest worry was if Arthur had seen him cast a simple spell. No, more than that- he wanted to be a child, untouched by magic, untouched by pain. But that was impossible.
Suddenly he thought of Gwaine, and another wave of sorrow struck him, albeit a sorrow with clarity. Merlin wanted to be beside himself tonight. And he thought to himself...
What would Gwaine do?
He didn't bother casting a concealment spell. He smoothed out the bedspread, picked a cloak from his wardrobe, and crept past Alice as silently as he could despite limping with his bum leg. She didn't stir, and he was grateful.
This is what Gwaine would do.