A/N: This is set probably sometime soon after episode 2.8 "The Sins of the Father". Or anytime really after Arthur's been particularly difficult or obtuse about declaring, magic is evil thanks for reminding me...
Also, if I begin adding more short magic-reveal stories to this collection, they're going to necessarily come out of 'chronological' order...
And, probably, warnings for suicidal ideation?...
I Can't…
Merlin slouched on the bench next to the wall, hunched over Gaius' table, eyes buried in the crook of his elbow. Lost in the desolation of the dark world behind his eyelids.
Ever aware of the bone handle of the knife under his outstretched fingertips.
It was late, and he was utterly, emotionally spent.
So when he heard the creak of the door behind him, the soft rustle and rub of his old friend leaning on the inside to close it – the two of them inside and everything else barred distant - he spoke first, his voice quiet in the stillness of the room, dropping downward toward his knees.
"Please don't say anything, Gaius."
He knew his words sounded thick and tight. How else could they sound, coming from a throat that felt the same? But they kept coming.
"I know what you're going to say. Tomorrow is a new day, Merlin - things will look better in the morning, Merlin – what the hell did you expect, Merlin…
"Please don't take this the wrong way, but-" his throat ached, and he choked a little trying to swallow. "Sometimes I get so damn tired of hearing that. Of saying it to myself, and nothing ever changes. He doesn't listen to me."
Merlin wouldn't have to explain who he meant; Gaius would know. The prince. Bloody Prince Arthur.
"Do you know how much it hurts-"
Pain broke his voice entirely, cracked it right down the middle, split right through the center of his chest to the pit of his stomach, and his desperation was pathetic but nothing Gaius hadn't heard before.
"I know I chose this, I know that. Just, sometimes… I wish I hadn't. That day, that day we met, sometimes I wish… I'd just kept walking. Just stayed out of it, and never met him, and never chose him, and never cared, because…"
He couldn't breathe. His whole body shuddered.
"I can't do this anymore. I don't want to do this anymore. He thanks me for reminding him why we fight magic, why we hate magic…" He had to curl a little tighter, squeeze the tattered edges of his soul back together inside his chest, like a wound that was going to be able to close and heal. "It hurts to care when he hates me, and doesn't even know it. Ignorance, I know, but it hurts to hope when it's so clear that I've failed and failed and failed and-"
Agony burst behind his closed eyelids and for a moment he lost track of his place in the world, the aches of his body. And his hand closed around the bone handle of the knife, the blade emerging behind his smallest finger.
"I don't want to do this anymore, Gaius. I don't want to be this, I don't want this life. Can't someone else protect him and use magic and hide and lie – at least for a while? I think sometimes…"
His old friend inhaled nearly soundlessly – but didn't speak. So Merlin kept on.
"Sometimes I think about going to the road, and then just… going. I could just leave, and leave it all behind. And then I think, I can't. Where would I go?"
Back to Ealdor? Fail and fail and fail. Somewhere else, lost and alone and meaningless and penniless and friendless?
His hand turned, the knife-point sticking in the wood of the table and lifting his hand, leaning his forearm on the edge, without looking at it or Gaius.
"That's even worse than staying," he managed. "And sometimes I think…" His hand wobbled on the hilt, gouging wood grain. "Sometimes I think about going. How easy that would be, just-"
His hand tilted and turned atop the supportive knife, stabbed into the table – scarred from other encounters. Behind him, his friend caught his breath, understanding what he meant, but this time, at least Gaius kept silence so Merlin could keep hemorrhaging his words. And this feeling.
"Messy. And I think about, who would have to clean it up…" All the blood off the floor, off his body. And everyone would know what a failure he was. What a quitter. That, or Gaius would have to lie for him, again.
"But you've got… plenty of other options in here, don't you." He huffed, his forehead rocking into the muscle of his arm. He didn't have to look toward that cabinet, and probably Gaius would wish that locks kept him out. "I know what to swallow, and how much it would take. But even if everyone else thought… I just got sick, and didn't get better… You'd know, wouldn't you."
The old physician could recognize symptoms on a corpse easily. Would know if he was missing something fatal from his stores.
"And I've thought."
Might as well be thorough. Carelessly, violently thorough, and worry about reassuring the old man about his state of mind in the morning. Yes, of course everything looks better now. No more thoughts of how he might choose to end it all…
"Sometimes, I've thought. When we're fighting, bandits or whoever. Running from beasts, and… I've thought. What if I just didn't. Just let go – let them have me, let them take me, don't use magic at all. It would be over, but at least you would think… he would think… at least Mother, and Gwen, and…"
Wretchedness trembled through him, and he refused to sob, but each breath keened through him involuntarily.
"I don't want to do this anymore… but what else am I to do? Keep trying to keep him alive, keep hoping he can accept magic someday, that someone can show him it can be good, because I… I can't do this, anymore."
And he was going to sob like a child in spite of his determination. He could feel traitor tears forcing themselves through clenched-closed lids, soaking into his sleeve, and he couldn't hear sympathy or reproach or encouragement, it would break him.
He lurched up from the bench, stumbling blindly toward his room, keeping his head turned from the older man motionless at the door. He missed the bottom step and tripped, catching himself with both hands, and propelling himself toward the dark spare comfort of his bed where he could writhe in misery and fight the inevitability of defeat… and surrender and strangle whatever noises he made before succumbing to exhaustion.
And get up and do it all over again the next day.
He slammed the door behind him, and collapsed into further loneliness and temporary oblivion.
Across the room, Arthur remained frozen against the inside of the closed door in shock.
Wasn't meant to hear. All that. All that… horror.
What. Do I do. Now.
Arthur moved to the nearest bench, reaching to stabilize it and lower his weight with less than a quarter of his attention on his actions - his thoughts being entirely focused on the person who'd just collapsed, rather heavily by the sound of it, on the narrow bed and thin mattress in the closed room.
His servant. And yet not. More - less - other?
What was he to do?
Confrontation? The thought squeezed his chest and it hurt to breathe.
Drop a quiet word to Gaius. Did you know… that I know… And Gaius could handle it. Could smooth it out, could send Merlin away… The thought sparked a wince through each of his nerves.
Might that not trigger exactly the reaction Merlin had discussed so casually - so poignantly. The knife was still there on the tabletop, the blade curved from sharpening and resharpening. The handle still, possibly, warm from Merlin's hand.
Observation?... If magic equaled evil, shouldn't he have seen that, in his servant's manner and behavior and attitude? Shouldn't he have noticed?
...that could work… simply to wait, for the time being. Gather evidence so a balanced judgment could be rendered, so conclusions were being reached in a timely fashion and not jumped to… So answers could be found to all the questions that threatened the threshold of his mind.
Arthur breathed, and held himself still, counting the moments that passed. Should he hope that they eased Merlin's palpable distress. Should he wish for Gaius to return swiftly.
Should he make an excuse, when the old man came and found him here.
Should he leave, and return to his own chamber... and block out any thought of any person other than himself... He snorted. No chance of that, anymore, thanks to Merlin.
Arthur waited, sitting vigil with a single guttering candle, determined to keep it alight, as long as it took.
A/N: Sorry this isn't being continued. But I imagine with Arthur knowing that Merlin mentioned having magic and protecting Arthur with it, other things would come to mind – memories, or contradictions. He'd begin to notice. And I also think, if he realizes the depth of Merlin's despair, the pressure of the goals he sets for himself regarding Arthur and magic, he begins to treat Merlin differently, also. Begins to ask questions, and really listen… (And of course, then things can look up for Merlin, too…)
Also PS, if you like this ending, thank mersan123, who suggested a differently angled conclusion...