A/N this was supposed to Merlin angst, but then I had the great idea of doing the second half in Arthur's PoV... that then went ahead and took up half of the fic... oops.
Anyway, enjoy! or at least try not to cry too much.
Merlin winced, hand immediately moving to his side. Looking up, he made sure that Arthur hadn't seen the small slip. Not that Arthur would have noticed nor cared anyway.
"Merlin, where have you been?"
Merlin blinked, broken out of his reverie. He felt… heavy, like his head was stuffed with Arthur's socks, and his stomach twinged, whether in pain or hunger, Merlin couldn't tell.
"I-"
He blinks. Where had he been? He couldn't exactly tell Arthur that he had been stopping another magical creature from destroying all of Camelot, and had gotten injured in the process, leading him to be partially healed by a dragon who Arthur believed to be dead.
He swayed slightly, could feel everything creep up on him.
"Merlin, I asked you a question," Arthur fixed him with a glare, and Merlin could feel his heart rate pick up speed. No, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening, could it?
Agravaine had finally gotten into Arthur's head, had convinced him that Merlin was a traitor, and now he was going to banish him like he did with Gwen.
Poor sweet Gwen, yet another soul that Merlin couldn't save, just like Lancelot, who had died in Merlin's arms. Merlin was a failure, everything was his fault. He couldn't, he couldn't deal with it anymore. He was tired and hungry and in pain, and he couldn't deal with anything anymore. It was all too much, Lancelot and Gwen and destiny and Arthur and Agravaine and Gaius and all of the secrets and, and, and…
Merlin collapsed, sobs wracking his body. It was all too much, everything, all of it. Why couldn't it just stop? Why couldn't he get a break for just once in his goddamn life? What was it that he had done which had angered the gods to get, to get this… comeuppance? What grievous fault had he done in his past life to receive this hell?
He's vaguely aware of an awkward arm wrapping around him, a soft voice speaking his name, and then his head is falling down onto someone's chest. The tears are starting to dry up on his face, and he feels empty. Hollow.
What was the point anymore? His breathing was getting shallower, and there was a weight pressing down on his chest, and he couldn't breathe, and would that be such a bad thing? If he just stopped breathing then no one would have to deal with him anymore. He wouldn't be such a failure, he wouldn't have to lie to everyone anymore, wouldn't have to watch the people he loved die in his arms, one after the other, over and over and over and over…
Black spots danced in his eyes, and then he was floating, floating, maybe he would get to see Lancelot on the other side, maybe his father would be there as well, and Will, and Freya…
Merlin drifted off into unconsciousness.
Arthur had never felt this way, watching as his friend collapsed, body full on shaking, tears streaming down his face.
Before he knew what was happening, he was moving forward, putting a comforting (or what he hoped was comforting) arm around Merlin, gently saying the man's name as he rocked him slightly.
What was even scarier was when Merlin finally lent into the touch, and went silent.
"Merlin? Merlin?"
There was no response from the man, and Arthur felt his heart pound in his chest as he pulled his friend closer, crushing him in a hug, tears spilling down his cheeks as he tried to get some response, any response, come on Merlin!
But then Arthur shifted his grip on the younger man. Something wet came into contact with his hand. No. Against his will, Arthur looked down at his hand, the red of Merlin's blood a stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. Tendrils of fear and shock gripped Arthur suddenly, and he couldn't move, breathing getting shallower as he tried to deny the obvious truth.
Stumbling to his feet, he picked up the man, and really, it shouldn't be this easy should it? Merlin shouldn't be this light. Forcing those thoughts to the side, Arthur found himself stumbling out of his chambers, his body numbly following the well worn trail that his feet were taking him to the physician's chambers.
He shoved the door open, setting Merlin down on the patient bed, eyes scanning the room for the physician. Dammit! Of all the times for Gaius to be out!
In a panic, Arthur flung the cupboards open, already searching for bandages, something, anything to quell the blood. Finally, (too long, it took too long, Merlin had probably already bled out, and Arthur would be too late to save him) Arthur found bandages, and was at Merlin's side in an instant, removing the shirt and jacket, and, oh… what? How? And when?
Quelling his urge to shake the injured man awake for answers, Arthur pressed the cloth to the wound, hands shaking as he did so. He would have to wait until Merlin was conscious to have that conversation with him, about how in all of Camelot had Merlin gotten that many scars?
"Do you hear me, Merlin? You better survive this."
Focussing back to his task, Arthur replaced the cloth with a new one, checking the wound as he did so.
He sighed. It wasn't as bad as he thought it was. It looked like Merlin had just pulled his stitches, although there were no stitches in sight. Arthur would have to get Gaius to rectify that when the physician returned.
Hoisting the closest chair over with his ankle, Arthur sat, wiping the sweat from his friend's brow.
Something was wrong with Merlin, something far worse than just torn non-stitches on a not-fully healed wound. The way he had collapsed to the ground, his body shaking still sent waves of shock and horror through Arthur's body.
But why? If Merlin was going through a rough patch, why hadn't he told anyone? Why hadn't he told Arthur?
If Arthur was being honest with himself, then that was what hurt the worst. Merlin not telling him when things were wrong. What did that tell him about the kind of king he was, the kind of friend he was? He thought that he and Merlin shared everything with each other? Or at least Arthur did. Now that he thought about it, he really didn't know that much about his friend.
In fact, now that he was on the topic, when was the last time he had seen Merlin laugh, seen Merlin smile? Actually seen his friend enjoy himself?
It had seemed like years since Merlin had been the carefree boy who had walked into Camelot all those years ago and got into a fight with the prince. Of course, they had matured somewhat since then, but as Arthur looked over all the years of friendship he could see it. And oh, wasn't hindsight a horribly, painful gift? He, and so many others had been so wrapped up in the goings on of Camelot that they hadn't noticed as Merlin had withdrawn into himself, as his friend and most trusted advisor turned into nothing but a shell of his former self.
Now that Arthur could see it, he could see the carefully constructed mask that Merlin had created over the years, steadily growing thicker as his friend's didn't even notice.
Could Arthur even consider himself Merlin's friend? Could any of the knights?
That was it. Arthur had had enough.
As he looked down at his friend's prone body lying on the patient's cot, he made a vow.
Whatever Merlin was going through, whatever happened, Arthur would be there for him, would learn to listen as well as fight. He would do all of that because Merlin deserved it. Because brave, selfless, loyal Merlin had always been there for him when he needed the support.
It was Arthur's turn to help the helper.
