Snapshots Going Home CH 4

AN: Warning: May be triggering (flashback involved, no graphic description). It would likely be safe to skip the rest of the chapter once Arthur returns to his chambers. A personal pet peeve of mine is characters experiencing these majorly traumatic events, and then, boom, they're fine. Like it never happened. So… a moment to remember that it's not only those who experience the trauma who suffer in the recovery.

MERLIN1010101010MERLIN

Arthur grinned, raising his glass to yet another toast. He would give the people of Dumnonia credit. Three days it had taken to get to the City. Three days of parades, people throwing gifts at them, cheering them as they passed through the streets. Celebrations were occurring in every town, and every night they stopped they were dragged into more.

Arthur was fairly sure he'd been drunk for the last two, at least. He'd been immensely relieved to find out, once they were finally within the City walls, that they wouldn't be officially meeting the royal family until the next day. He was barely keeping on his feet, despite that he'd learned not to take more than a sip or two of each beverage handed to him.

He marveled at Durstan and the Dumnonian soldiers' abilities. They had not been taking merely sips, and were still perfectly steady. Tonight's celebrations were for the soldiers. A night to honor the Glorious Dead, those fallen in the battle. It had been an interesting experience. Widows and families alike had taken part in singing battle songs about their fallen loved ones. Tears were shed, of course, but openly shared with all. And there was as much laughter as there was sadness as memories were shared.

The dead, it appeared, held a much higher social status than any living person could ever hope to achieve. There was a goblet of wine for each of the dead that would sit for the entire night, each goblet marked with their family crest. He watched, fascinated, as many relatives and friends would seek out a goblet, and share a toast with the Dead!

"Durstan, I understand honor in battle, but…" he trailed off, not quite sober enough to think of an appropriate way to word his question.

Thankfully, the Prince seemed to understand. "To give one's life, Arthur, is the highest of honors. To die in battle means dying having taken a life. As our beliefs are peaceful, those who have done so cannot go to rest in eternal peace. And so, we honor the ultimate sacrifice of the Glorious Dead, who are condemned to forever wander the earth as the Unrested, as it is the most sacred of duties and only the Highest of Callings."

Arthur frowned. "They don't believe they're ever going to rest, but you still had eight thousand volunteers come to Nemeth?"

"Thousands more still, Arthur. Those who went were picked by lottery. As I said, the most sacred of duties."

"Why do you do that?" Arthur slurred. "In private, you call me Arthur, in public or whenever someone else is around, you always address me as Sire or something else, but now you're calling me Arthur again- in public!"

Durstan laughed. "The Night of the Dead recognizes no titles of man, for the Unrested have none. We are all souls still bound to our mortal bodies, and that is all that is recognized."

"Well that's not confusing at all, is it Merlin?" Arthur turned to where his lover usually was, and was surprised not to see him. Then he remembered, he hadn't seen Merlin for quite some time. Hours. If not… had he seen the boy last night at all?

Three days of shouts of Victorious Emrys, of people constantly swelling around Merlin to receive a blessing of fortune in increasingly larger groups. Arthur had watched with a grin, at first, as his lover tried his best to keep up, to be friendly. Dumnonia, however, was a much larger population than Camelot, and it hadn't taken long for the signs of strain to start appearing on the warlock's face. He wasn't used to being a person of interest.

Arthur found himself sobering very quickly as he looked wildly around the room for his lover. "Durstan," he asked urgently. "When was the last time you saw Merlin?"

Durstan shook his head. "Not for some time. But don't worry. Gwaine hasn't left his side since we started the procession. Most of the soldiers seem to respect his place as a bodyguard for Emrys. And loyal Ian is never far out of range either."

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, but decided it was best to take advantage of his sudden sobriety and bid them good night. He made his way over to Gwen, who was entertaining a large audience, blushing, as she told them stories of Camelot's battles.

He leaned into her ear. "I'm going to bed, will you be alright?"

Gwen nodded and smiled at him, and he realized that some of the flush to her cheek was alcohol related. "I'll be fine, Arthur. Durstan hasn't taken his eye off me all night," she murmured, then nodded to her brother who was sitting close by. "And Elyan is staying with me. Have a good sleep, Arthur." She pecked his cheek, then turned back to her story. The dragon's attack, no less.

He glanced at Elyan, who caught his eye, quickly upending his empty cup quickly to show he wasn't drinking, and nodded. He nodded back, appreciating it. Most of the other younger knights of Camelot were as drunk as the rest of the participants, but he caught sight of Leon, and received the same cup signal.

Apparently, he was the only one who had been pressured into drinking. As Battle Commander, however, he'd been a large part of many toasts. He made his way out of the room, surprised not to have found Merlin, but equally pleased he hadn't found Gwaine, either, which meant the younger man was still with the Knight.

He took his time in returning to the large, luxurious chambers they'd been provided. Courtesy of Emrys, of course, that theirs were so fine. He'd seen Gwen's- which were modestly lovely- and the Knights and guards of Camelot were in the barracks. The servants that had come with them had been stationed in the servants quarters, since they weren't allowed in the barracks.

The slow walk and deep breaths he'd been taking helped steady him. Wine only, but strong ones from across the seas, and he'd been served their own Camelot cider! Thankfully, there had been as much food as beverage, and he'd heavily indulged just to balance it out a little. There had also been plenty of water, which he'd taken liberal amounts of. He didn't want to be ill the next morning, though he was sure Artemis had some kind of herbal concoction for them to drink.

He entered his chambers, and frowned. It was completely dark, with the exception of the one candle by the door. That was unlike Ian, who had been so proud when Arthur had rejected the offer of a local servant, stating Ian was more than capable of looking after both of them. Despite his frequent annoyances with the manservant, he was capable, intelligent, and more importantly, truly seemed to care for Merlin. It made Arthur trust him.

He took the candle, moving carefully into the first room- the chambers were divided between a bed and dressing room, and moved into the sitting area, which included a desk, and many chairs in front of a large fireplace, as well as a table and a longseat that could fit three.

Gwaine turned around when he entered, and came right over to him. "Arthur! What took you so long?"

"What?"

"Didn't Ian find you?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. Where's Merlin?"

Gwaine waved over to the fireplace, which Merlin was sitting in front of, partially hidden by one of the chairs. He went to move toward him, then stopped. There was something… off… about the way Merlin had his legs folded behind him, and was completely unmoving. It wasn't like him to be so still. "What's wrong?" he questioned quietly, hoping he was wrong, that something else had happened.

Gwaine shook his head. "I don't know. He's been getting worse for days- jumpy. Tonight, someone touched him and he collapsed, crying, begging something to stop, not to touch him anymore. I had to literally drag him here. I couldn't get him calmed down until the room was almost black, and then I sent Ian for you. He's been sitting there since. He won't answer me, or even blink at me, though he flinched when I yelled."

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "Thank you, for staying with him. I know you did all you could. Please find Durstan and tell him Emrys- make sure to use that name, not Merlin!- is unwell, and that we'll have to put off the introductions for a couple of days. Then find Ian, and tell him to prepare a bath, as hot as he can make it."

"A bath?" The Knight asked doubtfully. "You think boiling him to death will help this?"

"I know what this is, Gwaine. The water will help ground him, and the heat will comfort him." Arthur shot a saddened glance at his lover. "This isn't the first time it's happened. Please, do as I ask."

Gwaine nodded. "Should I send for Artemis?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. Artemis can't help with this. Gwaine, it's Agravaine," he whispered.

Gwaine growled from deep in his chest, cursing lightly. "No wonder he fought like a polecat when I grabbed him." He lifted a finger to his cheek, and Arthur could see the scratches there. Impressive to mar skin through leather gloves, he thought. "Not to mention him nearly taking off my head before I managed to get his daggers off him. I'll go get what you need. We killed that bastard far too quickly."

Arthur nodded, took off his cloak and threw it on a chair, then stripped his armor down until he wasn't wearing anything other than his light tunic and trousers. The metal rings and click of his boots had frightened the youth in the past. Slowly, he approached his lover, until he was sitting facing him, his back to the fireplace, but in his line of vision. If he flexed his leg muscles they'd touch the younger man, but he was careful not to do so.

"Merlin?" he called. The vacant, unblinking eyes never moved, and Arthur sighed. "You're deep in it, Love. I'm so sorry. I should have seen this coming. I didn't think of it. You're so used to being around people. But all these people want your attention. They must have been grabbing you for days," Arthur spoke, keeping his tone calm, soothing. It didn't matter what he said. Eventually his voice would penetrate the state of shock his lover was in.

"This has been building for a while, I think. Since Mithian started acting strangely, and then your final confrontation with her. The crowds just tipped you over. I should have kept a closer eye on you, should have checked in more often when we were separated. I had faith that you'd call to me if you needed me. I guess I should know better by now. Someday, Love, you'll understand all you are to me. Until then, I have to remember you never believe it's alright to ask for help. You really should have come to me, Merlin. I have duties, yes, but they are never more important to me than you. And I'm going to remind you of that again when I know you can actually hear me!"

"I'm grateful Gwaine stayed so close to you. Would you believe he's probably one of four, maybe five, sober people in this entire castle tonight? Now that's loyalty. I wonder, sometimes, if you know just how loyal he is to you. I know he's a good friend, but I think he loves you, in his own way. Just like Gwen does. You should have seen her tonight. She was telling the story of Kilgharrah taking his revenge on Camelot. She does a fair job of it, I'll confess. And, between you and me, she's a little drunk."

Everything in the King itched to reach out and hold his lover, but he knew from experience that was the wrong thing to do. These bouts didn't happen often, which was impressive given all they'd been through. Arthur cursed himself for not recognizing the signs that Merlin was bordering on one.

"For so many years I was raised to believe magic was wrong, and here I am, cursing because I know trying to use the Bond will only drive you further away from me. It's funny to think how accustomed I've become to it, how easy it is to reach for it. Is this what it's like for you? To have all that power at your fingertips, day in, day out. It must be tempting to reach for it more often than you do. You're a strong man, Love. Magic took a hell of gamble putting all that into one man. Anyone else, and I mean anyone, would have been corrupted by it."

He sighed. "But not you. You weren't built as a normal man. You couldn't have been. You were built to suffer, to take that and turn it into a unique strength only you can wield. These moments, these are how you built it. Silently, quietly suffering as you find a way to use it, to master it. It was cruel to do, and for all my acceptance, there is a part of me that hates Destiny and Fate both for it. What I wouldn't give to take some of that from you," he whispered, tears coming to his eyes.

"Come back to me, Love, please," Arthur asked. "You're safe here. We now know what you'll be facing and we can ask Durstan to make some special arrangements. Make Gwaine look even scarier than usual- he likes it when people are scared of him, you know. Anything we need to do, we will. What you're seeing is only memories, Merlin. Powerful and awful, but I need you to remember that we won that battle, too. That justice was served, however little it will ever compare to the horrors of experiencing it. It will never take away from the scars left on you, and in you, I know that, and it's not fair. But it's the only small comfort we'll ever have." Merlin had shared these memories with him once. He knew all too well what was keeping his lover locked in his own mind.

He used his thumb to wipe away a tear that was tickling the side of his nose. "A long way we've come, you said. That's true. I remember a foolish young boy, arrogantly thinking himself a man, once telling you no man was worth your tears. How wrong he was. He saw them as weakness. He didn't understand, Love, the strength it takes to shed them, to love someone else enough to open himself that way. But you always did, and still you braved to do it. A courageous and wise man long before a boy learned to be a man, before a Prince learned to be a King."

"Arthur?" Merlin whispered.

Arthur leaned forward immediately, putting gentle hands on the arms of the still staring man. "I'm here, Merlin. Come back to me, it's safe, you're safe…" he soothed, murmuring over and over again, petting the arms lightly, letting the youth become accustomed to his touch.

When Merlin startled, gasping for air, his body jerking with the need to move, Arthur was ready for him, grabbing him and holding him tightly against him, carding his fingers through the sable hair, making sure his touch was gentle, but strong enough to be felt. This was only the first stage, he knew. And the most delicate. It wouldn't take much to launch his lover back into the darkness of his mind, a line Arthur had to carefully walk until the younger man came fully to him.

"I'm here," he whispered. "You're not alone. Shhhh…"

"Arthur," Merlin sobbed, finally registering the arms around him, falling into them as his mind allowed him this small awareness, his body wracked by heavy sobs of fear and terror, shaking violently. Memories so real he felt he could reach out and touch them plagued him, never ending. "They wouldn't stop."

"I know, shhhh… I know," Arthur soothed, pressing his cheek against the wetness of his lovers' face, understanding he was speaking of both the horrors in his memories and the people on the streets. There was nothing he could do for the past. "I'll take care of it. It won't happen again, I swear," he promised.

He felt the boy start in fear against him when the door opened, and he took a quick glance, pleased to see Gwaine hadn't been slow in his instructions. "Easy, it's only Ian. You know Ian. He's safe, too." He was grateful to see the manservant bringing buckets of hot water from outside the door, obviously either having gotten help or stacking them before interrupting them. "He's brought us some hot water for a bath. How about it?"

Still partially lost in his flashback, Merlin clung to him even more tightly, frightened Arthur would leave him. "It's alright, it can wait. I'm not going anywhere, Love. It can wait." He was content to hold the younger man as long he needed, though he knew the warlock preferred the water nearly unbearably hot.

Arthur looked again at the servant, noticing the steam coming from the several buckets he had in reserve. This wasn't Ian's first time through this either, though he hadn't been around for the original cause. The manservant had a saddened expression on his face as he watched them, standing ready to run for the slightest whim of either man. He didn't know the cause, but he knew true pain when he saw it.

"Can I take your boots off, Merlin?" Arthur asked. He didn't wait for an answer. He didn't need to, knowing none would come. He just needed to make sure he announced what he was intending to do. He tried to reach them, but Merlin curled into him further, blocking him, and he sighed, glancing at the manservant. "Alright, I won't move. Ian's going to take them, instead. They have to come off, Love."

Ian worked quickly and quietly. And efficiently. Arthur wasn't even sure Merlin was aware his boots and socks had been removed. He knew they needed to move this along. These bouts always exhausted the younger man, and if he had any hope of avoiding another episode tomorrow, the boy needed to feel clean. The only way to ever accomplish that was a full immersion into near scalding water.

The next parts were trickier. There was no way to avoid the warlock's panic while Ian worked to remove his tunic even while Arthur held him tightly, soothing him, talking to him the whole time. His heart breaking for the world of fear his lover was still partially trapped in. He urged the manservant to hurry, knowing even as he spoke it wasn't needed. The more Merlin struggled and fought and screamed, the heavier the guilt on the man's expression got. By the time it was done, King and servant alike had eyes brightened with tears at having to cause the suffering, for all they knew the importance of doing it.

Ian shared a look with him, a silent question in his eyes, and he shook his head. There was no way the traumatized youth was ready to have his trousers removed. They'd have to make do with what little skin they'd managed to expose. It worked out like that sometimes, pending the severity of the bout. The manservant moved away, and Arthur heard him pour another bucket of water into the bath as he tried to calm the trembling form in his arms, lighting a few more candles but not enough to make the room glaringly bright.

"Shhh… I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmured. "We're done. It's alright." He rocked the younger man a little as he soothed, giving him a few moments for the panic attack to wear off, his breathing returning to its frustrated sobs, weak fists lashing out in anger at himself, a part of him aware of his weakness and hating it, another part still living in a nightmare made worse for its basis in reality. Arthur hated this stage, even as he held him tighter. Hated that his lover would consider any part of this his own fault. He knew from experience the warlock was still only half aware, which spoke to how deeply he tended to disparage himself.

"You're strong, Merlin," he whispered. "But even strong men can only bear so much, and your limits have been pushed beyond that of any mortal man. There's no shame in it. This is not your fault," Arthur stated strongly, kissing a sweat soaked temple. "Nothing about this is your fault. It never was." He wished his lover was more grounded to really take those words in, but he'd happily repeat them as often as needed.

This battle with his mind Arthur couldn't fight for him, and it never failed to shake the King to his core to see his strong lover reduced to a frightened child. Not for the first time, he agreed with Gwaine. A single night spent screaming as he was torn to pieces could never come close to being real justice for the harm Agravaine and his men had caused the youth.

"I'm going to pick you up, Merlin," Arthur warned only a split second before he did so. He'd learned the hard way that hours spent sitting still, then suddenly being overstrained while he shook, weakened the warlock. He'd never make it on his own to the bath, and they ran the risk of him going further into the flashback with Arthur's arms around him in supporting positions. It was easier to lift him, carrying him over to the bath. "Still so thin, Merlin. Will you ever fatten up?" Arthur teased, as he always did. It had never been a strain to lift the man. For every ounce good eating had finally put on him, the warlock instantly wore off in training.

He hissed as he eased them both into the hot water, despite their clothes, thankful for the large tub. Skin was not what the youth needed right now, and even Ian never complained about having to dry the clothes afterwards. He was glad Gwaine had been able to get the dagger sheaths off him though. The water would have ruined the leather. He settled the younger man against his chest, his hands staying firmly on his shoulders for the few moments it always took for Merlin to adjust to the new environment and sensations.

They sat quietly for ten minutes before Merlin jerked away from him, splashing around for a moment as he twisted, taking in his surroundings.

"Merlin?" Arthur called softly, not daring to move and barely breathed.

"Arthur?" Merlin blinked, frowning.

The hot water, Arthur had discovered, was always key to bringing his Consort back to full awareness, even as his own skin turned red with it. Another trait he'd always attributed to the slim frame- Merlin was always cold. Sweat glistened on him, but his lover barely seemed to register the heat. The King was all but dead sober now, and actually considered sweating out the alcohol might prevent illness in the morning.

"Right here," Arthur answered softly, breathing in relief. It was never clear what would happen when Merlin fully returned to the world. Sometimes it brought incredible anger, sometimes sorrow, and sometimes confusion. The anger was frustrating because he'd often have to restrain the younger man to keep him from hurting himself, and the sorrow cut Arthur to the core. Confusion was his preference, where Merlin often simply didn't remember anything of the hours since the bout started.

"Why are we sitting in a bath with our clothes on?"

"Do you want to take them off?" Arthur offered, his hand already rubbing soothingly up and down bare arms when his lover tensed. He always offered, and whether he remembered the specifics or not, Merlin always seemed to remember the fear, shaking his head almost before Arthur finished speaking.

"No."

"Do you remember why?"

"I… it happened again, didn't it?" Merlin asked dejectedly, frowning. He half turned, lifted his hand to place it on Arthur's soaked tunic. "I'm so sorry," he shook his head.

"Hey," Arthur insisted, using his hand on his chin to move his lovers eyes to his own. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault," he repeated strongly. "It never was."

Merlin swallowed. "Did I hurt anyone?" He had in the past.

Arthur shook his head, now running the cloth up and down Merlin's arms, letting the heat of the water penetrate his trembling muscles. "Gwaine's got a few scratches, but that's all. Impressive, given your gloves. He considers himself lucky given that he also felt the need to take your daggers off you. Come on, lean back," Arthur encouraged, pulling Merlin's back toward his chest.

Merlin obeyed, closing his eyes as some of the fear that was still so strong in him evaporated with the steam in the bath. He sighed when Arthur moved the cloth gently over his chest- always making sure it was soaked through with the hot water so it washed over the skin.

"Did I embarrass you?" Merlin asked hesitantly.

Arthur huffed. "I would never be embarrassed, Merlin. You've suffered a great deal, and it's perfectly natural that it comes back to haunt you. That it returns so infrequently is a testament to the miracle you are," Arthur insisted. He sighed as he felt the muscles remain tense against him. "But no, if you need to hear it. I'm not entirely sure what happened- you were with Gwaine at the time. Do you remember?"

Merlin blushed, shaking his head. "The last thing I remember clearly was the second night, at the village. There were just so many people, and they all… they all…." his breathing hitched as he remembered all those people reaching for him, touching him, grabbing for his attention...

"Shhhh, it's alright," Arthur soothed immediately. "Don't think about it. I've taken care of it. It won't happen again, I swear it. As you've mentioned before, I can be very scary when I'm overprotective," he rambled, looking to quickly distract his lover. "I'll make sure you have to spend a good deal of time trying to smooth over how badly I will handle it," he chuckled, his heart clenching when he received no cutting remark for it.

Merlin nodded, accepting, leaning his forehead against Arthur's throat. The feeling of the strong pulse against his skin lulled him, and soon his eyes started to droop. He suddenly felt like he hadn't slept in days, and the water combined with the sense of safety behind him soothed him.

Arthur felt the boy relax against him, kept up with his washing until he felt the breath even out into a deep sleep. He shifted slightly, testing, to see how much he'd react. He breathed a sigh of relief when there was none.

For tonight, this battle was over. He kissed the wet hair again, letting his tears fall now that he wasn't needed as a source of strength anymore. He didn't think he'd ever get over how much these episodes crushed him. He paid no mind to the manservant standing quietly by, waiting for Arthur to be ready to release his hold, as he sobbed quietly into the bare shoulder, whispering apologies that would never be enough.

There would never be a way to win this war, and it ripped out his soul every time he had to face that truth.