Who We are Beneath the Masks
Knock Knock 7
Author's Note: No copyright infringement intended.
Chapter One
He didn't mean to but...but, the blood still seeps out of the wound and around the dagger implanted in his chest regardless of his intentions.
"Arthur?"
His breathing comes in short and ragged breaths; each inhale refuses to take in enough air, as if that dagger is stealing it all before it can give him what he so desperately needs. His body is shaking; he thinks he might just fall apart, disappear into nothing.
It would be far more than he deserves.
"Arthur, it's okay. Just breathe, alright?" Merlin's voice is calm, so calm and why is he so calm? Now? When the whole world is crashing down around them and that dagger and all that blood is staring at him?
"Deep breaths. In and out. Come on, Sire, just breathe with me."
Arthur can feel it, the pain. The betrayal hurts more than the dagger, more than the hole where there should just be flesh, more than the air refusing to reach frozen lungs; it hurts more than anything.
"In, Arthur, breathe in!"
And Arthur does, God help him, but he does. He listens to Merlin's steady voice, an anchor just as he always has been. A tether to a world Arthur can see and yet doesn't quite live in. But he can, if he only listens to that voice. He's never listened to it enough, only for a moment then he casts it aside. And still, still Merlin offers his voice, his hand, his friendship to a king that has never deserved it in the first place.
But Arthur listens to that voice now and he breathes in and out. He breathes with Merlin until the black spots dancing around his vision disappear, until the air finally pushes past that dagger and into his lungs that crave it so much, until the ice seems to thaw just a bit.
"Good, Arthur. Just keep breathing, alright? In and out. And in again. That's right," Arthur draws in another deep breath, his eyes closed, clinging to that voice as if it alone could save him.
He thinks it might be.
But when he opens his eyes, he sees...
That dagger. And blood creeping past it. And he sees red once more and the air suddenly doesn't seem to be enough yet again.
"No, Arthur! No, no, Sire, stay with me!" Merlin cries and his voice is no longer quite as strong, quite as clear as if he is giving up on Arthur.
Arthur understands, deserves it even but the thought leaves him more breathless, even colder, in far more pain than that dagger can ever cause.
"Arthur!" The yell gets his attention—because Merlin is still talking, still throwing him that lifeline, still needs something from him.
And Arthur owes it to him to listen.
"Alright. I need you to breathe, alright?" A small chuckle that holds no mirth, "Please, Arthur, just...close your eyes and breathe. Just listen to my voice."
Arthur's eyes slide closed of their own accord and he tries, he tries for Merlin, but all he can see is that blade sticking out of his chest. He can still feel the cold steel as it slides through flesh and bone. Still smell the blood. Still taste the metallic tang in the air.
"Arthur, everything is fine. There's nothing wrong right now. You're fine." He's not, he is most definitely not fine. Not with that cursed dagger, not with that blood spurting out and soaking his shirt, not without being able to draw in enough air. But Merlin's still talking, and Arthur has to listen. "There's no dagger. No blood. No pain. It's all okay."
The words are a lie, Arthur knows this. This is not all in his head, he would not have imagined this nightmare so vividly.
And there's the dagger of course. It's not in his boot where it should be hidden out of sight; it's in his chest and there's nothing Merlin can say that will change that.
"Arthur, please listen to me!" And these words, yes, yes Arthur has to listen. Because Merlin sounds desperate now and his voice, while weak, is tinged with that confusing concern and so much determination.
If there is no dagger, why would he be desperate? And if it's all in Arthur's head how does Merlin even know about it?
"Arthur, please? I need you—I need you to please listen to me?" Merlin begs.
Arthur squeezes his eyes closed, tries to breathe, tries to forget.
"Alright, good," Merlin says again, "Remember this is just another normal day, no worries. You think you can do that?"
No, no Arthur can't. Because this is all real. But...Merlin is asking him to do this—no, Merlin needs him to do this, so he nods even though he really can't.
"Good, good. Just...I need you to go to Gaius' chambers. And get my bag—my healer's bag. And some water. Call for a bath if you would." A bath? No, Arthur can't possibly go out there and pretend that everything is fine, and talk to people, and order a bath like this is an ordinary day when it is quite possibly the worst day of all, no, he can't do this! "Arthur, please will you do this for me?"
A nod, because it's Merlin, so of course Arthur will. Somehow. Even though it's wrong, all wrong.
"Okay, and this...this is important, Arthur..." Merlin takes a fortifying breath before he continues, "Don't tell anyone—not even Gaius."
Arthur shakes his head, something akin to a whimper slipping past his frozen lips.
"It's important, Arthur. Nothing is wrong, nothing at all."
"I can't," he whispers, ashamed and scared—the story of his life.
"You can, Arthur," Merlin refutes, always so contrary, "you're the king, you can do whatever you want."
Another shake of his head. Another breath in that doesn't fill him up.
"Arthur, you can do this. I believe in you."
And oh, that hurts. Please don't, he wants to beg, please just give up on me already! But this is Merlin and he never will.
So... Arthur stands on shaking feet, he stumbles, catches himself on the wall.
"Sire, please it's important."
Another shaking step. He keeps his eyes closed lest he lose what little strength Merlin's voice has given him.
"Arthur? Remember to breathe."
Under normal circumstances it takes six steps to the door, but these are anything but normal. It takes Arthur eleven to reach it. His hand clutches the handle, shaking. Too much, far too much.
Everything is fine.
Arthur takes a deep breath and dons his kingly mask. The mask he created while watching hundreds of people being slaughtered. The mask he perfected when he had to stand by and let knight after knight die for him. The mask he wore while his father poisoned himself with hatred and his sister slipped into madness.
He is Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot. And he can do this.
Merlin said he could.
He opens the door and steps out, leaving Merlin with a dagger in his chest, bleeding out alone.
Author's Note: I'm sorry, that's really all I can say.