Arthur dresses himself, makes himself presentable, washes his hands once more. When he looks in the mirror he sees...a murderer. A betrayer. A king. A man.
He sees Arthur, but he's not sure who that is anymore if he ever knew.
Then he puts on the mask—the mask of courage and strength and stability even if they are everything he isn't—and becomes the king his people need him to be.
First, he talks to the steward to assign someone to him for the time being.
"Yes Sire," only a slight pause then worriedly, "about Merlin?"
Arthur doesn't hesitate though the name of his friend sends him flashing back to pale skin and red, red blood flowing freely. "Oh, he'll be much too busy for his regular duties—I've seen to that. As a lesson, to stay away from the perils of the tavern."
The steward nods, bows, and disappears.
He doesn't like the excuse, especially now that he knows how little time Merlin actually spends in the tavern, but it's not out of character and nobody will suspect anything.
At least, Arthur hopes they won't. That's not entirely true though; he hopes, because he does not want to let Merlin down, that nobody suspects. But for his own sake, he hopes maybe somebody will see through the cracks of his facade and realize that he is nothing more than the broken shards of somebody who will never be enough. But then again Merlin is the only one who has ever seen Arthur for who he truly is. And Merlin is not here to translate Arthur's twisted words and dreams and actions into something that others can understand.
It's Gaius who comes to Arthur first.
Before the morning council meeting, he approaches with a frown on his face, concern etched in his eyes, "Sire, did Merlin attend you today? It's just he hasn't returned home the past couple of nights."
"Oh that," Arthur says dismissively, "I have Merlin running some different errands and chores than normal. He may not return for a while."
"Oh," Gaius pauses, his expression unreadable. "May I ask why? And where?"
Arthur smiles good naturally, "And have you help him, Gaius?" He laughs and raises his voice just a touch, "Merlin needs to learn a lesson is all. But don't worry, he'll be fine."
Arthur sees blood, so much blood he's drowning in it, but Merlin's voice is there, telling him to breathe. Merlin would be fine. He said so.
"Yes, Sire," Gaius murmurs. He doesn't seem appeased, but he wouldn't, knowing the truth and all.
It doesn't matter. Let him suspect Arthur, think him a bully, think him an ungrateful friend. As long as nobody suspects the truth; doesn't think he stabbed Merlin as a reward for his loyal service and left him alone to die.
Anything but that.
Arthur starts the council meeting. His mask does not slip and again he wonders what that makes him.
He has plenty of chances to use his excuse. He uses it for each of the Knights, some of the lords of the court, a couple of brave servants, a few villagers.
Each time hurts Arthur, knowing that Merlin is dying in pain and alone.
But he keeps his word, no matter how the syllables stick in his throat and his voice tries to escape him.
When Arthur can finally escape back to his room, after training and meetings and court—after life,it's dark. He hasn't been by his chambers to check on Merlin at all.
He's terrified of what he will find.
But he waits until after the servants have set his meal out and dismisses them for the night. Then after the door is locked, he grabs the food and water and heads for the antechamber.
Merlin isn't there.
There is no blood, no bloody rags or torn up shirt or chewed up neckerchief, no dagger, no dying servant.
Arthur's heart stops.
Why had he left him all day? Had someone found him?
Had Merlin ran?
Arthur looks around frantically, his body numb, his heart breaking even more. He searches methodically everywhere. But he doesn't find him.
"Merlin?" his voice breaks on the whispered word. There are a million scenarios running through his mind and none of them are good.
Then while Arthur is contemplating curling up on the ground and never getting back up, he hears a harsh, pained whisper, "Arthur?"
He follows it back to the small room and almost trips over the dinner tray when he sees Merlin propped up against the wall as if he has been there the whole time.
Arthur stares at him. He's there, the bloody rags are there, the dagger is there in the corner.
Maybe Arthur is insane.
"You were gone," he states, his voice as uncertain as a leaf in a windstorm.
Merlin's eyes flutter open and he smiles uneasily, "Sorry. Didn't realize it was you at first."
"But how?" he feels so uncertain of everything. Can he trust his own eyes? His own thoughts?
"It's an invisi—" his eyes close and he loses his train of thought, "An illusion," he finally finishes.
"Oh," Arthur replies, then, because he still feels off balance, he blurts out, "I was scared you left."
"Sorry," Merlin murmurs, "Try not to do it again..."
Arthur shakes his head and tries to pull himself back to the matter at hand, "No matter." He comes closer to his friend and kneels on the floor, "What do we do?"
Merlin has him unwrap the bandages and wash the wound again—sticky with blood—and they smooth the last of the herbs over it and wrap it again.
Merlin drinks some water but only eats a couple bites of the soup.
Arthur does his best to pretend he isn't worried, but he doesn't succeed very well. "Merlin," he starts but he can't find the words to say.
"It's alright, Arthur. We'll figure it out," Merlin promises. Just like he always does, but Arthur can't imagine a future where everything turns out the way he wants it to.
"Why not just heal yourself?" It shouldn't be so easy to say, but it is.
Merlin frowns and hesitates before answering, "I'm better at healing others, not so much...me," he half shrugs then winces, "It's like there's something blocking me—I'll keep trying."
"What do I do?" He sounds desperate but he is, and he figures Merlin knows that so there's no point in hiding it.
"Um...more bandages would be nice. And maybe some water throughout the day," his words are slurring but his eyes are more alert.
Arthur curses himself internally, "Of course, what else?" Please, let there be something else—he has to do more!
Not that any good he does now will undo his past mistakes.
His friend smiles and shakes his head, "Talk to me, keep me awake?"
It's an odd request to ask of your killer but Arthur grants it readily. "About what?" he makes himself more comfortable, where he can watch Merlin carefully throughout the night.
"How's Gaius?"
So Arthur tells him. Even though it's been only a day, Merlin acts as if he's been gone for far longer. He wants to know everything that he missed. He gives advice on what to do about the drought in a small village that had petitioned for their help, inquires about news of Gwen and her escort, he laughs over Gwaine's letter, he worries over Kay's broken arm. He listens to Arthur even though his eyes barely stay open. He drinks more water and picks at the food some more. It's still not nearly enough but it's better than nothing.
And when eventually, his strength seems about to abandon him he forces his eyes open and stares at Arthur intently.
The king tenses in readiness for what he knows is coming.
"And you, Arthur, how are you?"
He swallows and looks away, "How am I supposed to be?"
"Well, I'd prefer safe and happy but I'll settle for alright," Merlin answers easily.
"How can I be alright when you're dying—when I've kill—" And it hits Arthur again just what he has done, just what danger they were in, what danger Merlin was in. His breath hitches, his eyes widen, his stomach rebels, his vision blurs.
"Arthur, no!" Merlin orders, "Arthur, stay with me. It's alright, I'm not dead!"
"But you will be—you're dying, Merlin! Because I stabbed you!"
He's losing it all again, control shattering like a glass at his feet, leaving broken shards of what used to be a person.
"Yes, that happened, but you didn't kill me, Arthur," Merlin says emphatically, "It's okay, Arthur it wasn't really yo—"
"How can you say that?" Arthur snaps in anger—at himself, but not at Merlin—never at Merlin.
"Well, you found out about my treasonous secret that I've been hiding and lying about since the first time I met you and yet here we are, so I'd say we're doing pretty good," Merlin laughs, and if it didn't sound like he was about to pass out, Arthur would have said he sounded giddy.
He makes it sound so simple, so easy. But he's still bleeding and feverish and pale and he's still dying!
"Merlin..." But again, words fail him as they so often do.
"Arthur, we'll get through this. We've been through so much worse, this little set back won't stop us," he pauses then adds with strength in his voice, "Arthur, breathe."
And Arthur fails him in even this most basic of requests. How can he breathe when Merlin might not at any moment? How can he draw in air when the next moment he might lose his first and true friend?
"Sire, please?"
And Merlin is begging and struggling to his feet and that's what finally gets to Arthur. He draws in a ragged breath, breathing in as much as he can. Another breath and another and another until he has his fill and he can see clearly again.
Merlin breathes his own sigh of relief, "Good."
Arthur nods shakily but can't find the strength or the words to speak.
"Good, just keep doing that, keep breathing, Arthur."
"You too," he finally manages to say.
Merlin huffs out what might have been a laugh if he wasn't dying, "Me? 'Course I will—somebody has to keep you in your place."
And Arthur laughs even though it hurts and it's wrong. Nothing is better but Merlin still cares about him for some inexplicable reason so Arthur can only be grateful and enjoy these moments, few as they may be.
He shifts closer to his friend and looks over the bandage—the wound's already bleeding through and Arthur closes his eyes in sorrow. "I'm sorry." For stabbing you in the first place, for not being strong enough to handle the consequences of his own actions, for everything.
"Doesn't matter."
It does, so much, but all Arthur says is, "Get some sleep, Merlin."
Merlin nods, "Wake me if you need me," then he lets his eyes slide closed and his head falls back.
Arthur adjusts the blanket over him and keeps watch.
Eventually he lets himself drift off, but he wakes up multiple times to make sure Merlin continues breathing through the long night.
He's awake by the time George comes with breakfast, the door firmly closed, and Merlin hidden away once more.
He's not really sure when the idea comes to him, if it can be called an idea; it's more like an instinct really. A natural progression of his thoughts that he doesn't take the time to think through to the end—he's not sure he can afford to.
Merlin needs bandages. And Arthur can't just order Gaius to give him some without questions that he can't answer without breaking his word being asked.
Merlin needs bandages.
Arthur isn't used to throwing fights. Prolonging them, playing with his opponent, yes, but to purposely make a mistake? No, he has little experience with that.
But Merlin needs bandages.
And just like that, Arthur lets his sword slip, just a little bit—not enough to be noticeable, not enough to kill him, just a small, tiny mistake and Percival's sword slices right through Arthur's hand, training blade though it is.
The knight drops his sword, gaping. Arthur can hear people calling his name, calling for the physician. But all he can focus on is the absolute horror and gut-wrenching guilt that's playing on Percival's face.
It's a look Arthur can relate to, all too well.
He feels guilty for having placed this burden on Percival's shoulders but... Merlin needs this and Arthur would do it again in a heartbeat.
Then Leon and Frederick are there; someone is pressing their cape to the wound to staunch the bleeding and guiding him to his chambers.
Gaius comes with herbs aplenty, as he always does, and bandages to tend to a whole army. He treats the wound as quickly and as efficiently as possible.
Arthur has him leave the supplies for later with, "You know how Merlin is—he'll want to take a look at it for himself," he says it with a roll of his eyes and a smirk. He has not once glanced at the antechamber.
Gaius frowns instead of smiling, "Yes, Merlin will be worried," he replies in a somber voice.
Arthur is told to rest in his chambers for the duration of the day but that only means the council crowds into his room and the day continues on as if nothing happened.
When George brings his supper, he also brings a pain tonic from Gaius with strict instructions to only take it when he wants to go to sleep.
Arthur waits, wanting to go to Merlin but he knows who will come along soon, so he waits and Merlin does not appear at his side.
It takes longer then he expects but eventually there's a tentative knock on his door. Arthur spares one glance to the closed room then makes a quick decision and climbs out of bed. He opens the door and steps out with an easy smile on his face. "Sir Percival, what a pleasure," he gestures in front of him, "Do you mind walking with me for a moment—I'm desperate to get out of that bed."
Percival nods and shuffles alongside him. He's always been quiet but there's guilt written in every line of his body and Arthur once again feels the weight of his own shame. "Sire, about today, I feel—"
"Percival, there's no need to apologize," he has to cut in, because the knight did nothing wrong, nothing at all and he can't tell him that but he also doesn't have to let him wallow in misplaced guilt, "It's training, accidents are bound to happen. It's not like it's the first one to ever happen to me."
"I'm supposed to protect you though not harm you—on purpose or not!" Percival replies, his voice soft with anger "Please, Sire, is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"
Arthur smiles gently and lays his uninjured hand on his knight's shoulder, stopping their slow walk, "Percival, there's absolutely nothing to make up for, all is forgiven," His friend doesn't look convinced so Arthur continues, "I truly believe that you did nothing wrong. All is well. I'm alive and everything is alright. There's nothing to worry about," Flashes of a dagger and hands slick with blood come to him but Arthur keeps his face straight with an effort. He can, at the very least, do this for Percival.
"Still, I am sincerely sorry, Arthur."
Arthur almost apologizes himself, but he catches it before it leaves his lips. To make up for his slight hesitation he plasters on a sly smile and says to lighten the mood, "Besides, it's not me you should be worried about, it's Merlin you have to worry about apologizing to!"
But Percival only nods and promises in all seriousness, "You're right. And I will."
It leaves Arthur wondering just what Merlin has said or done to the knights on previous occasions for Percival to be so serious about the matter of when Merlin found out. And he would find out somehow, Arthur has no doubt about that—he had long ago stopped trying to hide such things from his servant.
"Well, just be sure to stress it was an accident. We don't want to all suffer on the next patrol just because he's mad at you."
And finally, Percival laughs and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. Something eases in Arthur's heart as well.
Maybe, somehow, some of them at least would make it through this nightmare.
They are all right about one thing: Merlin isn't happy.
No sooner had Arthur unlocked the door and called out his name, then his servant appears in front of him, already clambering to his feet and reaching for Arthur's injured hand before the king can so much as blink.
"What happened?" he demands and there's something in his voice that Arthur can't decipher.
"Merlin, you idiot, what are you doing—trying to kill yourself? Sit down!" he orders, trying to catch his footing. Though after all these years with Merlin, he's not sure why he still bothers.
Merlin obeys, pulling Arthur down with him. He flips his hand over searching for who knows what, then his cold hand is on Arthur's forehead and his face is in Arthur's own.
"It's nothing, just an accident in training," he consoles. He's surprised at Merlin's intensity; true, Merlin can be the worst—or the best, depending on how bad Arthur feels—mother hen but this seems rather excessive even for him.
"Who did it?" Merlin asks with steel in his voice and fire in his icy blue eyes.
"It wasn't their fault, Merlin, you know how training can be—would you stop fussing!"
Merlin scowls but he does back up a little bit though he still keeps hold of Arthur's hand. "Gaius already looked at it. Don't you trust Gaius?" The strangest look passes over Merlin's face and he pauses, forcing Arthur to hesitate as well. "Merlin?" he presses.
"I—I'm not sure," Merlin mutters throwing Arthur for a loop but he continues before Arthur can think on it too much, "I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know what happened," he hesitates then adds in a quiet voice, "I felt helpless."
Arthur sits back as far as he can and processes that abrupt change of subject. Merlin, who Arthur had until very recently believed to be...not helpless but rather unhelpful compared to the knights' strength and training and Gaius' wisdom and vast knowledge. Oh, Arthur is quite certain he would have been dead many times over the years without Merlin's help and Arthur doesn't know how he gets through the days without him but in an actual fight, he had thought Merlin a clumsy obstacle who more got in the way than helped. Brave and loyal, yes, but not much help.
Merlin, who is very much not helpless. And has probably done more than Arthur and the knights combined. Who has saved their lives time and time again.
"I'm alright," Arthur finally says and doesn't miss the irony of him uttering this statement. He says it, even though it's not true, but he's alive and that's what Merlin wants, so he says it.
"But what if you weren't?" Merlin growls and runs his hands through his hair.
Hands streaked with blood.
"Merlin!" Arthur cries and forgets about everything else, "What happened?"
Merlin freezes once more, "I was just cleaning...you know?" he waves vaguely down at his chest.
Arthur frowns and looks over it; their roles suddenly reversed. "But the bandage is still the same," he states with certainty, because Merlin can't get it that tight without help.
There's something wrong and he can feel the dread take up residence in his heart once more.
Something is wrong, very very wrong and he doesn't want to know, doesn't know if he's strong enough to know, but he needs to know. "Merlin, what happened?"
"Arthur, it's..." Merlin sighs and slumps down, defeated—a sight that Arthur so very rarely sees and never wants to see again, "Arthur, what do you remember?"
The king swallows and looks away. He wants to forget it all. "What do you mean?" he evades, desperate to keep the memories locked away.
"I mean, Arthur, what do you think happened?" Merlin asks relentlessly.
"Please, Merlin, don't make me?" The plea falls through his lips, a cry for help that he doesn't deserve and he keeps his eyes closed lest he see his friend finally let him go.
"Okay, Arthur, we don't have to talk about it," Merlin says tiredly.
"I brought you things," Arthur says before his servant can change his mind. He disappears into his room, collecting the bandages and herbs along with his strength and courage—just another mask he hopes will be enough to sustain them both. He wishes he was strong enough to relive that day—no, no he doesn't. He wishes it had never happened, wishes he could banish the past to the end of the world and never have to face it again.
He takes a deep, shuddering breath before entering the small room again.
Merlin deftly sorts through the supplies even as his hands shake.
Arthur looks at him; at how pale he is, how sickly he looks, how deathly ill he seems, now that he is no longer actively worried about Arthur.
He directs Arthur once more about tending to the wound.
The wound which is still red but healing ever so slowly. You wouldn't know it though; Merlin's skin is like fire even as he shivers in the open air. His hands shake and his eyes are bloodshot. They don't talk about it. After it's once more hidden away under white bandages, Merlin picks at some more soup, his appetite the same as the day before.
They don't talk; Arthur watches him with concerned eyes and Merlin shoots him glances that carry the same weight. It's ridiculous really, their loyalty to each other. Not that Arthur's loyalty has done the servant any good. Not when Arthur has become the betrayer.
Then finally, Arthur remembers the one bright spot of this whole night, "Here, I brought you something else." And he pulls the pain tonic into view and holds it out, "It's for the pain," He's not sure why he adds that last part, Merlin probably recognized it and knew what its contents were made up of.
"That's yours," Merlin guesses.
"You need it far more than I do, Merlin," he growls, "I'm the king and I command you to take it," Merlin still hesitates and Arthur snaps, "Merlin!"
"Fine," he says sullenly but he takes it from Arthur's hands so he counts it as a victory. "But, can I maybe—I mean you don't have to, but—it's not right of me to take yours and I...can I?"
Arthur stares at him, waiting for enlightenment or at least an inkling of understanding as to Merlin's meaning but nothing comes to him. Perhaps it's the fever talking or the blood loss? But Merlin's hopeful look is falling with every second that passes, and he seems to be drawing into himself.
"That's okay, I just—" he cuts himself off with a strangled sound that sounds suspiciously like a sob.
"What are you on about, Merlin?" he finally manages to ask.
"It's nothing."
"No, it's something, what is it?" It's not a question, it's a demand.
Merlin waits for so long Arthur's sure he won't get an answer but finally, Merlin sighs and says in a whisper that Arthur can barely hear, "I just wanted to help you with your pain. With my magic."
"Oh. That." Arthur understands now. Yes, he thinks absently, he supposes that is a possibility.
Merlin shrinks into himself even more, "Yeah. That."
"Okay." Arthur decides. It doesn't even surprise him at this point; that one word, his own uncaring emotions. But this is Merlin and he has always made Arthur see another side that he hadn't known existed, why would this be any different?
Merlin perks up like a dog given a treat, "Really, you don't mind?" he whispers and Arthur is pretty certain that it doesn't matter even if he does mind because Merlin looks hopeful and happy and alive.
So he nods, not trusting his voice—he will not mess this up.
Merlin holds out his hand and Arthur doesn't hesitate to place his own in it. Merlin covers it with his other hand and murmurs some words that Arthur cannot hope to understand.
His eyes flash gold.
And Arthur's pain disappears.
No tingling, no numbness, no uncomfortable twinge of skin trying to mold itself back together. It's as if nothing had happened at all.
Merlin drops his hand and avoids Arthur's eyes and he wonders what his face shows.
"I didn't heal it," Merlin mutters, "I'm smarter than that at least. But...I'm sorry, this was stupid."
"Merlin," Arthur tries but his voice doesn't come out right. He clears his throat and tries again. "Merlin..." Except he doesn't know what to say, doesn't even know what he wants to say. So, instead he places his hand on Merlin's shoulder, "It's alright."
And surprisingly, it is.
Arthur doesn't care that Merlin has magic, that Merlin's eyes can turn gold, that he had lied and hidden it from him. It doesn't bother Arthur—though the lack of it bothers him—because...this is Merlin.
"It's alright," he says again.
Merlin raises his head and his eyes—blue and gray again—stare into his intently. Arthur doesn't know what he's looking for or perhaps not looking for but whatever it is he either finds it or he doesn't because slowly he relaxes.
Arthur smiles and for once it's not forced, "Breathe, Merlin."
Merlin chokes out a laugh and nods, "Right, thanks, Sire."
They sit in companionable silence for a time while Arthur thinks over his own lack of anger regarding the magic, the sorcery. He has no answers though. He's not sure he ever will.
It's Merlin who breaks it, "Who did it?"
"Did what?" Arthur frowns over at him in confusion.
"Hurt you," Merlin replies in his you're-so-oblivious-Arthur voice.
"It was an accident, Merlin!"
Merlin scowls at that and responds angrily, "Then why won't you tell me?"
"Maybe because I'm trying to protect them from you!" Arthur snaps, matching his anger.
"Protect them from me?" Merlin repeats in a cold voice.
In a deadly voice.
A shiver runs through Arthur that has nothing to do with the cold air and lack of fire in the room.
"No, no! That's not—" Arthur closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, tries to recapture this conversation, "I didn't mean it like that. Just...you can be a bit overprotective sometimes and this, this was just an accident."
Not Arthur's but everyone else's.
Merlin doesn't respond, just looks at him with an unreadable expression. Arthur doesn't know how to approach him—he feels more like a stranger now than ever before—so a tense silence falls between them.
Once again, it's Merlin who breaks it, "Arthur," he says in a voice that shows no emotion, "please tell me you didn't do this yourself."
Arthur stares at him and it's no act; he has no idea how Merlin could possibly have figured that out. "It. Was. An. Accident," he reiterates because something deep inside tells him that he can never, never let Merlin know it was on purpose.
Merlin turns his head away and mutters something unintelligible under his breath. Arthur doesn't think he succeeded in convincing him, but the servant says nothing more.
"Merlin?"
"It's fine, Sire, I'm fine."
"It doesn't seem fine," Arthur says, and he doesn't let it bother him that it sounds suspiciously like whining.
Merlin laughs at that and some of the tension drains out of him, "Well, it never does during a trial, does it?" Arthur thinks he's much too wise for this world—a thought he has had so many times before. "Well, what else happened to you today besides getting maimed in training?"
"It's not that bad!" Arthur protests but Merlin only raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief so Arthur hurries into a detailed account of his day before the servant can question him some more.
Eventually, Merlin nods off and Arthur stops talking about the grain reports from the outlying villages. He watches his friend with worried eyes and wishes with all his might he could change the past.
Or at the very least, figure out how to get through the present with Merlin alive and safe from everyone—including Arthur.
Especially Arthur.