Chapter Sixteen

Merlin stands awkwardly in front of him, squirming with his hands behind his back, his face an odd assortment of nerves and shy hope. Arthur stares at him suspiciously, it never bodes well for him when Merlin is nervous in front of him.

"Merlin, didn't you say you were done for the night?" Arthur asks because Merlin is still just standing there silently.

"With work, yeah," he answers and even his voice sounds odd, "but I kind of wanted to just, you know, talk for a bit, see how you are." It sounded normal and it sounded fine, but Arthur has been fooled by Merlin's innocence before.

"Merlin, you're with me pretty much all day," he points out.

"Yeah, but now we're alone and I'm not here to serve you—unless you need me to because you still have no idea how to do the simplest of things," Merlin banters and it's good to hear. Good to see that mischievous look in his eyes and hear the laughter in his voice.

This, this is who Arthur had almost lost.

"I can but why should I when I have you to do them?" he counters and it doesn't matter that they've had this conversation almost word for word so many times throughout the years, not in the least, it still brings peace to his soul and a smile that he can't quite hide.

"Well—that doesn't matter," Merlin steps further in the room but he keeps his hands hidden behind his back. He was hiding something and not doing a good job of it—and he could have, Arthur knows, but he didn't. It seemed an important distinction to Arthur that Merlin didn't try to really hide things from him anymore; Merlin had told him he was free and he liked to act that way, liked that there were no personal secrets waiting to devour them. "So, how are you?"

A question that Arthur has stopped asking himself because he doesn't know the answer. There are days when he gets through everything just fine and he smiles freely, and he sees only the people he loves. Days when he looks in a mirror and sees only himself.

But there are still days when he struggles to breathe the entire day, when he looks at his people and wonders when he will fail them, who will betray him next. When he looks in a mirror and sees only blood spilling off him.

And he doesn't know what all that makes him.

"I'm trying," is all he can say.

Merlin nods: the nervous anticipation disappears, and he changes the subject by asking what he plans on doing for Guinevere's birthday. Eventually he smiles and says good night and leaves without once showing Arthur what was behind his back.

Arthur stares after him for a long time then shakes his head. Even after all the truths he has come to learn about his friend, Merlin is still a mystery to him.

Arthur stands in front of the fire, a smile on his face. It had been a good day. The council had nothing to complain about, he'd enjoyed a relaxing training session with his knights, a village child had shyly thanked him and pressed a crumpled flower in his hand, Gwen's goodnight kiss still lingered on his lips.

It had been a very good day.

"Arthur?" He turns to look at Merlin who has finally regained what little color and weight he had before this whole mess.

"Merlin," he greets, unsurprised to see him; Merlin seems to always be near him no matter the time of day or how many times Arthur thinks he's gone for the night. Not that he gets very far, Merlin seems to have appropriated the antechamber for his own uses even though they no longer use it to tend to his wounds. Arthur doesn't mind the closeness even if it does surprise him though he doesn't dwell on it.

He has a feeling it has something to do with that period of time when Merlin watched his every breath and waited for him to wake up. He thinks that time is why sometimes he'll catch Merlin just staring at him intently without even blinking and counting underneath his breath; it had taken Arthur a long time to realize he was counting every breath that Arthur breathed in. He thinks that's why sometimes when Merlin helps him dress or take off his armor, Merlin's hand will linger on his neck or his wrist and for just a moment he will close his eyes and release a breath that speaks of nightmares that are still too real.

That time they don't talk about. Ever.

Merlin looks at him with that look, the one that says he's searching for something specific—though Arthur has never known what, the one that always leads to something meaningful. He must find whatever it is because he nods and says, "I have something for you."

"For me? Wh—"

And Merlin pulls out a dagger. It's simple yet the weapon seems to resonate with power. The blade gleams in the firelight.

"I know it's not much—it took me a long time to figure out how to do it and Kilgarrah really wasn't much help but..." Merlin trails off nervously.

"You made this?" The words are hard to get past the lump in his throat. "For—for me?"

Merlin takes a breath then lets it out in a quiet chuckle. The hand that doesn't hold the weapon comes up to rub his neck even while he ducks his head and mumbles, "Yeah."

Arthur can't breathe.

"I know it's not really the best, but...I just...I want you to have it," Merlin explains, "I mean, if you want it—you don't have to take it, of course you don't. I mean—do you? Want it?"

Arthur hasn't touched a dagger since he threw his old one into that fire created by Merlin's magic. But he still dreams of that dagger, of his hands holding it, of the chaos they had created together.

But...Arthur trusts Merlin. And Merlin thinks he's ready.

"Merlin," he finds himself saying and his voice is thick with emotion, "thank you."

And Arthur takes the dagger from him.

He's not surprised when the balance is perfect and his hand fits around the hilt like it was made for him but then of course, it was made for him—and only him, he understands instinctually.

The dagger doesn't burn his hands and he doesn't have the strongest urge to throw it out of sight.

Merlin just watches him as he tests out the blade, a small smile on his face, and that pride shining in his eyes.

"Thank you," Arthur says again and he knows he's not just talking about the gift that Merlin must have spent ages making for him and he's not just talking about Merlin believing in him and protecting him with his magic; he's thanking him for being who he is, for being there, for always being there for Arthur.

"Anything for you, Arthur," Merlin replies softly but his smile only grows bigger.

They stay there for a while in silence before Arthur looks up at him again, "Ask me again, Merlin."

Merlin frowns for a moment, then, like Arthur knew would happen he says, "How are you, Arthur?"

Arthur may never know who he really is, and he may never truly forgive himself; but his kingdom is safe and he has a wife he loves with all his heart and friends to help carry the heavy burdens in life.

But he still has a friend who laughs at him and knows he's not perfect yet believes in him all the same and would willingly lay down his life a thousand times over if it meant Arthur still breathed. He has a dagger made by the most loyal and brave man he has ever met.

He still has Merlin.

Arthur takes a deep breath that fills his lungs, his chest, his heart up with air that is clear and sweet and filling. And when he answers he stares at Merlin standing in front of him without fear and his voice doesn't shake as Arthur answers with absolute truth, "I'm alright."

Author's Note: Ah, the end at last! Thank you to all who have come on this journey with me. I hope you enjoyed it! And a huge thank you to all who have reviewed-they mean a lot to me!