Chapter 3
A/N This is short plot bunny chapter that refused to be left out of the main story. Hope you enjoy! A regular sized chapter will be up this weekend.
Tenacity: Arthur
Merlin was trying to breathe. His servant's struggle for air was excruciating. Arthur could see the muscular pull on his collarbone as he tried to inhale, as if he couldn't use the typical muscles in his chest to breathe. His soft gasps were shallow and he couldn't seem to draw any air into his lungs. It hurt unbearably to watch him labor for each gasp. Arthur had seen men die like that, pierced through the lung and gasping as their lungs filled with blood. But this was different; there was no end to it. And he was glad of it. To his everlasting horror, he was glad of it. As long as Merlin kept breathing, he was glad.
His servant was deeply unconscious again; Alice's pain medication seemed to be letting him rest. Gaius and Alice believed it would help him prepare for the difficult healing ahead, but Arthur could not shake the desperation that hounded his thoughts. Surely, Merlin didn't have much more time. By all that was holy, his lips were blue. His hands were cold and even his finger nails were tinged with duskiness. He tried to deny what he was seeing. He tried to tell himself that Gaius and Alice would work their healing soon.
Both of the physicians were also resting, gathering their strength for their attempt at the healing tonight. Alice had withdrawn to a room where she was thinking or meditating or something like that. He had offered to stay with Merlin. No, he had refused to leave and Gaius had given in, knowing the king was too stubborn to listen to sense.
Looking down at his servant, he was stalked by the thought, that he might never get to talk to Merlin again. The thought alone sank into his chest like the stroke of a blade, stealing his hope. Only a fool would deny that Merlin was slipping away.
"Merlin", he whispered. Even while he was lost in his pain, the king saw his servant turn ever so slightly towards his voice. Moved beyond words, he reached out and placed his hand on Merlin's, where it rested on the covers. His fingers were limp and far too cool. He surrounded them with his warm hands, hoping to rouse the failing body before him.
"Please Merlin. Listen to me now," he began softly. The dark haired boy remained unaware. "You've lied to me and kept things from me, but I... I'm trying hard not to care. There's some explanation, I know it, because I know you. I trust you Merlin, you idiot, even if you do have magic. You've got a reason for staying with me, for protecting me like you did. You've got a reason for lying to me. I'm lost and I don't know what to think. So just don't go and leave me like this." He thought of all the mornings they had spent together on the practice field, on long, weary patrols, during long, boring meetings, on hunts, on desperate quests. The king recalled his servant's strange, kind wisdom, Excalibur coming to his hand from the stone. He recalled foolish daily things with a lurching sorrow. He recalled how Merlin knew when he was famished, how he knew when he couldn't bear the thought of food, when he wanted to talk and when he wanted nothing but silence. Merlin had never left his side for years now. The thought of life without his servant- no let's be honest, Arthur told himself. The thought of life without his friend was unbearable. At the very least he could be honest about his feelings of friendship for Merlin. But Merlin had magic.
There was no denying that for years, Merlin had lied to Arthur about his deepest self. The familiar pain of betrayal impaled him suddenly. It was more than he could bear. He no longer knew why, but tears were threatening behind his eyes, burning in his throat, tightening his chest. They started to slip down his face silently. Not Merlin. It couldn't be. Merlin would never betray him. Never Merlin.
Confused, terrified, uncertain of everything, Arthur rested his head on the bed beside his friend, the friend who had saved his life, the friend who had betrayed him, his friend that he hardly knew, and wept. He wept as he had not, since he was a boy. The tears were bitter and they ate as his heart like fire.