"Arthur, I'm sorry," he blurted quite suddenly after a silence too long unfolded in the space between them. His friend's expression was weary, tattered around the edges, but Arthur nodded. Merlin was panicking, the constriction in his ribcage making it impossible to continue talking despite the hope of acceptance that small gesture offered.
"Don't. I…understand." Arthur always understood; he was kind underneath the royal façade he had inherited from his father. Later, Merlin would be allowed to show him things, wonderful things, but for that moment an awkward embrace eased both their hearts. Lies carved wounds, but wounds could heal.