Arthur in Ealdor, Part 2

Arthur waited outside the cottage while Merlin sat with Will. It made Arthur sick to realize they were waiting for Will to die. He had waited for plenty of men to die, but that didn't make it any better. And this time, it wasn't just Arthur who waited. It was Merlin. This would break Merlin. Of that, Arthur was sure.

After nearly two hours, Hunith came by and put her hand on Arthur's shoulder. Then she seemed to think better of it and snatched it back. Arthur missed the feeling.

"It's time," she said. She looked at the door of the cottage. "We've built a pyre."

Still Merlin had not come out. Arthur squared his shoulders and faced the door. All he had to do was push it open, but it felt wrong. What if Will was still alive? What if Merlin didn't want to see Arthur? What if—

No, he couldn't just let Merlin be by himself in there any longer.

Arthur took a deep breath, and pushed open the door. It creaked. Arthur flinched at the sound.

It took him a while to adjust to the darkness. When he could see, he noticed Will's body, still laying where they had left him. Merlin was sitting on a stool, his torso bent over the body, his head resting on Will's unmoving chest.

Arthur hesitated, hovering around the door. Merlin didn't move. Arthur cleared his throat. Still no movement.

"Merlin?" he tried.

He squinted hard into the darkness of Merlin's face, and thought he saw two deep streaks on his cheeks where tears had fallen—or were still falling.

"Merlin?"

He waited for a response, but when none came, Arthur stepped toward his prone manservant. He put a hand on Merlin's shoulder.

Merlin jumped and sat up, as if just realizing that Arthur was in the room. He wiped his eyes.

"Merlin," Arthur said. His voice was starting to crack. "They're ready."

Merlin looked at him, slowly, dazedly. Arthur's words weren't penetrating.

"Merlin, everything's been made ready for—for Will." Arthur coughed into his hand.

Merlin didn't move, just continued to sit there, though now his gaze was fixed on Will's glassy eyes, still open.

Arthur reached down and closed Will's eyes, and immediatley Merlin sprang into action, swatting Arthur's hand away and bending over Will's body protectively.

"Merlin!"

"Get away from him!" Merlin spat.

The venom in his voice made Arthur take a step back in suprise. Merlin had never spoken to him like that.

Merlin stroked Will's face tenderly, fresh tears running down his face.

"Merlin," Arthur tried, much gentler this time. "We—everything's ready. We have to let him go."

Merlin's body heaved great big sobs as he cradled Will's face to his chest.

Arthur was caught between removing himself from the room immediately and staying to cradle Merlin to his chest. He settled for putting a hand on Merlin's shoulder and rubbing circles into the skin with his thumb.

After a little while, Merlin's body calmed, though he still held Will to him. Arthur waited until Merlin wiped his eyes, and then slowly turned toward the door.

"I'll be outside," Arthur said, "whenever you're ready."

-x-x-x-

The ride back to Camelot was quiet. Merlin himself was morose, for good reason. But that didn't make it any easier to bear.

The first night they camped, Merlin lit the fire and then wiggled himself into his bedroll, not taking dinner and not talking to anyone.

The second night, Merlin sat near the fire, staring into it, long after Gwen and Morgana went to bed. Arthur sat across from him, partly wishing he could blend into the night so that Merlin would feel like he was alone. He couldn't bring himself to go to bed yet, not with Merlin so damn sad.

Arthur cleared his throat, and Merlin jumped. Arthur opened his mouth—

"Save your words," Merlin said.

Arthur clamped his mouth shut.

"I'm fine," Merlin said. He didn't meet Arthur eyes, just continued to look into the fire.

"You're not fine, Merlin. You're mourning."

"So?" Merlin's voice had an edge to it that Arthur wasn't used to hearing.

"So nothing." Arthur schooled his own voice to be neutral, caring almost. "Time is all you need."

Merlin shook his head and looked toward the darkness of the trees. "You don't understand."

"I do."

Merlin snorted. And try as he might, Arthur couldn't keep down the little flare of anger in his stomach.

"I do, Merlin. I—I know what it's like to lose someone close to you."

Merlin looked at him properly for the first time in days, a terrifyingly penetrating stare.

"I know what—" Arthur started before realizing he didn't have the words to finish. He tried again. "I know you were—I know how much he meant to you."

Merlin let out a bitter chuckle. "You don't know."

"I know, Merlin."

Merlin looked at him again, an assessing look like Merlin was weighing Arthur's soul. Arthur gulped and waited for his judgement. Merlin nodded, as if not quite believing his ears, so Arthur continued.

"He was a squire," Arthur said. "Many years ago when I was much younger." He didn't know why he was telling Merlin this. No one but Morgana knew about this. But that look Merlin was giving him was pulling the words out of him in a whispered rush. "He was—he and I—we were close. He was my—my Will."

Merlin swallowed. Arthur couldn't look away from those eyes.

Arthur thought of the boy he had known a long time ago, the boy who would have been a noble knight, if a little insolent. He laughed despite himself.

"He was utter rubbish at fighting," Arthur said. "Bollocks with a sword. But he had a good heart."

"What happened?" Merlin asked. He seemed entranced by the story, that disbelieving look still pasted on his face.

Arthur's heart clenched painfully. "My father found out. About us. He had him sent away." Arthur finally looked away from Merlin's gaze and ran his hands over his face, rubbing the sadness out of it. Merlin was the one in mourning, not Arthur.

"Did you see him again?" Merlin asked.

Arthur sighed and shook his head. "On his way back to his father's castle, he was ambushed by bandits." Arthur looked up into Merlin's watery eyes. "He died fighting."

They were both silent for a long time, eyes locked over the dying fire. Arthur was breathing hard, like he had run circles around the trees. Merlin's eyes shown with everything he was holding back.

Eventually they both laid out their bedding next to each other and slid inside. Arthur stared up at the inky sky, at the sliver of a moon, the tree canopy swaying in the breeze above them.

A cold, tentative closed around his own.

"What was his name?" Merlin asked in a whisper.

Arthur threaded his hands through Merlin's.

"His name was Tristan."

And Arthur drifted asleep like that, with Merlin's hand in his, not caring right now how they would explain it when they woke up.