Arthur stopped, took a breath and corrected himself "Merlin's body. Might I bring Merlin's body to my chambers? For the rituals?"

Gaius looked worried but could not deny the grieving boy. "Of course sire. I will send for the matrons."

Arthur nodded. He shrugged the blanket from his shoulders and asked "May I have this?"

"Yes, of course. It was Merlin's"

Carefully he held Merlin to his shoulder with one arm, Arthur's bandaged hand lost in Merlin's hair, Arthur smoothed the blanket on to the bed. After a moment's hesitation, he lay Merlin gently down on it and buttoned his servant's shirt. Oh god, how many times had Merlin stood—nattering away—doing up Arthur's buttons. The thought pained him. Arthur bundled Merlin's tiny motionless body warmly in the blanket. Gaius silently handed Arthur Merlin's red neckerchief which Arthur immediately crushed in his hand, fighting off a resurgence of tears.

Winning the battle with his emotions, Arthur stoically, tied the cloth around his own neck before turning back to Merlin.

Arthur gently scooped up the body of his best friend and rose. Although Merlin weighed little, Arthur faltered once, as sorrow and weariness overtook him. For the first time since the accident, Arthur felt his own cracked ribs protesting. As Arthur worked to steady himself, Merlin's head dropped back, limply sliding from Arthur's shoulder. With a whimper, Arthur gathered Merlin closer, supporting his head carefully. Gaius knew better than to interfere and stood back as Arthur, by force of will, stumbled to his feet. Tattered and exhausted. Bruised and bandaged, wearing Merlin's shirt, he looked more like a servant than prince.

Dusk gathered and most of Camelot's citizens were long-since home, having supper in warm homes as Arthur walked slowly across the uneven stones. Alone. Eyes dead ahead, through the biting wind and dusting of snow. From above, eyes fixed on the prince. Morgana and Gwen both covered their mouths, their sorrow plain. From another window, the king's expression was unreadable as he took note then turned away from his window.

.

.

.

As Arthur settled Merlin onto his bed, Gaius arrived; setting Merlin's sad looking shoes and some underclothes by the door. Without speaking, he began to stoke Arthur's fire.

Only a moment later, two matrons arrived bearing water and linens.

From his protective, fierce, stance between the women and Merlin, it was clear that Arthur was not about to let the matrons do their job. Arthur needed to do this himself. For Merlin.

From the look on their faces, it was clear that the matrons were appalled at the idea of sitting idly by and letting the crown prince of Camelot scrub clothes and wash a body. Gaius took them aside and the three spoke in hushed murmurs.

For his part, Arthur hadn't said a word since leaving Merlin and Gaius' home. Stoic. Mute. Haunted. As Gaius spoke with the women, Arthur sat on the edge of the bed.

Slowly, carefully, and gently Arthur began to undress Merlin—as if afraid that he might wake him from rest needed for mending. Socks from limp feet, knotted rope where a belt ought to have been, trousers gently, gently over boney hips. Arthur folded each item of clothes with devotion and set them aside. Tucking Merlin in with his own warm comforter as he went.

A matron gingerly approached the bed, hoping to at least take the trousers and socks. One agonized and commanding glare from Arthur was enough for her to back quietly away.

Arthur began unbuttoning Merlin's jerkin. As he folded it back, Merlin's gaunt, battered, dented chest came into full relief. The motionless chest betrayed the illusion that Merlin might have been asleep. Swallowing, Arthur gently slipped one arm under Merlin's now-cool back and the other behind his head. As he lifted the body, Arthur could not hold back a whimper as Merlin's arms limply slid from the rough fabric. Gaius appeared and gently pulled the shirt out from under Merlin, slowly so as not to startle the prince. Arthur tucked Merlin in up to his chin and collected up the clothing to wash.

The room was silent, no one moved as the young prince took his friend's meager clothes over to the corner where his wash board and basin awaited on the flagstones along with a kettle of hot water and a bar of strong laundry soap.

There, neatly folded over the tub were Arthur's own socks. Merlin had washed them and set them there to dry so Arthur would have them for this evening's festivities. That plain image, socks, lovingly washed and hung to dry had Arthur simply and completely undone again. He dropped to his knees at the wash tub and with a shaking hand picked up his socks. Clean, warm, almost new. They'd been scrubbed, wrung, and lain out by the overworked and underfed servant whose own thin socks were now awaiting the tub. Arthur was shaking with effort, he could not cry in front of the women. Bad enough that Gaius had already seen him go to pieces.

Arthur's eyes were trained down, his focus completely on not falling apart. In his peripheral vision the prince just barely registered a man's strong arm. The arm reached past Arthur and poured the kettle into the wash tub. Carefully, the man crouched down and gently began rolling up Arthur's sleeves.

As the other spoke, Arthur was startled to hear it was his father. The king firmly gripped Arthur's shoulder in a warm calloused hand after he had both the sleeves rolled out of the way.

"Jillian, Fiona" Uther spoke quietly to the matrons so as not to startle his fragile son. "I brought myrrh, please set it by the bed. Then you may draw the bath and leave us."

The king's appearance and was just one more in a day of shocks and Arthur's face registered little. Any other day he would have been stunned with his father's compassion. Today however, Arthur could only peer out miserably from under his bangs.

"Arthur." Uther looked unsure how to continue but soldiered on "I know Camelot's matrons well. I know far more about death, grief…" he stopped and swallowed "I know far more about grief than I hoped you ever would. And guilt."

With a nod, Arthur set aside his socks and pressed Merlin's clothes into the steaming water, not even flinching at the heat. All he could think of was Merlin, lying just feet away. Dead. How could it possibly be that his Merlin would never smile again. Never? Arthur would have given anything, everything, to go back. To change things.

Arthur scrubbed the socks, still mute, then rose as steadily as he could, walked over and hung them by the fire. Back on his knees, he scrubbed the threadbare trousers. It didn't take a physician to see that Arthur was becoming overwhelmed by the grim task, by his thoughts, images, regrets, and guilt. The prince sagged.

The matrons took their leave and the door finally closed behind them. Not a second later, Arthur let out a sob he didn't know he'd been holding.

The king awkwardly sat beside Arthur. When had he last sat on a floor? Thirty, forty years ago? No matter. As Uther put his arm around Arthur the boy finally let go and allowed himself to be comforted for a moment, to be drawn into an embrace, unable to resist.

"Father…" he stammered "this is my fault" Arthur looked over his shoulder at Merlin. Gaius was sitting on the bed holding the boy's hand.

Uther knew there was nothing that he could say and simply drew Arthur closer to him until the sides of their heads touched.

"Go" Uther nodded towards the bed "I will finish here."

Arthur nodded and staggered to his feet. He turned and looked back at his father. The king began scrubbing Merlin's shirt, working as earnestly at the task as Arthur would have. For Arthur.

Gaius looked up as Arthur approached and stood, tears running down his lined face "The bath is ready sire."

Seemingly gone silent again, Arthur nodded and wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve. How many times had Merlin drawn him a warm bath? Too many to count.

Arthur pushed the covers back and picked up his friend again. This time Arthur took extra care to support Merlin's neck—the way his head had fallen back at Gaius' was perhaps the most terrible moment in Arthur's life and he had no wish to repeat it. In a few strides they were at the small, warm bath. Arthur lowered Merlin into the water. With mounting sadness, Arthur realized that bathing a body was not a one-man job. Someone had to support Merlin and move his limbs as the other washed. Arthur couldn't even do this right.

"Please sire" Gaius interjected, reading the train of Arthur's thought "Allow me to help."

With a curt nod Arthur set himself securely on his knees and carefully put his arms around his friend. Gaius was gentle and slow. He removed Merlin's smallclothes and steadily washed the body. As Gaius stood painfully, Arthur spoke.

"His hair."

"Arthur?" it was the king who spoke. Uther stood by the fire and flipped each item of clothing—rapidly drying by the roaring flames.

"Merlin, I would wash his hair."

Gaius nodded and reached for the pot of liquid Arthur used on his own hair and placed it with his a cup at the head of the bath. Without words, Gaius took over Arthur's position, lowering Merlin closer to the cooling water.

Arthur carefully poured water over and over Merlin's hair until it was wet, then he gently washed it and rinsed. Carefully; he didn't want to get soap in Merlin's eyes.

Uther stood at the ready beside the small tub with a towel over his open arms. For a moment Arthur's mind alighted on the idea that his father had done this all before. Steeling himself, Arthur lifted Merlin's delicate body from the water, placing him into Uther's toweled arms for a moment before adjusting the linen and then receiving Merlin back.

Arthur looked confused, he wasn't sure what was next.

"The bed sire."

Of course. Arthur turned and took Merlin back to his bed.

The matrons had left a stack of clean linens on the bedside table. Arthur took one. For a moment he couldn't tear his eyes from the offending cloth, he wanted to scream, to bellow to the high heavens, tearing the rough fabric to ribbons. Instead, he sighed and turned back to his task. This was all so wrong. Arthur carefully dried Merlin's body, his face, his hair.

Gaius brought over the underclothes he had brought, clean and plain. Suddenly young and embarrassed, Arthur backed out of the way. As if on cue, Uther stepped into his place and helped Gaius with Merlin's shorts and undershirt. Touching Arthur's shoulder again, Uther backed away to tend the fire.

Despite the warmth of the room, Arthur was cold. He pictured crawling under the covers and lying beside Merlin. Staring at the ceiling for…well…for forever he supposed. Cold tears dripping into his ears, soaking his pillow.

A moment later, Uther handed Arthur the tiny pot of myrrh. Arthur dipped his thumb into the oil and gently touched Merlin's bruises and cuts. There were many. After he'd gently visited each small injury, Arthur drew a glistening line down the left side of Merlin's chest—over the mortal wound. Arthur swallowed harshly. "If…" he croaked, cleared his throat and spoke again "if I'd just stopped to think for even a moment. Merlin might be perched at that table, mocking me as he should be." Arthur shook his head roughly, his bandaged hand came up and covered his face. "The real cause of Merlin's…death …was my idiocy." He looked up at Gaius, eyes begging "How can I anoint him for that?" Arthur expected no answer and received none.

Arthur went to the fire and retrieved Merlin's clothes. After a moment's hesitation, he folded Merlin's socks and set them aside, bringing his own pair from beside the wash basin instead.

Arthur dressed Merlin's body while Gaius helped out when needed. Trousers (with a small belt from Arthur's youth dug from the corner of a drawer), shirt, Arthur's socks, and finally, Merlin's shoes. Arthur reached up to untie Merlin's kerchief from his neck. Gaius stopped him with a gentle hand.

"Merlin would want you to have that sire, if you would." Arthur was secretly glad to keep this token. This treasure.

As tradition held, Arthur slipped a coin into Merlin's mouth—for the ferryman. Finally, he set about brushing the dark, unruly hair. Washed, brushed, dressed in fresh clothes and lying on the clean bedding, Arthur though Merlin had never looked so fine. Or so awful. Damn it all! Arthur's tears once again betrayed him and he tried furiously to hold them back.

With a hand on his back, Gaius thanked the prince for what he had done, knowing a lesser man could not have withstood the last few hours. Gaius excused himself and left Arthur's chambers, promising to return before others would arrive.

Uther pulled up a chair and sat, facing Arthur.

"What?!" Arthur snapped, his guilt seeing rebuke where none existed. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing Arthur."

When his wife had died Uther might well have ended his own life, Camelot be damned. All that had stayed his hand had been the tenuous responsibility of fatherhood. He would make sure that Arthur was not alone as he had been. Concern flitted across the king's features as his son turned dejectedly back to his dead serving boy, placing his warm hand over the boy's cold one.

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