A/N: I think – and when I say think, I really have no idea – that this is hurt/comfort. It's more of the emotional kind. I've never done anything like this before, so it might fail completely. Hopefully it turns out okay.

Title: The Bravest and Most Noble of Them All

Author: FlYiNgPiGlEtS

Summary: Arthur comforts Merlin after Lancelot's death.

Ratings: T

Characters: Merlin and Arthur.

Pairings: no slash. Slight Gwen/Lancelot and Gwen/Arthur.

Spoilers: up to 4x02.

Disclaimer: unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

IV: The Bravest and Most Noble of Them All

His father had told him again and again that there were plenty of people willing to die for him. Once, Uther had even dared to tell him that their lives were worth less than his, that he was just going to accept their sacrifices and move on.

Arthur refused. He refused to believe that one life was more valuable than another, that anyone should sacrifice themselves for him because he was crown prince of Camelot. It was his job to protect his people, not theirs to protect him; no one should have to die for him.

But they had. And this time it was Lancelot.

Arthur had been so close to sacrificing himself. He had resigned himself to it long before they arrived at the Isle of the Blessed. He knew what had to be done in order to save Camelot and was willing to pay the price. No matter how much Merlin and the rest of the knights protested, he would rid Camelot of the Dorocha and he would do it himself.

He had been so close.

Arthur remembered stepping towards the veil, then nothing. Someone must have knocked him out, though he hadn't actually been told whom – Merlin had been the only witness and he wasn't exactly up for talking about it yet.

Leon had been at his side when he woke, a look of worry and carefully contained grief on his face as the prince bolted upright and demanded to know what on earth happened. The knight had hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at where the veil had once been, and Arthur's heart jumped into this throat. Merlin was sitting against the alter in the center of the gloomy room, his legs pulled up to his chest and Gwaine's cloak wrapped around his trembling body, and he looked almost as ill and pale as he had after leaping in front of the Dorocha. For a brief, terrifying moment he thought the idiot had gone and got himself frozen again while he was unconscious, until he realized that there was one knight missing. Lancelot was gone.

"No," he had said desperately. "No. He didn't… no!"

Merlin had flinched like Arthur's yell had physically hurt him, turning his blank eyes to the prince and then back to Elyan, who was crouching in front of him. Elyan had tried to get what had happened out of the shivering servant, but he had only shaken his head and asked that they leave. No one refused.

They rode back into Camelot in silence, only talking when they needed to. Arthur knew Merlin hadn't slept when they made camp, but the more he thought about what happened the less he thought about his mourning friend.

Another life had been lost because of him. It was all his fault. He would have to return to Camelot and tell his subjects of the knight's passing and arrange a memorial for him, and it was all his fault He would have to tell Guinevere – poor, sweet Guinevere – and it was all his fault.

Somehow, he had done it. The days blurred together into an awful montage of him comforting Gwen, of him announcing Lancelot's death and paying tribute to the knight, of him visiting his father and tying not to break down when he told the lost king what had happened. He hoped Uther saw now just how noble Lancelot had been, how it didn't matter that he wasn't a nobleman. Now, more than ever, Arthur believed that.

It had been strangely devoid of Merlin since their return from the Isle of the Blessed. He had been there, of course, helping Arthur like he always did, but he wasn't himself; he seemed almost… empty. Merlin barely talked unless he had to, acknowledged things only after Arthur had repeated them a good few times. Arthur didn't know if it was possible, but Merlin seemed guiltier than even him.

He should have paid more attention, but he had been so caught up in himself and all the things he had to do that he hadn't thought about Merlin's loss. Arthur had presumed Gwaine and Gaius would be around to help Merlin if he needed it. He overlooked Merlin's stubbornness, his inability to accept that he wasn't all right, and continued to go on thinking about himself. Arthur had lost a friend too. Merlin would be fine; he always was.

One early morning not long after Lancelot's memorial, however, it finally hit him just how ignorant he had been.

Arthur hadn't been sleeping that well. Occasionally, he got a few hours in, but the Cailleach haunted his dreams. Behind his closed eyes, he would see her pale face and the way she beaconed him towards his end. Then he would dream of the veil closing around Lancelot. Sometimes he even saw Merlin jumping in front of the Dorocha, of him being thrown him against that wall and the terrifying moments after when Arthur thought he was dead. The dreams were all horrifyingly familiar, so vivid that it took minutes for him to realize they weren't real.

That night hadn't been much different. He had slept longer than usual, but was awake before the sun even rose, pacing aimlessly around his bedroom and wishing Merlin decided to show up freakishly early. Arthur doubted he would mind if Merlin, for some reason, turned up under his bed again. He, along with Gwen, had a strange talent for making him feel better; since the latter was grieving herself, it was far more likely that Merlin would be the one making an appearance.

Neither had come. Eventually, he had dressed himself – see, he was perfectly capable of functioning without Merlin – and snuck cloaked out of his chambers. He passed the guards with little difficulty, making a mental note to refresh their training sometime soon, and found himself nearing the courtyard. Perhaps walking through the lower town would make him feel less alone.

He was just reaching the steps when he saw he wasn't the only one out and about. Pressing his back against the wall, he peered around to get a better look at the possible intruder.

What he saw made his chest ache in a way that was becoming increasingly familiar to him as of late. Merlin sat alone in the soft sapphire blue of the early morning, his head hung low and shoulders sagging as though he could no longer carry the heavy load that rested on them. Arthur thought of his happy, carefree buffoon of a manservant – the man sitting in the courtyard wasn't him.

Arthur considered turning around and pretending he hadn't seen anything, but instantly felt awful for thinking such a thing. Merlin was his friend and while he did his best to ensure no one else knew, it had become somewhat undeniable. Though he had few, if any friends in the past, he knew you didn't just leave them when they needed you. And Merlin needed him, even if he would be the last to admit it.

Slowly, so not to startle the man, Arthur walked down the steps and took a seat beside Merlin. He took in the paleness of Merlin's features worriedly; he looked like he had slept and certainty ate less than Arthur had in the last couple of days. Trust Merlin to ignore Gaius' orders. He was supposed to be regaining his strength after his run-in with the Dorocha, which, in case the idiot didn't know, involved adequate nutrition and a good few hours of rest.

"I must be dreaming," Arthur remarked. "You're never up this early."

He instantly regretted it. He'd come here to comfort Merlin, not insult him. While he felt like a total girl doing it – like Merlin, even… no, wait, that was also insulting – there was no way he was going to let his servant suffer in silence this time. Besides, Merlin would do the same for him – in a totally non-girly way, because Merlin was not a girl and Arthur wasn't going to say anything else that would hurt his feelings today.

Hurt his feelings? The arrogant voice in the back of his head spoke up. Yeah, that's not at all girly.

"You're one to talk, dollophead," Merlin replied, but it fell short. He sounded as hollow as he looked.

They lapsed into silence, in which Merlin seemed to grow sadder and Arthur scrambled desperately for something to say. It wasn't fair – how was Merlin so good at this? Arthur had fought dragons, faced wyvern and survived a large number of magical assassination attempts, yet he had no idea how to cheer up his friend.

Best friend, the not-arrogant voice in the back of his head chirped in.

No, if Merlin could do it so could he. With a deep, steadying breath he finally summed up the courage to speak when…

"There's nothing you can say," Merlin murmured with a look of such dejection that the startling pain in Arthur's chest returned. The prince felt like he was drowning in freezing water, grasping desperately at all the words he wanted to say but being dragged under by a current of cowardice and uncertainty and his stupid, ridiculous pride.

"Merlin," Arthur said, voice quiet and insecure, much to his chagrin. He wanted to sound like he knew what he was doing, that he was all right with being the comforter and not the comfortee this time, but Merlin knew him too well.

"No, Arthur." Merlin leapt up suddenly, as if the step had shoved him off. Arthur noted the way Merlin was shaking as he paced madly across the step bellow with concern – he looked exhausted and weak, like his legs would buckle at any minute from grief and starvation and total disregard for his own health. "There's nothing anyone can say or do to make this better. Lancelot is gone and it's all my fault."

"Your fault?" Arthur echoed. "Merlin, if anyone is to blame, it's me."

"No." Merlin stopped and let his chin fall to his chest for a moment in shame, before taking up his manic pacing once more. "No, it should have been me. I was prepared to sacrifice myself so you wouldn't have to, so that Camelot would be saved – I was ready. I have always been ready to give myself for your cause. It certainly wouldn't be the first time – seriously, I'm pretty much used to it by now – so what could go wrong? I was so stupid. I wasn't paying attention to Lancelot; I was so focused on getting you out of the way. I had you knocked unconscious, for goodness sake; I was ready."

"You knocked me out?"

Merlin didn't appear to have heard him. "I shouldn't have told him. He knew what I was planning to do, knew it was my duty, but he did it anyway. There was nothing I could do but watch him step into the veil and then… then it closed around him and he was gone. I… there was nothing I could do. It was so quiet afterwards, for such a long time. And others didn't come for such a long time, and I just stood there. I just stood there and did nothing. Nothing."

Arthur was suffocating again, his chest constricting. He had no idea.

"And now I can't bring him back. He's gone for good. There was never anything I could do." Merlin's laugh was sour and humorless. "It was fate again; destiny's cruel plan to take everyone I love from me. It's not fair. It's not fair. What have I done wrong?"

"Nothing, Merlin; you have done nothing."

"But it should have been me! Why wasn't it me?"

Arthur was on his feet now too, gripping Merlin's shoulders and forcing him to stop before he collapsed. "Merlin." He gave his friend a gentle shake. "It was not your duty; it wasn't Lancelot's. It was mine. I should have been the one to step through the veil."

"No, Arthur." Merlin shook his head frantically. "It could never be you."

"Merlin, none of us should have to make such sacrifices. What Lancelot did… it was noble and brave and it will never be forgotten. He will never be forgotten." It was hitting Arthur with sudden clarity as he told Merlin, the words sinking into his own guilt-filled mind as he spoke. "I know it isn't fair. I understand how guilty and lost you must be feeling right now, but you need to remember what he did. He saved Camelot, Merlin; he saved us all. He was – is a hero and I will make sure his sacrifice was not in vain. I only hope that, wherever he is, he knows how thankful we all are. It may never be enough, but preserving his memory is all we can do for him now."

"Gwen, the knights… if it was me, they wouldn't…"

"Do you think they wouldn't grieve for you? They would, Merlin; I would," Arthur admitted. "If it had been you that stepped through that veil, our pain would be no less; surely you must know that."

Merlin said nothing. Arthur took a deep breath.

"Merlin, you are my friend. I could not bear to loose you."

Tear-filled azure eyes met Arthur's. "Lancelot was my friend."

"I know."

"He was a good friend."

"I know."

"I won't forget him."

"We won't forget him," Arthur corrected.

Merlin nodded, a new sense of strength about him. He seemed steadier now, his legs more able to support him. Arthur knew then that, while it would take time, he would be all right; they would both be all right. Neither were alone in their grief now.

And they would never forget Lancelot. Never.

"Come on." Arthur draped one arm around Merlin's shoulders. "It's nearly time for breakfast. Should I ask the cook to bring up two meals?"

"What?"

"I know you've been disobeying orders," Arthur said as they made their way up the steps. "What did Gaius tell you about looking after yourself?"

"Clotpole," Merlin muttered.

"Dollophead," Arthur countered. So much for not insulting him.

"Prat."

"Cabbage head."

I might just be getting the hang of this 'friendship' thing, Arthur thought proudly.

'Comfortee' isn't a word, is it?

Eeek! I hope it wasn't too awful.

Kitkat's prompt should be up soon - possibly tomorrow, though it's taking a lot longer than I expected.