p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family:
Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;
text-align: justify;"When Arthur had first stormed out,
Merlin was overcome by a sudden burst of anger. It enraged him,
turned his remarkable vision red, and almost caused him to go after Arthur, demanding to know what he could possibly do to make it better. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him roughly,
to scream into his stony face that he knew what it was like, and he could help him through his anguish if he'd just admit that he was feeling emsomething/emem. /emHe hadn't waited a thousand years for a friend that didn't trust him,
didn't want to confide in him. Merlin wanted Arthur to understand that he understood, and they could both get through this together if he just gave him a chance to explain or to reason with him. He was furious because Arthur seemed to have forgot that Merlin had to go through this alone, without anyone remotely able to understand his situation, and for that, Merlin was jealous, because Arthur had an option for companionship and was dismissing it as if it didn't matter. Merlin wanted to talk about it more than anything, he'd spent so many years with the guilt conflicting inside of him and he was unable to say a word about it. He had had to live in silence and solitude, constantly punishing himself for letting all of it happen.
He wanted to rant and rage and scream about the unfairness of it all,
and share the losses and the pain with his friend, because he knew he understood. Merlin wanted to scream and weep and talk and hit things and rip his hair out of his head in an exquisite burst of fury at himself, because it was his fault, all his fault. He had let them die./p
Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;
text-align: justify;"When Arthur had first stormed out,
Merlin was overcome by a sudden burst of anger. It enraged him,
turned his remarkable vision red, and almost caused him to go after Arthur, demanding to know what he could possibly do to make it better. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him roughly,
to scream into his stony face that he knew what it was like, and he could help him through his anguish if he'd just admit that he was feeling emsomething/emem. /emHe hadn't waited a thousand years for a friend that didn't trust him,
didn't want to confide in him. Merlin wanted Arthur to understand that he understood, and they could both get through this together if he just gave him a chance to explain or to reason with him. He was furious because Arthur seemed to have forgot that Merlin had to go through this alone, without anyone remotely able to understand his situation, and for that, Merlin was jealous, because Arthur had an option for companionship and was dismissing it as if it didn't matter. Merlin wanted to talk about it more than anything, he'd spent so many years with the guilt conflicting inside of him and he was unable to say a word about it. He had had to live in silence and solitude, constantly punishing himself for letting all of it happen.
He wanted to rant and rage and scream about the unfairness of it all,
and share the losses and the pain with his friend, because he knew he understood. Merlin wanted to scream and weep and talk and hit things and rip his hair out of his head in an exquisite burst of fury at himself, because it was his fault, all his fault. He had let them die./p