Hi *sheepish grin*
Okay, so yeah, this took forever to update. I went through this Gallavich phase (still haven't shaken it yet) where all I wanted to post were stories featuring that couple... Ugh, my point, I put my WIPs off long enough.
So thanks for reviewing, alerting, and/or favoriting last chapter. I shall try to have an update by next week, and leave me a comment if you can.
I don't own 'em.
Merlin wouldn't talk about what happened to him. It wasn't from lack of trying on anyone's part, but every time Gwaine or Arthur (or anybody for that matter) brought it up, Merlin would conveniently have to be somewhere else and the subject would be dropped immediately. Arthur hated not knowing, and had even tried tracking down Merlin's dragon friend, but that had just ended with a long walk back to the castle and a cold.
"You can't make him tell you," Gwen said calmly from the doorway.
"I know," Arthur replied from the window, glancing down at the courtyard.
"He'll come to you in his own time."
Arthur remained silent, turning away from the window, moving towards his table. He sat down, glaring at the maps littering the surface, evidence of their long, tiring search for Merlin. They found him, everything should be fine, but Arthur knew that was a lie every time he saw the haunted look lingering in Merlin's eyes.
What has happened to you, old friend, Arthur silently asked, and why won't you tell anyone? In a sudden bout of anger, Arthur knocked the maps off his table, scattering them across his chamber floor. He buried his face in his hand, breathing deeply, feeling a pair of arms circle him from behind, Gwen softly saying, "He'll be alright, Arthur. Give him time."
But how could Arthur give him time when every second they spent not talking about it, was another second Merlin had to live with his memories. He shouldn't have to deal with any of this alone, he had friends who wanted to help him, so why was Merlin so keen on keeping everything to himself?
Gwen leaned forward, her chest pressing into his back, and softly kissed his cheek. She whispered in his ear, "Maybe you should get some sleep."
"In a minute," Arthur murmured lowering his hands, bringing one up to grip hers, lightly squeezing it. She briefly squeezed back, before releasing him, and started getting ready for bed. Arthur listened to her, tracking her movements, waiting until he heard her breathing even out before pushing himself to his feet.
He shrugged on his jacket, the castle a bit cold at night, and quietly left the room. He didn't have any particular destination in mind, his feet and memory guiding him tonight, and soon found himself in the north tower. Gwaine already occupied the window, a jug of mead in his left hand, glancing down at the courtyard.
"He still won't talk to you." Gwaine wasn't asking, and Arthur didn't answer. Instead the king crossed the room, settling against the wall, stealing Gwaine's mead and taking a long drink. "Me either," the knight continued softly, and a deep, bitter silence settled over the two men.