A/N:

**TW: This chapter is where the bulk of the tagged TW content occurs.** (Again, there are the helpline resources available in the ending A/N of chapter 1.) Also, there's a brief discussion of Gwaine's unhealthy relationship with alcohol.

Chapter 2: Drowning in the Dark

Time flowed around Merlin like drifting snow. Pale flashes of color—like the hint of a midwinter dawn—slipped between the velvety folds of the darkness that veiled his thoughts.

A robust fire. Low voices. A warm hand on his shoulder.

The last one lingered.

"Hmm?" he murmured, dazed, and his field of vision widened from a keyhole to a frost-framed window pane.

Lancelot sat beside him, sword propped on his knees as he kept watch. "It's good to see you awake again, my friend. How are you feeling?"

What? was Merlin's first thought, followed by, "Cold."

Lancelot nodded gravely, setting down his sword and reaching to pull his own blanket off his nearby bedroll. As Lancelot draped the rough blanket over him, Merlin glanced down to see—one, two, uh, three, wait—no less than six cloaks and two blankets wrapped snug around his prone body. He looked up at Lancelot in confusion.

"It's a miracle, honestly," Lancelot murmured, keeping up a soft running commentary as he fussed over tucking in the edges of the third blanket. "The others were sure you were going to die, but I think maybe your—" Lancelot cut himself off. "We've been thawing you out by the fire all night. You were delirious when you woke the first time around midnight: you didn't know where you were and didn't seem to recognize Percival or me. The sooner we get you back to Gaius, the better. If you're up to it, we can leave as soon as it's light."

"No." Merlin struggled against the blanket-bonds. "I can't go back. I have to go with Arthur. I have to."

Lancelot pressed a firm hand to his shoulder, holding him down until he stopped trying to sit up. "Alright, save your strength. You seem to be on the mend now—you're doing far better than we'd dared to hope—so let's wait and see how you're feeling at dawn," he conceded with a soft frown.

Merlin lay still, panting from the exertion. "I have to," he repeated faintly as shadows crept in, narrowing his field of vision.

Lancelot cast a furtive glance at the sleeping knights around the campfire. "Has Arthur confided how he intends to close the Veil?"

Nausea swirled like a dark sea, and Merlin struggled to focus his thoughts. "He wants to close it himself. I…I won't let him, though. I'll go in his place. It's…my duty, my destiny."

Lancelot's eyes widened, but Merlin didn't hear his reply as he slipped beneath the dark waters again.

It was daylight when the next glimpse pricked at the seams of his dark shroud.

A glance cast upward at ruined stone archways. A red cape sweeping across leaf-strewn paving stones. A blond head bowed before a gash in the fabric of the world.

"No!" Merlin cried. "Stop!"

Arthur startled and turned back to face him. "Merlin, I—"

Merlin tried to run, but he tripped over air—thick as molasses and just as sticky—and stumbled to his knees on the weathered stones. "Please don't," he begged, holding out a desperate hand. "I will—"

Arthur shook his head. Merlin couldn't read his lips—the darkness at the edges of his vision swallowed the words—but Arthur's expression mirrored Merlin's anguish when Arthur glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Lancelot slip past him into the void. As the Veil sealed shut with Lancelot on the other side, the darkness closed around Merlin once more.

Morgause screamed. ~My death was in vain! The Veil is closed, yet Arthur lives!~

~Good,~ Merlin spat into the darkness despite gagging on black sludge and trying not to fall apart as yet another person he loved was torn from him.

~Insolent boy! Just for that, I'll make his death ten times more painful. The Veil was too good a death, anyway. Too noble.~

~I won't let you harm him. I will stop you.~

~I underestimated you,~ she replied, words dripping with venom, ~but I will not make that mistake twice.~

By the next glimpse, he was back in Camelot.

Potions bubbling on the rough work table. A spoon in his hand, hovering over a bowl of broth. Gaius' stern eyebrow silently demanding an answer.

"…What?" Merlin asked, still reeling from his grief and fighting to stay afloat on the inky tide.

Gaius' eyebrow rose even higher. "I asked: What really happened at the Veil? I'm certain there's more than what Arthur told his father and the court."

"Lancelot"—Merlin swallowed down bile and darkness—"he gave his life for mine. I was going to do it, but—"

The grief was too heavy; he sank like a stone.

The next time Merlin came to his senses…he didn't, not exactly. The darkness still trapped him, sightless and immobile, but his thoughts were less jumbled, and he could feel the waves of irritation radiating from Morgause's clipped sentences.

~Enough games. You keep fighting me. You've regained partial control more than once. It is—it should be—impossible. Explain.~

~I'm not telling you anything.~

Morgause huffed. ~My sister complained about your pigheadedness. I see she wasn't exaggerating.~

~Nice to know I made an impression,~ he said. ~She's right. I won't give up, not while I'm still alive. Not while you're still a threat.~

~There's more to it than that,~ she mused, and her tone sent a shiver of apprehension dancing up his frozen spine. ~Sheer will isn't enough. It's something else, something more. What are you hiding from me, hmm?~

~Nothing,~ he snapped.

~Interesting,~ she said. ~A bit quick there, don't you think? Rather gives the impression that you do have something to hide.~

~Well, I don't. How could I? I'm just a 'weak, meddlesome serving boy,' remember?~

~Defiance won't save you or your prince,~ she said dismissively. ~I'll find out soon enough, one way or the other.~

Ghostly winds blew through his mind, ferreting out the nooks and crannies. Merlin locked his magic deep inside and diverted his thoughts to vivid, unrelated topics. Like Arthur's socks after a long patrol in the heat of summer. He focused on the way the smell made him gag: the peculiar mix of sweat, grime, oiled leather, and soggy wool. That smell reminded him of the wet sheep in the pen behind Will's house when they were growing up. Will was a safe topic, too; he was beyond Morgause's reach. Merlin dredged up memory after memory of Will's sarcastic wit—each one breaking his freshly-grieving heart into smaller and smaller pieces—until Morgause screamed at him and the darkness smothered him once more.

The next time, he felt the pain just before his vision returned.

Bright red blood flowing freely from a fresh gash on his left forearm. The wet clatter of a slick knife on the stone chamber floor. Arthur's wide eyes and panicked shout for help before he ripped off his own tunic and wrapped it painfully tight around Merlin's wound. Red spots blossoming through the white linen.

~How?~ Morgause screeched. ~How do you keep doing that? I was about to stab him, not you!~

Merlin smiled even as the shock and blood loss blurred his vision. ~I told you I'd stop you.~

This time, he didn't fight the greedy darkness.

Merlin groaned and opened his eyes to see Arthur sitting in a chair at Merlin's bedside.

"How…how am I alive?" he mumbled to himself. His thoughts fluttered feebly in time with his thready pulse.

Arthur's shoulders stiffened. "You're lucky Gaius is as skilled as he is," he snapped.

Merlin frowned as something dark whispered at the edges of his mind. And she's still here. He cursed under his breath.

Arthur's brows rose. "You did it on purpose."

It wasn't a question, and Merlin was too preoccupied with his racing thoughts to respond. How do I get rid of her?

Arthur stood abruptly; the chair legs whined against the floorboards as he shoved it aside before disappearing down the stairs. After a moment of whispering in the main chamber—or perhaps it was just the ominous whispering in Merlin's head—Gwaine jogged up the steps and took Arthur's place, leaving the door ajar.

Gwaine offered him a tight smile. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine." He knew he should try harder to sound cheerful or relieved, but…but he couldn't. He just couldn't. Not when Lancelot was dead because of Merlin. Not when Merlin had nearly frozen to death in an instant and still hadn't thawed despite his magic. Not when Morgause had a personal vendetta against him and was determined to use him to kill Arthur. Not when Merlin had just taken truly drastic measures that hadn't solved anything.

But he couldn't tell Gwaine any of that—not without confessing to at least one count of treason—so he flatly repeated the only thing he could say: "I'm fine."

Gwaine's expression fell. "Didn't know you were that tired of us," he said lightly. The worried pinch between his brows belied his flippant tone.

Merlin rolled his eyes. Morgause could take over again at any moment; Merlin couldn't afford to waste time beating around the bush. "Where's Gaius?"

Gwaine blinked, then nodded toward the door. "Just down the stairs. What do you need?"

Merlin's patience was bleeding out. "I need to talk to him," he said through gritted teeth. The darkness was spreading.

Gwaine held up his hands. "Right, if that's what you want."

At Merlin's terse nod, Gwaine rose and called for Gaius. Merlin barely had time to notice the defeated slump of Gwaine's shoulders before the darkness took him again.

Arthur was back at Merlin's side when Merlin managed to claw his way out of the darkness again.

"What are you doing here?" Merlin demanded, shifting away from Arthur and scanning the room for sharp objects. What could she use against him?

Arthur, oblivious as usual to imminent magical danger, folded his arms. "I'm not an idiot, however much you might think so."

"What?" Merlin asked. He wanted to shout, Get out of here, you idiot! I'm trying to save your life! But, as usual, he couldn't just say it. His lies were an intricate tapestry; one ill-timed truth might unravel it.

"You told Gaius it was an accident. The knife 'just slipped,'" Arthur said flatly. "You're a rubbish liar."

When did I tell—? Oh. Morgause had talked to Gaius. With a sigh, Merlin relegated 'warn Gaius' from Plan A to Plan If-All-Else-Fails. It seemed that being dead meant Morgause couldn't channel the magic she had when she was alive—If she could, why would she resort to a simple knife attack instead?—but he couldn't guarantee the same limits would apply to his magic, seeing as he was somehow still very much alive. It was simply too risky to talk to Gaius. Morgause might resurface mid-conversation, learn that Merlin had magic, and find a way to use it against him—or worse, against Arthur. Merlin would just have to find a way to exorcize Morgause without Gaius' help. This is fine, he told himself. He was used to working alone, after all.

Arthur continued, "In case you forgot, I was there. Someone needs to keep an eye on you; I won't have you bleeding out on my chamber floor again."

Merlin nearly protested that it wouldn't happen again, but he bit back the lie. He couldn't make that promise when Arthur's life was at stake. Arthur's life always came first. He dropped his eyes to the threadbare blankets and started a mental list of Gaius' reference books to search through as soon as he had a moment alone.

Arthur cleared his throat and broke the heavy silence. "Percival and Leon are helping Gwen and Gaius prepare a disused chamber for you. I've spoken to the seneschal; you are excused from your duties with full pay until Gaius deems you sufficiently recovered. One of the knights will remain with you at all times until further notice."

"No!" Merlin jerked his head up, mind racing.

Under the circumstances, Merlin didn't object to distance from Gaius, but he did object to being kept away from Gaius' books. Merlin's already slim odds of success would fall to zero if Arthur locked him in some distant chamber and saddled him with knightly chaperones.

"I'm…I'm fine!" Merlin continued frantically. "Just a bit shaken up from dropping that knife! No need to go to all that trouble over a clumsy mistake, my lord!"

Arthur's expression softened. "It's not a punishment, Merlin," he said quietly, "and my decision stands."

Merlin opened his mouth to protest again, then snapped it shut as black ice crystallized at the edges of his vision. He flung himself backward, tumbling off the far side of his bed with a crash.

"Stop it!" Arthur leapt to his feet. "You'll tear the stitches and—"

"Leave!" Merlin bellowed, cradling his bandaged forearm to his chest as he scrambled into the far corner. "Get out. Now!"

The icy fractals didn't obscure the hurt in Arthur's eyes as he backed away and called for Elyan. Merlin fought against the dark current with all his might until he saw Elyan's silhouette in the doorway and Arthur's shadow disappearing safely down the stairs. Relief amplified Merlin's exhaustion, and he collapsed into the frigid depths.

Merlin awoke to a strange ceiling. No.

It was too late; Gaius' books were hopelessly beyond his reach.

His arm throbbed, and his head felt fuzzy from the all-too-familiar after-effects of Gaius' potent sedatives. He lacked even the energy to curse, or he would have uttered a string of things that would have appalled his mother. Instead, he lay there beneath a mound of blankets on the thin, straw-stuffed pallet, staring up at the ceiling as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. What do I do now?

~Give up,~ Morgause answered. ~You and I both know you can't win. Why prolong the inevitable?~

Perhaps Merlin did have the strength to curse, after all.

Her scornful laugh reverberated inside his skull. ~Very creative. It still won't save you or your prince.~

Before Merlin could reply, another voice joined the conversation.

"Merlin?" Leon asked tentatively. "Are you awake?"

Merlin rolled his head to the side to see Leon sitting cross-legged on a rug a few steps away, unarmed and sans chainmail, watching him with earnest eyes in the waning daylight that filtered in through a tiny window set high in the stone chamber wall.

"Yeah, I'm awake," Merlin conceded, ignoring Morgause's ranting in the background. "How long was I out?"

"About two hours, give or take. Gaius left more blankets"—he nodded at the neat stack at the foot of the pallet—"and a change of clothes." He picked up a small bundle of nightclothes beside him and held them out to Merlin. "How are you feeling?"

Merlin huffed a sardonic laugh as he shoved aside the heavy blankets and rose from the pallet to accept the sleep shirt and trousers. "I feel like death warmed over."

As he crossed to the changing screen, he noted with annoyance that someone had already confiscated his neckerchief, belt, and boots. At least they'd left him the dignity of changing the rest himself.

Leon shifted uncomfortably. "I'm, uh, glad you're still with us."

"Mixed feelings about that," Merlin groused without thinking as he draped the clothes over the screen and stepped behind it. He regretted the flippant words when Leon sucked in a sharp breath.

"You really meant—" Leon broke off and cleared his throat. "We had no idea the Dorocha attack had been so severe, truly. You'd seemed alright again once you'd thawed out by the fire."

Merlin didn't know what to say to that. He only remembered the cold and the darkness and the way time passed in fits and starts. Maybe Morgause was a convincing impersonator. Or maybe not. His friends' inattentive attitude toward him was a boon that had surely saved him from the pyre several times over. But sometimes… He shook his head. At the end of the day, his friends were knights, and knights tended to be rather thick. With a sigh, he grabbed his tunic by the collar and pulled it off over his head, taking care not to get it caught on his freshly re-bandaged arm.

After a long moment, Leon continued. "But Gaius explained that trauma can be…complex, and after what happened at the Isle…well, it's been hard for all of us, but I understand that it must be especially hard for you. I know you two were particularly close."

The sudden reminder knocked the air out of Merlin's lungs, and his tears flowed in earnest. He muffled a sob with the crumpled tunic and squeezed his eyes shut. The darkness behind his eyelids startled him, and he snapped them open again. Taking deep breaths through his nose and willing his hands to stop shaking, he dried his eyes on the shirt, discarded it in a damp heap on the floor, and focused on changing the rest of his clothes.

When Merlin didn't respond, Leon tried again. "I know it's not the same, but I'm here if you need someone to, uh, talk to. About things. If you want."

As Merlin tied the laces on the soft sleep trousers, he imagined having a casual chat about his highly illegal magic with Camelot's straight-laced Second Knight. It might be safer to waltz into Uther's chambers and tell the senile king directly; Leon still had all his wits and a duty to inform Arthur and the court. Merlin snorted at the sheer absurdity of both options as he grabbed the sleep tunic off the screen and tugged it on.

Leon shifted again. "I understand if you'd rather talk to one of the others, someone who could relate to being a commoner, but I—"

"You, of all people, should know I don't care about that," Merlin snapped, poking his head around the screen to glare at Leon. "You've heard me talk back to Arthur from the beginning."

"If that's not the reason, then—?"

The wave of darkness caught Merlin by surprise; it swept over him before he could answer.

When the wave passed, Merlin found himself leaning against a bare wall on the other side of the small chamber. It was well after sunset, and the only light came from the robust fire in the hearth. To have such a fire in a room of that size at that time of year should have been sweltering, but Merlin couldn't feel it. He couldn't recall what it meant to be warm; he had grown almost numb to the pervasive chill in his veins. In the flickering light, Merlin noticed the changing screen and dirty clothes were gone, and a small waterskin and a basket full of sliced bread and cheese had appeared beside the pallet, along with even more blankets. The pallet had been laid directly on the floor. If they didn't even trust him with furniture under supervision, there was no chance he'd be granted unsupervised access to Gaius' chambers, full of dangerous potions and surgical tools and—most importantly—the books Merlin desperately needed.

They also didn't trust him alone with an open hearth. Between him and the fire, Gwaine paced, punctuating his rant with emphatic gesticulations.

"—but how could you say something like that?" Gwaine continued as he traversed the large rug.

"Like what?" Merlin asked, wrongfooted. What did Morgause tell him?

Gwaine scoffed. "First, you told Leon that you wouldn't confide in him because you'd never be friends with someone so boring. Now you're telling me you never trusted me, not even before I joined up with this lot? I can't believe this." He shook his head. "I thought we were friends."

Merlin tried not to gape as Gwaine recounted the bold lies Morgause had told with Merlin's tongue.

Gwaine stopped in the middle of the room and glared at Merlin. "I…I wouldn't have stayed here if it hadn't been for you, you know." His right hand twitched toward his absent sword belt—but toward his right hip, not his left.

Merlin shoved aside his anger at Morgause's interference and focused on Gwaine's telling gesture. Merlin was one of the few who knew about the tiny flask Gwaine had taken to carrying on his right hip 'just in case those pompous noble-borns make patrols unbearable for the rest of us.' If Gwaine was reaching for the absent flask, then his composure was slipping. If I can push him far enough, then…

"Arthur asked you to stay. I didn't care one way or another," Merlin said evenly. "Besides, how would you know what I think anymore? You spend more time in the tavern with the other knights than you do with me."

The harsh words had started as a lie, but they'd ended in an equally harsh truth. His stomach twisted at that realization, but he ignored it. He'd deal with the consequences later. If we all survive this. His best chance to reach the reference books was to make Gwaine leave his post. As for how Merlin did that…well, it didn't matter if the words were false or true, so long as they did the trick.

Gwaine took a step back as though Merlin had struck him. "That's not true."

Merlin crossed his arms. "When was the last time we had a pint together, just the two of us?"

"I…" Gwaine closed his eyes. "I don't remember."

Merlin did, with perfect clarity. "Six months." It had been Merlin's coming-of-age, and Gwaine had wanted to mark the occasion. "You've been in Camelot for barely a year, but it only took half as long for you to forget that you weren't noble-born like the rest of those arrogant, red-caped bullies."

Gwaine's jaw clenched, and his hand twitched again.

Merlin forced a laugh. "Oh, but that's right, you are noble-born, aren't you?"

Gwaine took a step backward—toward the door—but his eyes never left Merlin's.

Merlin swallowed hard. Just one more push, and then maybe… "That's why I don't trust you—and why I haven't since the day you first bragged to me about your birthright. It was only a matter of time before you started acting like your pedigree."

Gwaine's hand twitched again. He turned away from Merlin abruptly, then hesitated with his hand on the latch. "You're right," he said, voice rough like sandpaper. "I've never managed to keep friends for this long before; I guess now I understand why." He let go of the handle and reluctantly stepped away from the door, turning back to Merlin. "But just this once, the drink can wait. I'm not leaving you, not in your condition."

Merlin's huff of frustration was genuine. As he wracked his brain for any other ways to exploit his friend's weaknesses, a knock on the chamber door broke the tense silence.

Gwaine unlocked it and stepped aside as Percival entered. Gwaine handed him the key without a word, then paused halfway out the door to glance back at Merlin. In the light from the torch-lined corridor, Merlin could see the raw hurt that glazed Gwaine's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Gwaine said simply, then strode off down the corridor.

Merlin turned away, tears blurring his vision, and stumbled over to the pallet. Percival shut and relocked the door, then not-so-subtly positioned himself directly between Merlin and the fire.

As if that would ever tempt me. Just another galling reminder that his friends had no idea how often acrid smoke and blistering flames haunted his nightmares.

Merlin rolled over and curled up on his side without a word as Percival settled in for his shift. Silence had always been companionable between them, but now it was excruciating. There was nothing Merlin could say to atone for the death of the mutual friend who'd introduced them. There was nothing Merlin could say that would drive stoic Percival away.

So Merlin lay there and said nothing. It was almost a relief when the icy darkness flooded through his mind once more.

The frost receded, and a different sort of darkness tormented him in the pre-dawn hours.

Balinor stumbled back, struck down by a blow meant for Merlin. Merlin's anguished cry flung the assailants away, and he caught Balinor and cradled his body on the ground. As Balinor struggled through his final breaths, Merlin's dreams for their little family bled out on the carpet of moss and leaves.

"No, don't leave us," Merlin begged.

The images dissolved into fog and swirled into new shapes. Will lay on the table with a crossbow bolt lodged in his chest. 'I'm scared,' he gasped.

"I can't save you." Tears burned tracks down Merlin's cheeks. "I'm so sorry."

The fog swept Will beyond his reach, and Lancelot stood before the Veil. He offered Merlin a small nod and a half-smile.

Unexpected anger flared in Merlin's chest. "I didn't ask you to do that!" he snapped.

Lancelot's brows rose. 'I know. I chose it freely.'

"It was supposed to be me," Merlin replied. The words tasted like one of Gaius' bitter potions.

'You and Arthur—you are both better men than I,' Lancelot replied with a small shrug. 'I am honored to lay down my life for yours.'

"You took away my choice. You left."

Lancelot took a startled step back. 'No, I saved you.'

"You were my friend, but you left me alone," Merlin insisted.

Lancelot shook his head. 'You have Arthur and the knights. You have Gwen.'

"No," Merlin said brokenly, "I don't."

'But you could if you'd tell—'

"You know I can't."

'But—'

"You don't understand." So many losses. He couldn't breathe. The Dorocha. Destiny. "The darkness, it's…it's crushing me, and I can't—"

Merlin gasped awake, bolting upright as his sweaty fists tangled in the blankets. As the morning sunlight that slanted into the chamber dispersed his troubled dreams, he heard a soft rustle and glanced to his right.

"Oh," Gwen murmured, a hand rising to her mouth. "How could we be so blind?"

Merlin looked away, his deflections trapped beneath the lump in his throat. He scrubbed a hand across his face; his fingers came away wet.

"We all thought it was…" Gwen trailed off, then took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry."

Merlin swallowed and glanced at her. "For what?"

"I was so caught up in my own grief that I couldn't see what was right in front of me," she said, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. "He did it for you, didn't he? And that's why you…"

"What?"

"I, um…you were talking in your sleep," she admitted.

His breath stuttered. Did I say anything incriminating?

"You didn't say much," she continued quickly, "but it sounded like you were talking to him." She sat beside him on the straw pallet and rested a tentative hand on his arm. "Answer me honestly: Had you planned to take Arthur's place?"

His shock must have been plain because she added quickly, "Arthur didn't tell me outright what he was planning, but I suspected. You intended to stop him, to take his place, didn't you?"

After a long moment, Merlin nodded. He expected her to pull away, to scold him, to demand an explanation for why he'd failed in his duty to protect Arthur, why he hadn't been fast enough to stop Lancelot. To his surprise, Gwen wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug. He flinched back, but she just tightened her grip. Something deep inside Merlin cracked, and the words slipped out.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as his head tipped forward to rest on her shoulder. "I didn't want him to do it."

"I know." Her voice was thick, but there was no judgment. "I'm glad you're still here."

"But at the cost of his life?"

Gwen took a shuddering breath. "It is not wrong to be grateful, even in grief," she said.

"But it was my duty, my—" His brain caught up with his mouth, slamming his jaw shut with a click.

Gwen's grip tightened. "And it is a knight's duty to protect his prince," she countered, "just as it is a prince's duty to defend his kingdom." Her tone softened. "You have not failed, Merlin, do you hear me? It was not your duty alone."

"She's right," Elyan added quietly from across the room.

Merlin jerked away from Gwen and swiped at his incriminating tears with his sleeve.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Elyan said, rising slowly and coming over to sit on the rug by the pallet. He glanced at Merlin and took a deep breath. "I, uh, haven't been sleeping well, either."

Merlin watched him, unsure what to make of that vague confession.

"I keep thinking I should have seen it coming, that I should have found a way to save all of you. Sometimes I dream that I managed to do it, too." The corner of his mouth twitched up. "One night, I even dreamed that I closed the Veil by sacrificing a chicken." Gwen blinked at him, and he huffed a self-effacing laugh. "I didn't say it made sense." His expression sobered. "I just meant that, well, I think we're all questioning why it was us who made it home instead of him. Wondering if there could have been another way."

Merlin bit his lip to stop the words that threatened to spill out: But Arthur is my responsibility. Lancelot knew that. And if I can't protect Arthur, then what am I—?

A firm rap on the door interrupted Merlin's thoughts, and Elyan offered a sympathetic smile as he rose to answer.

Merlin's heart sank as he heard Arthur's voice pose a question to Elyan, too low to catch the words. Merlin tried to compose himself while Elyan offered an equally unintelligible reply before Arthur entered the room.

Elyan inclined his head respectfully and handed over the key. "Your Highness." He cast one more worried glance at Merlin and Gwen before slipping into the hall.

Arthur hesitated, eyes searching for something in Merlin's expression, though what exactly, Merlin couldn't guess. Unbidden, Arthur's words after Balinor's death rose to the surface of his thoughts: 'No man is worth your tears.' Merlin held Arthur's gaze defiantly, emboldened in his grief. You were wrong, he thought bitterly. Did you cry for Lancelot? Would you have cried for me?

Gwen cleared her throat and stood, smoothing her skirts. "I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about," she said quietly, then paused to squeeze Arthur's hand as she passed. He dipped his head to press a soft kiss to her cheek, and Merlin heard her murmur, "Be gentle with him."

I'm not fragile, he thought. If I were, I would have broken long ago.

Arthur locked the door behind her, added the key to the ring on his belt, and took a tentative step toward Merlin. "How are you feeling?"

Merlin was tired of that question, so he ignored it. "I'm surprised to see you here. I thought prince-regents had more important things to do than playing nanny to a peasant."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "I'm here because you asked Percival this morning if I would take a shift, remember?"

Alarm bells rang in Merlin's mind. He had no idea what Morgause could use to hurt Arthur in such a sparse, safe room, but if she'd angled to get Arthur here, then there must be something. Oh. Oh, no. Had she found out about his magic? Please, no. "You shouldn't have come," Merlin blurted. "You need to leave. Now."

A flicker of hurt crossed Arthur's face. "What?"

Desperation coiled in Merlin's chest. "I, uh, I quit! Officially! And I have to tell you myself to make it properly official. I've done it, so leave." He made a hasty shooing gesture. "Now."

Arthur, as usual, didn't listen. "I already told you you're getting full pay while you recover, remember? If you quit now, the seneschal will have to stop paying you." He flashed a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Consider this the time off you've been asking for."

His response came out more bitter than he'd expected. "Oh, do you say this to all the people you throw in a cell?"

Arthur blinked. "No, that's not—I told you, this isn't a punishment. This isn't a cell."

"Could've fooled me."

Arthur took an earnest step forward and spread his hands. "Gaius said you hadn't recovered from the attack. He said once you thawed out properly, you'd—"

"What, that I wouldn't be liable to inconveniently bleed on your floor again?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I can't see what else you could mean."

Arthur held his gaze. "I meant that I…I can't bear to lose another friend."

Now? Of all times, now he wants to do this? Merlin scrambled to his feet. He was running out of time and patience. "Still don't see what that has to do with me. We're not friends."

Arthur took a step back. "But after everything—"

Merlin pulled out all the stops. "Friends don't belittle you or hit you! Friends don't repeatedly drag you on stupid quests through bandit-infested forests and ignore your warnings even after you've been right before. Friends don't criticize friends for grieving. You're not my friend; you're my employer—and a rubbish one at that."

Arthur's expression shuttered. "I didn't know you felt that way." He cleared his throat. "I see I've misjudged…" He paused, and his brow furrowed. "No, I don't believe you."

Merlin cursed inwardly. "Of course you don't. You never do."

"I know I'm a prat sometimes," Arthur admitted grudgingly, "but there's more to this"—he gestured between them—"than just a job." He took another step forward. "Normal servants don't risk their lives for their masters. Normal princes don't risk their lives for their servants."

No. Stop. I can't do this now.

Arthur continued, "You once told me I 'should listen as well as I fight.' Well, I listened. You said you were happy to be my servant 'til the day you died."

Of all the times for Arthur to pay attention. "Well, that was a long time ago."

Arthur was undeterred. "Only a week ago, you said, 'I always thought if things had been different, we'd've been good friends.'"

Please stop, Merlin pleaded. " If. I said if. If you weren't an arrogant, pompous dollop head," he ground out through clenched teeth. "But you are. I do my duty, and you do yours. That's it."

"But—"

The words tore him up inside like broken glass as he forced them out. "I used to hope that one day you'd be a better king than Uther. I know better now." He turned away; he couldn't bear the shattered expression he knew he'd see on Arthur's face when his barbed words hit their mark.

He held his breath as the silence stretched to its breaking point, then flinched when the door slammed in Arthur's wake.

A/N:

Merlin Bingo 2023: This chapter fills square A2 - "Quarantine"

Credit: The premise for this fic (the emphasis on the 'voices of the dead' aspect on the Dorocha) and the line about the chicken sacrifice were both influenced by fics I read in 2021 from the body of work of a prolific fic writer who has since hidden/deleted all of their works on AO3, so I can't properly cite them, sorry. :( But please know that their works existed and were fabulous and led to my muse eventually getting Ideas.