People are flocking into the hall, as Merlin expected, dressed in their nicest clothes with their biggest smiles. Many of these people are friends of Arthur's and belong amongst his company. Some are visiting royals from other kingdoms, and their presence is a formality rather than anything genuine, but even they are joyous. A king's birthday is no small ordeal. It is something truly worth celebrating.

Unfortunately, Arthur wades in and out of the guests looking only half interested in the party. Hopping from one conversation to the next, it seems to Merlin that the king is tiring. Responsibilities busy the manservant enough that he doesn't even realize when the king disappears from the dining hall entirely.

"Merlin," Gwen appears suddenly with a panicked voice, "did you see where Arthur went?"

Shaking his head, Merlin offers a lazy explanation. "I think he might've stepped out for a moment. He was looking a bit off earlier." She sighs before pattering off, muttering as she goes. Gwen's maternal instinct makes her a great friend and an even better handmaiden. There's a not a single person that she works for that doesn't consider her a friend.

It takes some time, but Merlin finishes the running around and tasks he'd been set to do. Once he is sure he's in the clear, the manservant sneaks into the hallway to check for the king. Nobody is around, though, which is unsettling. Arthur wouldn't have gone far unless he had no intention of coming back to the festivities. And he wouldn't have done that since the celebration is for him – for his birthday. At least, Merlin doesn't think he would do that...

Merlin's feet carry him along the familiar path he takes each morning to the king's bedroom. If Arthur really did abandon the party, it could've been because he was tired, and he would've come to his private quarters to sleep. Why he did so without alerting his servant is a bit strange, but that'll be a question for Merlin to ask when he finds the king. When he opens the door, however, the room is empty.

"Arthur?" he calls out, thinking that there might be somewhere in the room that he can't see at a glance. The king could be hiding. "Arthur?"

But there is no reply. Perhaps the throne room? Merlin twists in place and sets off to try there next.

Arthur isn't there either. Or the library. Or the kitchens. Or the courtyard. Or anywhere else in the castle that he could normally be found doing something or another…

Defeat grabs Merlin by the gut, panic threatening to take its place. Where did the king go? Where was Arthur Pendragon while his people, his friends, were throwing a party in his name in the castle? What an odd time to disappear without a trace. It isn't very becoming of a king to leave his people behind, and certainly not like Arthur to abandon his responsibility as a leader.

The thought of an unbecoming king does get Merlin's mind working, though. He'd never been fond of Uther Pendragon, Arthur's late father, who often did things that weren't kingly at all. Selfish 'til the end, Uther prioritized what he wanted above the safety and needs of others – especially in pertinence to magic. There was no reason for the young sorcerer to think kindly of the man in any capacity.

Arthur, on the other hand, held his father in the highest regard.

Nothing was done to Uther's room at Arthur's request. It was kept in the same condition it was left in at his death, and nobody was permitted inside for any reason other than to dust and clean. Usually, Gwen was tasked with this work because she could be trusted. As far as Merlin had known, Arthur never went back into the room.

Yet, there he was, sitting at the foot of his father's bed, face cupped by his hands. Merlin inched inside as quietly as possible, only coughing ever so slightly to alert Arthur that he was there. The king didn't lift his head to greet his servant, nor did he reply in any way. The quiet stayed.

Having lost his own father, Merlin understands the emptiness Arthur is feeling. "I was worried about you. Why didn't you say you were leaving?"

Scoffing, he shrugs his shoulders. "I keep looking for his face in the crowd. He can't be there but I keep looking anyway."

Merlin's throat tightens; a lump blocks him from breathing. It is so rare for Arthur Pendragon to be vulnerable. Grief must be drowning him if he is this forthcoming about his sorrow. Aware that the king is hurting, Merlin simply joins the king at the foot of his father's bed.

He is unsure if Arthur is comforted by his presence or not, but he doesn't cast Merlin away. He doesn't tell the manservant to leave. Instead, they sit in the silence. Arthur is undoubtedly reflecting on his memories of his father while Merlin considers the life he lived without one. What a strong influence a father can have, oftentimes without even realizing it. The short time that Merlin knew his father changed him. He still feels the effects of those experiences, the impact they've made on his life even today.

They stay for quite a long time. Nobody comes around to this wing of the castle, though Merlin is sure that people are looking for their king. If not, at least Gwen will be starting to worry about where they've both gone.

When everything feels right, Merlin decides to address Arthur. "I don't need to tell you what your father would've wanted from you. We both know he would want you to be strong and to go back to the party."

"He'd be furious that I'm even in here," Arthur laughs.

Merlin positions himself a bit forward so he can see the king's expression. It is important to him that Arthur hears what he has to say. It is important the Arthur understand what he means. "But sometimes to be strong is to be sad."

Arthur laughs again, but this time he looks over at Merlin. They hold one another's gaze somehow awkwardly and comfortably. Everything between them is strange yet familiar. Neither of them seems to ever care. When the manservant breaks out into a grin, the king follows suit. "I hate it when you give good advice, Merlin."

"I know," he mumbles, glad that Arthur was receptive and tired from the night's festivities. Both men relaxing now, they lean away from one another onto a bedpost.

Arthur starts tapping his fingers against his leg. "Merlin…"

"Yes?" he asks, distracted with nothing in particular.

"If I can't have my father here, then I'm glad that I have you," Arthur admits, voice soft and tone deliberate. Absolutely he means what he is saying. The lump that was in Merlin's throat earlier returns, bigger now than before, and more suffocating too. "You are quite possibly my best and only friend, Merlin."

Dipping his chin into his chest, Merlin struggles to find his voice. Arthur notices straight away, nudging him to draw out a response. "As you are mine," he mutters.

If they can't have their fathers, there really is no better thing to have than each other. Two sides of the same coin, Merlin thought, destinies intertwined.