Chapter Text
Someone grabs Merlin by the arm, pulling him back. Merlin opens his mouth, to yell or to fight back but the words die in his throat when he sees Arthur’s eyes, haunting and arresting. Open and scared and so utterly desperate Merlin’s stomach drops.
“Arthur?” he asks softly and Arthur can’t even respond, can’t speak, just stares at him with those frantic eyes and uneven breaths.
“I thought you’d gone.” Arthur’s grip around Merlin’s arm tightens, “And I know it would’ve been my fault, I know that but I-”
They’re standing too close to one another, Merlin can’t think straight. He just feels Arthur’s hands and the heat radiating off him. He hears his short breaths, is overtaken by the part of Arthur’s lips, can practically see the words that are aching to burst out of him that he can’t articulate.
Now that Merlin knows Arthur is physically okay, he finds it in himself to harden. Just enough.
“I went to find Gaius.” He says, knowing it will wound him.
Arthur draws back. It’s like Merlin’s touch burns him, his gaze averted, “Is he alright?”
“He was tortured. I thought he wasn’t going to…”
Arthur sucks in a breath.
The part of Merlin that wants Arthur to hurt like he did dies at the hitch of his voice and he simply looks at him, “But he’s going to be alright. I made sure of it.”
The relief is palpable in the air, Arthur sags with it, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. He lets his head fall back, it makes a little tap against the stone and Merlin winces but the pain only seems to centre Arthur. “Good.” He says at last, “Good. I-” Arthur cuts himself off, his face dropping into a hand and Merlin has the dawning realization that he’s crying.
“Arthur,” and just like that, just like always, all the bitterness and anger and betrayal disappears from Merlin’s heart because the one thing he cannot bear more than his own grief is Arthur’s. “Arthur what’s the matter?”
Arthur shakes his head, sucks in a gasp and wipes at his face. From afar, it looks like nothing’s happened, but Merlin’s memorized every contour of Arthur’s precious face, every line, every shadow. He can see the tinge of pink around his irises, the slight tremor of his lip, the flush of his cheeks.
Merlin opens his mouth and suddenly Arthur’s hands are on him, his fingers twisting into the lapel of Merlin’s jacket. At first, Merlin thinks Arthur is shaking him until he realizes it is only Arthur’s own trembling, permeating into his own skin.
Arthur’s head ducks, his forehead at Merlin’s collar, his knuckles white with a grip that refuses to lessen. “Don’t tell me my uncle is the traitor, Merlin.” Arthur heaves, throat closing, “Tell me it’s someone else. Tell me it’s anyone else.” He looks up imploringly and Merlin feels his entire heart shatter.
“Please.”
And Merlin is reaching for him. Helplessly, painfully, inevitably. His arms wrap around Arthur in a suffocating grip, both of them interlocked at angles that are too painful to be tender, but they don’t let go. They can’t.
“I would give anything in the world Arthur,” Merlin wants to be fierce, but he can hear how sorry he is instead, “anything at all, to shield you from the truth. But I tried and I failed and I can’t.”
Arthur’s eyes shine once more and he bites his lip so hard he draws blood. “Why?”
Merlin’s hold tightens, pulling in his upper lip before he finds his resolve, “The way I’m yours, he is Morgana’s. I’m sorry Arthur. I’m so sorry.”
Arthur takes a moment to process, squeezing his eyes shut, a tear slipping past and falling off his lashes. He presses his hands to his stomach like trying to push back his grief before opening his eyes and pulling away. “I was wrong about everything. I’ve been wrong about everything. I can’t tell who is friend or foe and I bring close the wrong people while turning away allies.” Arthur’s head lolls upward, all the fight gone out of him, “I’m not fit to be King. You would’ve been better off if you really had left Merlin. I don’t deserve you.” He gestures weakly around them, “I don’t deserve any of this.”
Arthur wipes at his eyes once more, turning around when Merlin’s hand darts out, wrapping around his elbow, “What are you talking about? Where is this coming from? I-”
“Where is this NOT coming from?” Arthur yells back, a dam breaking right before Merlin’s eyes, “Every single decision I have made since becoming king has been wrong. I almost started a war, Merlin. For what? My pride? My reputation? And now I- I-” he runs a frantic hand through his hair, unable to stand still, “Gaius has looked after me since I was old enough to remember having anyone around. He’s been loyal to me, to my father, to everyone I’ve ever held dear and I- because I’m so desperate and pathetic and-”
Merlin lets Arthur go, head tilted, a sudden understanding piercing through. He knows Arthur better than he knows himself. He knows every curvature of his soul, would know the shape of him blind. They’ve both been dancing around this facet of Arthur’s heart, neither of them acknowledging the painfully obvious because it’s too harrowing to speak about. Sometimes, Merlin is forced to confront the fact that he loves Arthur more than he should.
Sometimes, he’s certain he will love Arthur to both their doom.
“Everyone wants to be loved Arthur.” He says quietly and Arthur flinches violently. “I understand why you wanted to be blind to Agravaine’s betrayal. I know it hurts.”
“No Merlin.” Arthur shakes his head, voice low and rueful, “You don’t. Because you’re not impossible to love. Not like I am.”
Arthur smiles and Merlin hates it. “You will never know what it’s like to continuously melt yourself down to mold yourself into the shape they’ll like best. Over and over until you lose all sense of yourself and you realize there will never be a shape they want to keep. That you’ve ruined yourself for nothing.”
Merlin’s entire body is throbbing, he feels Arthur’s pain so acutely it may as well be his own.
“When my uncle came back into my life, I was so happy. I thought- I thought he was my chance to do it right, to do right by both my father and my mother. Here he was, the last living thing that connected me to her but I’m…” Arthur looks down at his hands, clenches and unclenches his fist.
“Your mother is a wonderful woman Merlin,” he says abruptly, and Merlin blinks from the shift, “I know your life wasn’t always easy in Ealdor, but I would trade everything I have to have grown up with a love like that.”
“You were loved Arthur.” Merlin’s mouth feels dry, he’s saying all the wrong things, he knows it, he knows it, “You are loved.”
Arthur shakes his head, “Not like that. Not for certain. Not for real. Not without condition. Every single relative I have is either dead because of me or hates me. Do you know what I think about all the time? Every moment I’m awake?” Arthur’s eyes are barren. Merlin wants desperately to hide from them. “I think about what my mother said, when Morgause conjured her spirit. Do you remember it?”
Merlin can only look on with wide eyes and a heart that begs for him to cover its ears.
“She said, ‘now I have seen you, I would have given my life willingly.’ Do you know what that means?” Arthur asks, his voice shaking, raw and horrible, “Does that mean her soul was in agony all this time? For all those years? Hating my father and me for killing her? Did she resent me up until she saw me? Saw her own eyes reflecting back at her and decided she somehow loved me anyway?”
“Arthur-”
“No Merlin! Tell me! You know I actually thought he loved me. Truly loved me?”
And Merlin doesn’t know anymore if Arthur means his father or his uncle or whether it even matters anymore.
“But that’s just because I didn’t know what love was supposed to look like. I didn’t know what it felt like, to not have approval dangle before you like a carrot and their reproach club you from behind like a stick. My father doled out affection like punishment, with purpose. And I still cried anyway, when he died. I cried the entire night you waited outside the door because even though it was a mockery, it was still the only love I knew I was going to get.”
Arthur laughs, dry and unfeeling, “Because at that point, my sister had already gone. She decided she hated me too and- this part is funny actually, it really truly is- Morgana and I had been rivals our whole lives and then we became close in our adulthood only for me to find she had been extra patient with me, extra kind, extra loving,” he spits, “to try and deceive me. I thought she-”
Arthur cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair, hiding his eyes. “Of all the things my father’s done,” he says in a low voice, “this is the second thing I can’t ever forgive him for.” And when he looks up, Merlin feels his own lip tremble, “I would have given everything,” Arthur’s voice breaks, “to know I had a sister. To know that she was mine and I was hers the way I used to wish when I was younger and was so lonely I felt it physically in my chest. Why would he have denied us that? For my claim to the throne?”
“All the power in the world won’t fill this emptiness inside me. And then my uncle comes and I think, this is it. I’ve learned now. I’ll be better now. I won’t ruin it like I ruin everything, I’ll be the perfect nephew for him and I’ll make him stay. This time,” he asserts and the tears roll down his cheeks traitorously, “I’ll make someone stay.”
“So I’m sorry.” Arthur says roughly, looking at Merlin through red-rimmed eyes and a horribly flushed face, “I’m sorry that I was selfish. I’m sorry that I will never be good enough and that there will always be more traitors because I’m not worth being loyal to. And I’m sorry that you will inevitably find them and I will inevitably hate you for it. Because that’s the most terrible thing about me.” Arthur admits, shaking his head in self-loathing.
“You, Merlin, are the person I trust most in the world. You’re the only person I’m certain I know and you’re the only person whose loyalty to me I don’t doubt and that makes me terrible, taking advantage of your devotion by showing you the worst parts of me I can’t show anyone else because I know you’ll stay anyway. So you should leave.” He says at last, finally reaching his point, “Because you deserve better than this,” he gestures to the castle, “and much, much better than me.”
Arthur’s breathing hard. He feels like an earthquake has ripped through him, he’s raw in the middle, torn open for the world to see. He is terrified and paralyzed and so vulnerable he wants to bury himself beneath the sea. He doesn’t know what he wants anymore, whether he wants Merlin to go or to stay or-
“How could you say that to me?” Merlin yells, storming up to Arthur’s face and all but shoving him against the wall.
Merlin’s hands are at his chest, pressing into his ribs. His brows are drawn together in a fury, lip pulled into a line, “You want me to go?? That’s what you want!?”
“Look at me Merlin! Is this the great king you once said you would be proud to serve until the day you die?” Arthur shoves him right back, red and raging, “Look at me!”
“I am looking! And you know what I see? A coward!”
Arthur jerks back and Merlin’s eyes flash as he steps forward.
“You don’t want me to go! You want me to stay! But you’re too much of a coward to say it. You don’t think I should want to be with you? Then be better! Be the man I know you are! You think the great king you’re going to be is still in the future and I’ve been trying to tell you that you’ve been that man all this time. You’ve just been blind to it, hiding yourself behind your walls of insecurities and the ghost of your father and Agravaine’s manipulations.”
Arthur’s eyes are round and he looks so fragile Merlin wants to sweep him in his arms and press kisses to his hair. This is the moment. This is where he becomes so frightened by the ferocity of his love that he will coddle Arthur rather than upset him, valuing his happiness over his greater good. What’s the real testament of love? Protecting them? Or breaking their bones once more so they reset right this time?
Merlin looks into Arthur’s eyes, his beautiful, boundless, endless eyes and finds all the answers he needs. Sees Arthur’s brokenness for what it is, sees his deepest wish, his desire be held. Merlin is sure if he were to gather Arthur up in his arms, he would never leave them until Merlin himself drew back.
“Morgana and Agravaine? Their betrayals had nothing to do with you. They crave your power. That’s it.”
Arthur shakes his head, “No. All of us have things we love more than our goals.” Arthur’s gaze catches his own and Merlin knows what he’s about to say next will change the very air, “When the dorocha attacked you, I had never felt such grief and the only thing I could think about, the only thing that would satisfy the fear in my heart, was getting you back to Camelot and saving your life. If it had been anyone else other than Lancelot, I would have abandoned the quest, abandoned the veil, subjected Camelot to certain doom, because I knew then that whether I saved the kingdom or not, it wouldn’t have mattered if I lost you doing it.”
Merlin’s mouth parts and Arthur shakes his head.
“I would have abandoned my crown. I would have given them my life. I would have changed everything about myself to keep them. They just didn’t love me enough. Any of them.” He closes his eyes, “I’ll have to make peace with that. I’ll have to sew back up my bleeding heart but don’t fret, Merlin. It’s not like I haven’t been here before.”
And oh, oh, Merlin can’t make the hard choices. Can’t hurt Arthur for his own good. Can’t pick tough love when his own heart is squeezing. He chooses Arthur over everything. Over everyone. Each and every time.
Merlin leaps at him, hooking his arms around Arthur’s neck and pressing his face into his neck. “But I love you. I love you enough. More than enough. More than everything- I love you more than you will ever understand, Arthur I-” Merlin pulls away, his hands sliding up Arthur’s neck to hold both his cheeks, drawing their faces closer together, “I don’t care about before, about our fight in the Great Hall, I don’t care anymore, I forgive you. I forgive you for all of it, I forgive you for whatever comes next, just- just stop doing this to yourself. Open your heart to me. Stop being afraid of being happy God-just-”
Merlin’s fingers press into Arthur’s skin like he wants to fuse them into one being. “I know you feel like you’re not supposed to love me. That you’re not supposed to love your knights. That you’re not supposed to love Gwen or Gaius. That you’re supposed to put your family before the peasantry, and this is just another thing you’re failing at but you’ve failed at nothing. And everyone you’re so terrified to let get close to you? We’re the ones who are with you through all of it, through anything, to the absolute end of everything.”
Merlin’s almost shaking him, begging him to understand, “I will be there and I will love you so fiercely you’ll forget you ever knew what loneliness was. I’ll love you until there is nothing empty about you. And I will love you because I want to. Because even though a part of it is just helpless, I would choose to anyway. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done, Arthur. There as nothing impossible about it.” He says softly before smiling.
“We met because you tried to take my head off with a mace but my first day of work you laughed at my joke and I knew then and there that I was gone. That there was no other way this was going to end than me at your side forever.”
Arthur’s lip tremors and Merlin smooths it out with his thumb, “But you’re right too. We can’t keep doing this. Your idealism, your trusting heart, your projection of your own undying loyalty to others…those are the things that make you, you, and I’m happy to be your shadow, do the things that would break your heart so you can stay unmarred. But when I come to you then, with things you don’t want to hear, you have to believe me. You have to trust me. Really, truly trust me. If you want me to stay then work to keep me. I want to be yours Arthur, but you have to let me.” Merlin brushes Arthur’s face like a plea, “Please let me. I don’t ever want to leave.”
Arthur’s hand grasps at Merlin’s wrists, thumb pressed into the dips of his palms. “I’ll be better.” He swears, “I will. So don’t leave me. If it’s you…I wouldn’t survive it, Merlin. I just wouldn’t. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m-”
And maybe it’s the wrong time, maybe it’s the right one, Merlin just doesn’t know but he can’t hear a single more apology. The only certain thing is that his heart feels like bursting and Arthur looks so sad and fragile and Merlin’s felt his whole life that there was a gaping wound inside of him, a hollowness that only Arthur fit right into. Their whole lives, they had been a single heart forcibly split in two and there is no world in which Merlin finds the strength to leave him because he’d rather suffer and be whole than suffer even more with only half of him.
Merlin pulls Arthur’s hands against his chest and kisses him, gently, and then madly, pushing him against the wall, pressing every inch of his body against him. He kisses him with the passion of his whole soul, pouring himself into it, hoping desperately Arthur will understand. Arthur hesitates for only a moment before dropping Merlin’s wrists and pulling him closer by the waist, leaving Merlin free to wrap his arms once more around Arthur’s neck, wanting to shield him from the world.
Their lips part, their foreheads bending together. “I’ll try to be more discerning.” Arthur promises, “I won’t be so desperate. And I’ll show you,” he swallows, kissing Merlin hard on the mouth once more, “I’ll show you that I cherish you. That love is too small a word. That every part of me aches for you with a need I will never be able to articulate.”
Merlin kisses him again, tender and soft.
“If I let myself love you,” Arthur whispers, “I’ll be holding your hand as you put the knife to my throat.”
“And if you let me love you back,” Merlin replies, his hands tracing Arthur’s neck before falling to Arthur’s heart, “that will be you trusting that I won’t.”
Arthur’s expression trembles and Merlin thinks about how heartbreaking it is to see mountains crumble. How even mighty kings can dissolve. That sadness is just sadness and no amount of fierce strength or fearless courage can lessen the blow.
Arthur collapses into Merlin’s neck, holding him tightly. “Let me go see Gaius. I need to beg for his forgiveness.”
“He’ll give it to you freely.” Merlin assures him, fingers running through Arthur’s hair.
Arthur squeezes him, “I’ll spend every day earning it. But first, let’s just stay here. Just for a little while.”
Merlin tightens their embrace, closing his eyes and letting Arthur carry his weight. He’s been so tired for so long, caught in the push and pull of their dynamic, where he knows Arthur loves him above all others but can never act like it. Can never show it. Now, with Arthur in his arms and a river of apologies gushing from his lips, the relief and his fear battle in his ribs.
If Arthur finally acknowledges him as an equal, there are so many less lies he’ll have to tell. So many hurtful comments that won’t ever be made. So much more trust that will flow between them like the smiles Merlin gives him helplessly.
And yet if Arthur finally acknowledges him as the person he loves, Merlin suddenly has so much more to lose.
It’s like punishment, this masochistic side of him that never stays angry at Arthur for long no matter what he does or says because he knows he’s doing something worse. Arthur doesn’t know that Merlin has an understanding of things far more complex and deeper than he can ever know. He doesn’t know about the plots Merlin has stopped or the villains he’s created. The lies Merlin keeps beneath his tongue are only getting darker. They’re only getting more violent and frightening and now, with Arthur in his arms, Merlin almost wants to laugh so that he won’t cry about how Arthur is afraid of daggers when he should really be afraid of the gold in Merlin’s eyes.
Arthur holds Merlin against him like he is something precious and only Merlin knows he’s a weapon.
It's all about moments, the right ones never come. So Merlin stands there and demands Arthur to trust him knowing it doesn’t flow both ways and hoping beyond hope that Arthur will still love him anyway, when it inevitably all comes out. He’s playing with something dangerous, something horrifically fragile and young. His will be the betrayal that breaks him, Merlin knows. He knows, he knows and so he can never tell him. Can never tell Arthur the truth, can’t bear to see his heart shatter in his eyes, the tears that will well past his cheeks and over the lips he won’t ever get to kiss.
Arthur is so intertwined in his soul that to hurt him would be to hurt himself and Merlin doesn’t know how to say that he would rather stab the knife through his own heart than be the reason Arthur ever looks at him the way he did when he found out what Morgana had done. What Agravaine had done. What Uther had done first.
“I love you.” Merlin repeats, burying himself within Arthur’s embrace, “I love you Arthur. I always have and I always will.”
He doesn’t know why he says it. Love has never saved them before and he knows it won’t save them now.
When Arthur apologizes to Gaius, he cries.
Gaius holds his hand and squeezes two times.
“I will stand by you Gaius. I will never doubt you again. Forgive me.”
“I can forgive you my dear boy, but can you forgive yourself?”
Arthur doesn’t know the answer to that.
He doesn’t know if he’s allowed.
Arthur gives himself one night. He allows himself one night of anguish and mourning and rage and bitterness and sadness. He gives himself one night to let himself peer into the gaping hole inside of him and be tempted by the darkness within it. He stares into the abyss, hearing the imagined screams of his mother from within it, Morgana’s diamond laugh, his father’s booming voice, his own inner monologue that just never stops, a torrent of criticisms he will never be able to appease.
Arthur sits at the edge of the world, dangling his feet over the edge, wondering what it would feel like to just give up and fall in. The wounds inside him are so deep he’s not even certain there would be a bottom, just an eternity of hurtling past all of his failures and insecurities, stomach up his throat, nausea at his tongue.
Merlin asks to stay with him and all Arthur can do is smile so imperceptibly only Merlin would notice it. He brushes Merlin’s hair from his eyes and whispers, “No one should have to see me like this. Least of all you. Go on Merlin. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Merlin looks like he wants to argue. Looks like he wants to stay. So Arthur kisses the fight out of him, pushing him backwards as he bites and licks at Merlin’s tongue until he is breathless with it, Merlin’s cheeks flushed, lips swollen so invitingly Arthur almost forgets that he’s dying. They’re at the door and when Merlin realizes what he’s done, he turns betrayed eyes to him and Arthur laughs, genuine this time, but still faint.
“Don’t wring your heart dry with worry Merlin.” Arthur murmurs against his skin.
“I’m always worrying.”
Arthur opens the door and kisses him once more.
“If you need me…if you want me-” Merlin amends.
“Then I’ll come straight to you.” Arthur promises.
Merlin frowns. “Will you?”
“Have I ever lied to you?” Arthur poses and doesn’t quite understand when a veil falls over Merlin’s eyes, his light suddenly dimming.
Because no. For all of Arthur’s faults, he was true and honest, baring all of himself to Merlin and Merlin alone. His thoughts were plain to see on his face, his words never vague or meandering, his emotions clear like the day, for anyone who cared enough to see. Arthur’s lied to others it’s true. He’s lied to his knights and his father and to anyone he needed to in order to protect the greater good.
But he didn’t lie to Merlin.
Merlin looks away.
“I know you haven’t.” he answers softly, taking Arthur’s hand and pressing his fingers to his lips in a lingering goodbye.
And when Merlin finally leaves, when Arthur is certain he can hear the footsteps fading down the hall, that is when he falls onto his bed and curls into a tight little ball. That is when he lets his chest shake and shake, feel the rumbling of an ocean whose tide had receded now racing towards him, swallowing him whole. He looks down into the abyss and let’s himself feel everything he will have to turn off tomorrow and lets it consume him.
He punches the wall, his blood smeared across the stone as his knuckles shriek in protest. He howls into his pillow, burying his face like trying to suffocate himself. He waits until he really can’t breathe, black spots at his vision before pulling away gasping, just to do it all over again. He wails into his hands, staunching the sound of it, the absolute mortification of it all. And when it’s all over, when his body has nothing left to give, he hides beneath the blankets and just lets himself think. He thinks and thinks and thinks and when the day arrives, he doesn’t know if he’s slept but he finally has a plan and this is the first time since his father died that he truly feels like he’s made the right decision on his own.
When Merlin arrives with his breakfast tray, he opens the door to find Arthur already dressed, staring out the window, his face all sharp edges. Merlin sets the tray down and approaches him cautiously. His hand hesitates in the air, like he’s uncertain about how much of yesterday was a dream and how much of it was just a manifestation of his raw yearning.
Arthur turns around when he notices, taking Merlin’s hand out of the air and bringing it against his mouth. “Did you sleep well?” he asks and can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips when he sees how entranced Merlin is by their entwined hands.
“Not really,” Merlin responds honestly, “you?” though he already knows the answer.
“If I managed to get even a half hour’s worth of sleep, I would consider myself lucky.” Arthur replies before sighing, rubbing a palm against his eye, “Which is unfortunate, as today I will need every bit of me to make it through.”
“You have a plan.” Merlin states, as though that was a bad thing and Arthur simply looks at him.
“It’s not as much a plan as it is doing what needs to be done.”
“You’ll be summoning court today?” Merlin asks slowly, knowing Arthur well enough to take a guess at what he will do next.
That look is back in Arthur’s eyes, glinting and relentless. “No.” he answers, hard and soft all at once, “I have no need for a jury. But if you like, since I know you will ask, you can hide behind the far east pillar. But you cannot be seen.”
Merlin’s eyes widen, but he wisely doesn’t say anything. He’s too afraid to ask whether he’ll be witness to an execution or a slaughter. He’s more afraid of the answer. Afraid of how little he will care, whatever it may be. He would see Arthur fall into the dark and care only that he was still by his side. He would see Arthur become a terrible king and still want for nothing but his long health and happiness.
He would watch Arthur murder his uncle in cold blood knowing full well that he would simply hold Arthur close to him once it’s done, murmuring sweet nothings in his ear to comfort him as they sit in the growing pool of blood.
“Come on then, let’s get this over with.” Arthur’s every step feels like he’s marching himself to his own death.
His feet feel heavy in his boots, his limbs uncoordinated and slow, like he’s trying to run through water. Somehow, he makes it to the Great Hall, settling down on his throne and ordering the guards to summon his uncle and for everyone else to leave. Merlin touches Arthur’s cheek, letting his fingers caress the skin, “I love you.” He whispers pointlessly before he hides behind the pillar, sliding down to the floor and clutching his arms around his knees.
It is absolutely silent when Agravaine strides in, smiling widely at his nephew, arms outstretched. “Arthur! You never call upon me so early in the morning, what a pleasant surprise.”
Arthur’s expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t even move. Just regards his uncle with a tight jaw and set eyes, his entire body tense in his throne, poised to pounce.
“Arthur? What’s the matter?”
The king turns his head to look at him and Agravaine feels a tremor of fear run up his spine.
“On your knees uncle.”
“I-” Agravaine sputters, turning his gaze around the room like someone would pop out and say this was all a practical joke, “What are you saying Arthur-”
“On your knees!” Arthur commands and Agravaine falls to the floor, breath getting louder.
“Arthur, whatever is going on I can-”
Arthur surges up from the throne and Agravaine flinches, though tries to pretend that he hasn’t.
“You can what, uncle?” Arthur sneers, “Explain? What exactly, is there to explain?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea what you think you’re doing here.” Agravaine insists and Arthur doesn’t understand how he never saw it before.
How could he have never noticed that slimy quality in him. The sleazy energy that slinked off him in waves, the shiftiness of his eyes, the silver of his tongue. Oh how he weaved such beautiful stories, how pretty his words were, how perfect for every situation. God, Arthur had been a fool. A stupid, naïve, hard-headed fool so blinded by want that he had missed all the signs.
Each and every one.
“I should have known it was too good to be true the minute you stepped foot in Camelot when my father became ill after having barely spoken to me my whole life.” Arthur says softly, not quite talking to Agravaine; looking at him, but not really seeing him.
“I told you Arthur, I had business matters to attend to but the minute I heard you needed me I came running.”
“Yes.” Arthur agrees, “You were speedy in your arrival here. A tender Camelot ready to be taken at such a pivotal moment was too good a chance to pass up, wasn’t it uncle?” Arthur turns the full force of his gaze upon him now, a wildfire raging.
“I would never sit on your throne sire. You must believe me!” Agravaine implores and Arthur’s lip pulls in a mockery of a smile.
“No, you wouldn’t. Because you don’t want the throne for yourself.” Arthur starts and he can see the fear permeate across Agravaine’s face, the entire house of cards collapsing around him.
And finally. Finally, finally, Arthur is the one cutting the strings. Arthur is the one with the better plan all along. Arthur is the one who gets to be twenty steps ahead, finally not underestimated, finally seeing things as they are versus how he wants them to be. He understands it now, how much he has hurt himself because he was too afraid to be realistic, couldn’t face the reality of a world painted in grey and so decided it should be a binary instead.
“You want the throne for her.” He finishes and Agravaine is furiously shaking his head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Agravaine insists again and Arthur has had enough.
He’s had enough.
“Stop it!” he yells, his voice ricocheting across the walls. “Enough!” he demands. “I know uncle! I know you and Morgana have been plotting for the throne. I know you have sabotaged me and this castle and all the people within it. I know that you have taken advantage of my hospitality and my affection for you, manipulating me for your own ends so I’d come willingly to my own slaughter. I know that you hate me.” And here is the only time Arthur will let his voice tremble because the tragedy of it all is still fresh in his lungs and his heart and his mouth, “I just don’t know why.”
Agravaine is silent for a long time, his chin dropping before he shakes his head, hiding his face in his hands. Arthur thinks at first that he may be crying. For a brief second, his heart sings at the chance of true remorse, that maybe he had been wrong all along and his uncle truly did love him, somewhere deep in his heart. But then Agravaine raises his head and Arthur can see that he is laughing, an ugly, cruel laugh that twists his entire face into something unrecognizable.
“Why?” Agravaine demands, lifting his head now to glare at Arthur with a hatred that has him stepping back from the shock of it, “Because your father killed my sister. She was the only person I ever loved and he thought the name Pendragon was more important than her life.”
Arthur’s eyes squeeze shut. His knees sway beneath him. He thinks all the time- all the time- how he would have been hated so much less had his father died instead of his mother. Arthur never had to create his own enemies because his father forged them all for him and isn’t that just unbearable? Hundreds of strangers and allies alike all vying for his blood for nothing that he’s ever done, for traits that he doesn’t even have, for a history he never helped to create. His father had been so erroneously, terribly, undoubtedly wrong about so many things and all that it left behind was a never dying cycle of hatred and vengeance that Arthur would have to bear until the day he too was murdered in his room, dying alone on the floor.
"I hate my father for that too.” He says in a quiet voice and Agravaine stops, staring at him with disbelieving eyes. “I hate my father every day for what he did. For what he continued to do. But that had nothing to do with me.” Arthur’s voice hardens as it rises, his anger rolling off him, “I loved you. You must know that. You must know that, even now, as I’m trying so desperately to talk to you even though I can barely think from the pain of it.”
“Nothing to do with you?” Agravaine demands, lurching up to his feet, “Nothing to do with you?? You stole her life and then you stole her face. Every day I look at you and see Ygraine. In your eyes, in your nose, in the way your brows draw when you’re upset, even now, even in this moment, I look at you and see the sister you took from me.”
There was a time, not even that long ago, where those words would have made Arthur fall to his knees.
“You replaced her from this world, a mockery of who she was and we are all lesser for it.” Agravaine’s eyes flash, “Your father deserved a worse death than he got. He deserved thousands of years worth of agony. He deserved to die screaming. His madness near the end was small pittance but I relished every second of it.”
Agravaine is bracing for a fight, he thinks Arthur will hit him, tackle him to the floor roaring. But there’s no more rage inside him anymore. He is a fire, all gone out.
“I can count the stories I know about my mother in her girlhood on one hand, do you know that?” Arthur asks softly, the gentle light making him almost golden, “But in each and every one, you were there uncle. Playing with her, supporting her, uplifting her. I knew how much my mother adored you before I ever knew she might have loved me.”
Arthur tilts his head. “Do you think she’d love you still?”
Agravaine’s entire face twists, a monstrous, gruesome thing. “You don’t know ANYTHING about Ygraine! You have stories. I have memories. You will never love her the way I do. You will never know her like I do.”
Arthur moves like lightning, snapping Agravaine’s arm behind his back and pressing on his knee until he slams into the ground, his bones making a cracking sound against the stone. Agravaine cries out, pressing his lips into a thin white line as Arthur tugs his arm behind even further, bending low so his mouth is at his ear. “Here is what I know uncle.” Arthur says in a low voice, “I know that I will toss you to the interrogators for every bit of information you have on Morgana’s whereabouts and plans. I know that you will rot in a dungeon with no windows waiting for your life to end.”
Arthur throws him forward, watching with dull eyes as Agravaine falls back on his hands, staring up at him in fear.
“I know that you will replay this moment over and over in your head. That I will haunt you in your dreams. That you will see me in corners and behind doors. You will remember how I called you a traitor. How I said you broke my heart. You will think about this moment so often while recalling my mother that you’ll hear my words being said with her face.”
Agravaine shakes his head, crawling backwards while Arthur stalks closer, his voice only getting harder. “When you remember what you’ve done, you will remember seeing my grief but it will be in her eyes and you will regret ever choosing your hatred when you could have just loved her son the way she would have instead. You have tarnished my mother’s legacy Agravaine and here is the truth of the matter.”
Arthur bends down so they’re at eye level.
Agravaine is shaking. Arthur is still as stone.
“You will rot in your cell and when you die you will feel grateful. Finally your penance is done, finally, you will get to see her again, beautiful as the day she died. But she will find you in the other world only to turn her back to you. You will sob as she walks away and you will wait in purgatory for what will feel like centuries, begging desperately for my arrival because you know you will be locked out of heaven and my forgiveness your only key.”
Arthur looks into his uncle’s eyes for the last time. He lets the hard edges of his anger fall away into the hurt it was hiding all along. Lets his uncle see the extent of the damage he wrought upon his nephew. How thoroughly he had ripped him apart. How immensely he tore down his only sister’s legacy.
“Remember me uncle. I was your redemption and now I am only the gallows you swing from.”
Arthur stands, looking every bit like the great king he is prophesized to be. He shines beneath the light, the scarlet of his garments burns like fire. The beauty of his eyes is entirely Ygraine and when Agravaine looks upon his face, his eyes well with tears he cannot vanish.
Arthur calls for the guards and Agravaine is dragged by his arms, twisting and writhing, shouting Arthur’s name. “Wait!” he begs, “Wait!”
But Arthur has turned his back to him and Agravaine is gripped with the terror that one day his beloved sister will too. That he has ruined everything. That he has lost everything.
“Arthur!” he opens his mouth to scream a threat or a profanity or anything, anything, just to get Arthur to look at him, when Merlin appears from behind a pillar, looking terrifying and wretched.
The words die in Agravaine’s throat, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. There is a monster in this room and it is glaring at him with more enmity than he knew could fit within just one man. Merlin’s eyes lift in a challenge and Agravaine is struck by the fear that if he speaks his tongue will be ripped right out his throat.
He watches as Merlin places a possessive hand on Arthur’s arm before Agravaine is dragged out the room and down the hall never to be seen again.
In the Great Hall, Arthur bends his head until it leans against Merlin’s temple. They stand there, leaning into each other, Merlin intertwining his fingers within Arthur’s own and just stroking his hand. “I’ve never seen Agravaine look so afraid.” Merlin breaks the silence in a low voice.
Arthur twists his lip with a strangled sound, “And yet my heart is weak for that gives me no joy. I almost wish he was dead, then mourning him would at least be acceptable.”
Merlin pulls away, dragging Arthur’s gaze to his, “You have every right to mourn even now. Even as he breathes. Even as he lives. Because you no longer have an uncle and that’s still a loss.”
Arthur tries to smile, but it’s only the ghost of one. “And yet there is no time for tears, we must find where Morgana is hiding and more importantly, figure out how to subdue someone with all the power in the world.”
Arthur closes his eyes, suddenly fatigued and Merlin can’t help but jump toward him, hugging him as tight as he can, arms wrapped around his waist, face in Arthur’s chest. He hugs him and hugs him, pressing his lips into his shirt so that he won’t spill all his secrets that clamor to come out. He wants to pour his soul out at Arthur’s feet, wants to drop to his knees and pledge his heart and his life and undying fealty, wants there to be no space between their skin all the while feeling the miles his secrets place between them.
He cannot endure the sheer bareness of Arthur’s heart when his is so shrouded in lies.
“Thank you, Merlin.” Arthur says, kissing Merlin’s hair and embracing him back. “All my life I’ve lived beneath a downpour of doubt. I’ll never be good enough. I’ll never be wise enough. I’ll never be worthy. It rained every day until the clouds parted in just one tiny spot and the sun shone right here.” He taps at Merlin’s mouth and Merlin buries his face deeper, trying to stifle his cries.
He wishes Arthur would scream at him. He wishes he would rage and yell and belittle him while calling him foolish and an idiot. He wishes he were a crueller man. That he was a tyrant. Wishes he wasn’t the entirety of Merlin’s pride and joy. Wishes he wouldn’t say things that broke Merlin’s heart because oh, oh, how could he ever be honest now? How could he ever tell this beautiful, tender, vulnerable boy that the Merlin he fell in love with barely exists at all.
Arthur was right when he said that love is carnage. Merlin has the power to annihilate him with just one truth and when Arthur happy and whole is all he wants in the world, how is he ever supposed to do that? He can’t. He just can’t.
“I love you so much Arthur.” Merlin tries hard not to sob, “I love you with a force the four winds would be jealous of.”
“And yet you sound saddened by it.”
Merlin pulls away instantly, his fingers gripping Arthur’s shirt, “Never.” He answers vehemently, “Hearts can’t choose who they call for it’s true, but if I could, I would choose you over and over. In every lifetime, in every world here or beyond. I would find you and I would choose you because there is no one else I could ever want but you.”
Arthur’s eyes widen and Merlin can see the doubt clash within him, his inherent insecurity, his certainty that no one could ever want him for keeps and Merlin’s own heart hardens in resolve. He can’t ever tell Arthur the truth until he knows Arthur has stopped placing his self-worth in the hands of other people and reclaimed it as his own to measure.
When Arthur can see and really believe that the good within him outweighs the bad, that he is a mutable thing who can grow and change and always will because at his core, he is a good man, things will be different. When he learns to trust that his inner compass always guides him true, Merlin can afford to break his heart knowing Arthur can stitch it back together again on his own, without Merlin holding the thread.
“I feel the same way about you.” Arthur’s voice is gruff and sincere and so young, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You make me happier than I thought I was ever allowed to be. Better, you make me feel free, in a world where my responsibilities often feel like chains. So thank you,” Arthur smiles, true and enamoured, “for just being you. I sometimes think you were made for me, maddeningly aggravating as you are, and yet so utterly perfect anyway.”
And Merlin laughs, he can’t help it, throwing his arms around Arthur’s neck, kissing him and kissing him. They fumble their steps until Merlin has Arthur perched atop the table, slotting himself between his knees. He skims his hands up and down Arthur’s chest, feeling electric as he presses against the hardness of Arthur’s muscles, finally getting to touch after years of only wanting from afar.
Arthur’s hands are in Merlin’s hair, pulling gently at the strands and Merlin moans into their kiss, pressing himself closer and almost crying out when Arthur wraps his legs around Merlin’s waist. The strength of Arthur’s thighs around his hips has Merlin pulsing with want. With a low rumbling noise in his throat, Merlin dips his head, picking a spot on Arthur’s neck to bite and plant his mark, all the while Arthur closes his eyes and tilts his chin higher, sighing Merlin’s name.
No one’s ever said his name like that. Merlin’s blood flushes hotter and he sucks on Arthur’s skin, rubbing the back of Arthur’s head with his thumb aching to hear it again. Again and again, he wants to hear it forever, wants Arthur happy and pliant and wanting beneath him. For as long as he can. For as long as Arthur will have him.
He trails kisses down Arthur’s neck and down his chest in between the hanging neckline of his shirt. “I’ve always loved this shirt.” Merlin murmurs against Arthur’s skin, smiling when he hears Arthur laugh.
“Like what you see then?”
Merlin raises his chin to nip at Arthur’s shoulder and Arthur laughs, hugging him against his chest. “I’m not going to wax poetic about how handsome you are. You already think you’re the universe’s gift to the world.”
“The universe’s gift to you maybe.” Arthur retorts and Merlin can’t help but feel that it’s true.
He knows it is. They were a single soul split into two. Arthur is his present and his future and his whole entire world.
“And now I’m showing my gratitude. So take your shirt off before I lose my mind.”
“Are you trying to defile me in the Hall of all places?” Arthur asks, amused but not shutting him down.
“You’re the bloody king of Camelot, banish anyone who interrupts.” Merlin answers grumpily and Arthur laughs again, light and sweet, kissing him silent.
“Later.” He promises, “There are better places and better times. You’re worth far more than a dirty tumble on a table.”
For whatever reason, this is the thing that makes Merlin flush and he pulls back, almost embarrassed. Arthur of course, finds this sickeningly endearing and just gives him another kiss to his temple. “I feel a bit more like a person now. I’m going to summon the knights and tell them what’s happened.”
“Leave Leon in charge of the interrogation. You don’t need to be there for that.” Merlin says and Arthur regards him a moment before nodding.
Merlin’s eyes widen when he doesn’t offer a snappy retort or a comment on the size of Merlin’s brain.
“I know you have to attend to Gaius. But will I see you later?” it’s almost too adorable, the slight shyness in Arthur’s voice.
“Of course you’ll see me. How are you supposed to get into bed without another person helping you in it.” Merlin teases while darting away before Arthur can flick him.
Arthur leaves through the giant doors and Merlin watches him walk away, wanting desperately to never part from him while trying to choke his ever growing guilt by the throat. One day, he will run his knife across Arthur’s and that thought ruins every warm moment they share.
True to his word, Arthur doesn’t attend a single interrogation. One week later, Leon has actionable intel and Arthur sends them out on a retrieval mission, knowing he would only put them at risk if he followed with his treacherous and helpless heart.
The day the knights capture Morgana, Arthur is so thoroughly wrecked by it that Merlin tugs him into bed and undoes him. As Arthur gasps beneath him, Merlin’s traitorous tongue longs to tell him what he’s done in Arthur’s name and Arthur’s name alone. Wishes he could tell him how he went to Morgana’s hut before the knights arrived and left a curse to rob her of her magic. Wants to tell him how he crippled her so she could be brought to the dungeons without harming anyone else. About how he spent hours and hours poring over old books to fashion two bracelets that would suppress her magic for as long as Arthur wanted.
But he can’t.
So he does the only thing he can and loves Arthur so much that it fills all the caverns inside them both and kills the loneliness that Morgana’s presence brings. All his life, Arthur has just wanted to be somebody’s. To be everything in someone’s heart the way he makes everybody he loves his. Merlin pushes Arthur onto his bed, untying his shirt laces and pulling the fabric over his head. He traces the contour of Arthur’s neck with his lips, marking him as only his. Arthur throws his head back, pushing Merlin’s head to bring him closer, bucking his hips up to meet him.
Merlin pulls back, looks into Arthur’s eyes, his own hooded and dark. His kiss is hungry and dominating, Arthur dissolving under his touch. All Arthur wants is to be owned and by God Merlin wants to possess. He wants to stake his claim, wants to curl around Arthur like the treasure he is, baring his teeth at anyone who dared approach. If Arthur wants to belong to someone then Merlin will make sure it’s him.
“Mine.” Merlin’s lips trail down Arthur’s chest, his hands framing Arthur’s ribs, “Mine.” He repeats and Arthur moans his approval, his strong hands pulling at Merlin’s shoulders. “I’m going to unravel you until you forget anyone exists but me.”
“Devour me.” Arthur’s breathless with desire, “Mark me.”
To the world, Arthur will be decisive and declarative and certain. He will be a king and he will be mighty and unfailing. Here, in this room, with Merlin around him and within him, he can let himself go with the current, exist only in the moment, let someone else decide, let someone else make the choices he’s too tired to make anymore. With Merlin comes peace. Surrender. And what a freeing thing, to give himself up to the one he loves most.
Sometimes, Arthur feels an emptiness so gaping that only disappears when Merlin fills it. He cries out with the elation of it, Merlin’s face in his neck as he gasps with every rhythmic plunge. Arthur’s fingers rake down Merlin’s back and he pleads Merlin’s name, his hips arcing to bring him in deeper, to feel Merlin everywhere within him and around, consuming him in his all encompassing devotion and passion. If he could exist within Merlin’s skin he would. He wants to be closer, it’s never enough, there’s still so much between them, even when there isn’t.
Arthur pulls Merlin’s face towards his, kissing him sloppily, their bodies entangled together and so close to blacking out from the bliss of it. He hears Merlin gasping against his lips and Arthur pulls back, desiring nothing more than to see Merlin’s face the moment he spills inside him, the closed eyes, the arched neck, the sigh of satisfaction that sends lightning down his spine.
Arthur’s so full of love he’s dizzy with it. Merlin collapses atop him and Arthur hugs him closer, happy to finish the rest himself when Merlin stops his hand. “Don’t deny me this.”
Merlin’s hands trace the contours of his waist as he licks his way down Arthur’s stomach, teasing him as he lowers. Arthur watches him with blown pupils, barely able to withstand the ache of it until he is encompassed by something warm and lovely, Merlin bobbing above him. His fingers weave through Merlin’s hair, petting him softly while Merlin uses his own hands for far more sinful things.
Merlin draws out his pleasure like he does everything, devoted and adoring. His tongue explores Arthur’s skin reverently, like his body is a temple he would happily spend his days in praying. To love is to worship and Arthur feels mightier than any of the gods scattered across the night sky. When the climax surges through him, his entire body shudders from the force of it and his desire almost bursts out his chest when he sees Merlin lick his lips afterward.
“Come here.” Arthur’s breathless, pulling Merlin up towards him, hugging him to his chest, liking his lover’s weight atop of him.
“Good?” Merlin asks, sounding almost drunk.
“Everything you do is good.” It’s too honest and somehow not honest enough.
Merlin burrows into him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Love of my life, you’re mine to take care of.” Merlin says simply and the endearment melts Arthur to the core.
He likes being someone’s. Like’s being Merlin’s specifically.
Let Arthur always be his.
“We finally found the one thing you do well.” Arthur jokes, because he can. Because they need to.
Merlin snorts, “If you’d rather me put all this effort into washing your socks I can do that I suppose.”
Arthur growls in his ear, flipping them over so he has Merlin’s arms pinned above his head and Merlin laughing and laughing. “Don’t you dare.” He warns, leaving silly kisses all over Merlin’s face.
“I’m just trying to be a good servant! Anything to please my lord.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Yes because doing your chores has always been your top priority.”
“In my defense, it was hard when all I could think about was doing you.” Merlin grins and Arthur’s jaw drops before he too is bursting with laughter.
Merlin wraps his arms around him, stroking his hair. It’s so soothing Arthur instinctively closes his eyes, feeling his body sink deeper and deeper. “Go to sleep Arthur. It’ll be a long day tomorrow.”
Arthur’s heart aches just thinking about it.
But Merlin’s body is warm beneath him and his fingers loving and attentive. He makes himself focus on those carding motions, on Merlin’s even breaths. He thinks about the man he wants to be, the kindness he wants to keep in his heart despite the acceptance of the million shades of grey he’s now forced to confront exist in the world. He needs to learn to be more astute, more critical. But he can’t lose the part of him he knows is what makes him a better man than his father was.
“Would you tell me?” Arthur whispers, almost near sleep, “If I was becoming someone not worth loving?”
Merlin doesn’t even hesitate, “That would never happen.”
“But what if I let the hurt corrupt my heart?”
“You never have before Arthur.” Merlin says gently, but firmly, “Why would you start now?”
Arthur turns that over in his head. Over and over until he falls asleep, wondering if that was truly how hearts worked and where the line was before that stopped being true. Wondering if he’s close to crossing it before realizing that even if his whole heart were to blacken, he would turn back the clock through sheer force of will just to make sure that Merlin would never have to suffer it. Arthur will be a better man. He will be merciful. He will be understanding. He will be wise. He will be kind. He will be kind. He will be kind.
He will be his mother’s son. Being Uther’s can get him no farther now.
Before he takes the dungeon steps, Arthur searches high and low for Gwen. He finds her staring out the window of Morgana’s old chambers, a noble sadness on her brows.
“Guinevere?” Arthur alerts her to his presence quietly, “Do you have a moment?”
Taking only a second to compose herself, Gwen turns around with a small smile, “You’re the king Arthur, I’ll always have a moment for you.”
He smiles back, gesturing for her to join him at the table in the centre of the room. “I’m not asking as a king today, but as your friend.”
She blinks at him in surprise but sits down with him, her at the left and him at the head. “I told you before I sent the knights that we would be bringing Morgana in. Right now, she’s in the dungeons, waiting.”
Gwen nods stiffly, twisting her wedding band around her finger. Arthur’s heart pangs, thinking of the most honourable man he’s ever known. About all the good he still had left to do. All the love he still had to give.
“There is no one Morgana has hurt or taken more from than you.” Arthur continues, “You know how deeply I still feel Lancelot’s death. I can’t imagine how heavy the toll is for you.”
A tear slips down Gwen’s cheek and she clenches her fists around her dress in a dignified attempt at control. “I miss him every day.” She admits, letting the grief wash through her before she closes her eyes and when she opens them, Arthur sees the woman he trusted to join him at his council, the wisest advisor he has, “But that is not what you wish to speak to me about is it?”
“All the terrible things she’s done. To you, to us, to me, and yet I still…” Arthur looks away, “She is my sister. Half of me as I am half of her and I just can’t accept that she’s permanently gone. Not until I know for sure. Not until I’ve tried.”
Gwen doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at him with steady eyes.
“But to speak to her as she is feels like a betrayal of you and all that you have suffered. So I’m here to ask for your blessing, wanting you to know that if you say no, I will drop this matter and never pick it up again.”
Gwen’s eyes widen, her neck snapping to look at him, “You would do that? For me?”
“I would do anything for you Guinevere.” He says sincerely and her eyes glisten once more but it’s of a sweeter kind.
Gwen launches from her seat, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him close, “Oh, if Merlin hadn’t snapped you up, I would have stolen you for myself.”
Arthur laughs, “Merlin adores you so much he might just let you.”
Gwen hiccups into his neck, pulling away and wiping at her cheeks. “I would never stand in between you and what you think is right.” She looks out the window, fingers twisting in her skirt, “I don’t know if I can ever find it in myself to forgive her for what she’s done. Lancelot deserved-” her voice cracks but she perseveres anyway.
“Lancelot deserved so much better. Every one of the innocents who died during her invasion and the dorocha attack deserved better. But if you think there’s a chance that the Morgana we once knew is still in there then…then I don’t want to be the kind of person who would let my grief make me wish harm upon another.”
“Are you sure? We can let her rot down there without a soul.”
Even as he says the words, Arthur knows there’s no way he could ever do that. Not a chance in hell. And the way Gwen is looking at him, she knows it too.
Gwen takes his hand, “Arthur, I know you. I’m so grateful to call you one of my closest friends and you me, so you don’t need to lie.”
“I’m not. I wouldn’t. If you wanted.”
“What I want,” Gwen says kindly, “is for all of us to get the peace we’ve been missing. If speaking to Morgana will bring you that, then don’t hold back for me.”
“And you Guinevere? What will bring you peace?”
Gwen looks at him and then away, “I don’t know honestly. I’m still trying to work that out but being here, with you and Merlin and Elyan, all of you happy and healthy, I’m just focusing on my blessings and maybe in doing that, I’ll find the right path forward.”
Arthur squeezes her hand and thinks about how he could live a thousand lifetimes and never achieve the goodness Gwen got right on her very first run.
“Knighting Lancelot and elevating you to Advisor are two of the best things I’ve ever done.”
Gwen laughs, “And what about finally taking Merlin to bed like you’ve been dreaming about for all these months.”
Arthur sputters, face bursting into flames, “Gwen.”
“What!” she defends, “The whole castle knew about it. Gwaine and I have been gossiping about it for ages.”
“You have not.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” her laugh rings like bells on a sunny day and Arthur can’t help but shake his head fondly.
“Traitors, the lot of you.”
“Well look how well it all turned out. Don’t you start your complaining now.”
Arthur grouses, but mostly just for show. “Will you accompany me to the Round Table then? Listen to another boring round of tax law changes?”
Gwen sighs, “If I must.” Her smile is slow and teasing, “For the good of the kingdom.” She intones in a voice remniscient of the fussy lords who judge her for being there.
“Indeed, my lady.” Arthur jokes back and though their hearts are both heavy, they walk out of Morgana’s chambers laughing lightly between themselves, feeling confident in the small home they had created for and with each other and everyone else they held dear.
The most wrenching part is yet to come, but for now, they can pretend that all is well and have it almost be true.
Morgana spits at his feet when he arrives at her cell. Arthur looks at her with sorrowful eyes and she sneers. “Come to gloat?” she demands and he only shakes his head.
“I’m only here to understand. I thought we were friends Morgana. You’re my sister. No matter what you’ve done I still…” Arthur twists the fabric around his heart, “I look at you and I still just love you. Can you really say you don’t feel the same?”
Morgana’s bravado falters for just a moment and that’s when Arthur realizes that there’s still hope. Buried perhaps, underneath leagues of rubble and ash, but there it is, he can see it now, a single tiny seed. He only needs to nurture it.
In an instant, Morgana’s ire is back in full force. “Then you are blinder than even I thought. Just like Uther.”
Or then again, maybe that’s only his needy projection.
“I’m not him. It is you that is blind Morgana, if you can’t see past your own hatred to see me as I am and not who you would find me more convenient to be.”
When Morgana doesn’t say anything, Arthur walks closer to the bars and sits down so that if she wanted, she could reach out and touch him. She could hurt him too. If she wanted. That was love.
“I’ve spent months thinking about you. About what happened. About where it went wrong. I know now, that you were scared. That you were terrified and alone. Of course you’d run to Morgause, she had magic and I didn’t. She understood you and I couldn’t. But I see you now Morgana. Why can’t you look back?”
“You will never understand.” Morgana hisses, surging forward and grabbing at the bars, but not at him. His heart tries to stamp down its hope. “You have no idea the fear I lived with when I had no understanding of what was happening to me and then the terror of knowing the man who raised me would kill me just as quickly for something I had no choice over.”
Arthur’s eyes widen at her candor and she smiles like a predator, duplicitous as it is.
“Do you think the girl you knew, the one that was still young and naïve would have chosen magic if I had had a choice? You think I wouldn’t have given everything for Gaius’ potions to work and cure me?”
“You didn’t choose it?” Arthur asks, feeling his entire worldview spin.
Morgana regards him, letting go of the bars and turning pointedly away. “You don’t even know the basics. Get out of my sight. You have nothing for me.”
Though everything has changed between them, some things remain the same and Arthur knows he will never out stubborn the mighty Morgana. Even now. Declawed and caged.
Arthur leaves.
He visits her every three days anyway. And so it begins, the slow break of all their hearts.