At the End of the Forest, for maryavatar (Merlin, PG)
TITLE: At the End of the Forest
AUTHOR: beggar_always
RECIPIENT: maryavatar
FANDOM: Merlin
RATING: PG/PG-13 (a few bad words)
SPOILERS: Nothing specific. Perhaps general for all of Series 1.
WARNINGS: Well…it is the end of the world… Implied character death.
SUMMARY: “It’s funny, really, the most inept servant he’s ever had being the one who survived. The one who saved him.”
AO3 Link
Author’s Note: The first time I write Merlin fic and the world ends. I wonder if that's a sign... This could possibly be taken as Arthur/Merlin pre-slash…but (sadly) there's nothing explicit.
Many, many, thanks to slartibartfast for the beta. And to maryavatar for the prompt that WOULD NOT leave me alone. I hope you enjoy it! :)
------
He wakes disoriented. The pain isn't entirely unexpected, he's woken to enough injuries in his life, but something feels...wrong.
Merlin is quickly at his side, looking grim as he whispers about some sort of hunting accident. Arthur thinks his manservant isn't being entirely truthful, but his head aches and his leg is on fire so he lets himself drop away.
------
When he wakes again, Merlin helps him sit up and hands him a mug of water. The servant shuffles away as Arthur finally gets a decent look at their surroundings. The quarters don't look fit for a peasant, much less the crowned prince: dirt floor, cracked wattle-and-daub walls. The thatch hanging above them looks frail and ready to collapse at the slightest touch. The only furniture Arthur can see, aside from the bed he finds himself in, comes in the form of a battered table with a chair on either side of it in the far corner of the room.
Merlin stoops to straighten a pile of blankets not far from where Arthur sits. It takes the prince a moment to realize they're meant to be a crude version of a bedroll.
"Where are we?" Arthur croaks. He takes a drink of water to ease the scratch in his throat.
"An old hut I found. Do you not remember, sire?" Merlin asks as he pokes at the small fire in the crumbling hearth. Arthur frowns as he tries to think back. The last thing he can (somewhat clearly) remember is standing in the middle of his bedchamber, trying to recall where he'd left his spare gauntlet.
Arthur looks up to watch Merlin move endlessly around the small space, having the sudden thought his manservant is trying to avoid him.
"We were hunting?" Arthur asks, trying to draw Merlin back to him. He knows through experience that if he can get Merlin talking, eventually the other man will stumble over himself and end up telling all. Grace under pressure is not something Arthur's observed in Merlin. It's bothersome, mostly, but comes in handy when he needs information. All he gets out of Merlin this time, however, is a distracted looking nod.
When he tries to move, Arthur is stopped by a stabbing pain in his right leg. He curses, nearly dropping the mug of water as his free hand clutches at his thigh. Through the pain, he can't help but smirk in victory when Merlin suddenly appears at his side.
"Lie still," Merlin says in his familiar tone of exasperation. Arthur finds it's somewhat comforting to know that, as distant as the other man may try to act, Arthur can still rile some emotion out of him. Even if it is annoyance.
"Hunting accident?" Arthur gasps out the question as Merlin begins unwinding the bandage that starts just above Arthur's knee.
"Wild boar," Merlin mutters absently as he prods at a deep gash. Arthur grits his teeth throughout the examination. "I wouldn't suggest trying to stand again for a few days, sire."
"Did you just call me 'sire'?" Arthur thinks back to the start of their conversation. "Twice?" It's not that Merlin's never used the title. It's just that it's used so rarely, and never without a sarcastic tone to accompany it.
Merlin doesn't reply. He stands as soon as the wound is re-bandaged and puts the meager length of the room between them once again.
"I need to fetch more wood for the fire," he says quietly before he ducks out the only door.
Arthur stares after him a long moment, contemplating whether or not he really needs to stay in bed. In the end, he defers to the advice of a healer's apprentice, as inept as that apprentice may tend to be. It's not like his leg isn't throbbing anyway.
------
According to the brief bits he's managed to get out of Merlin, they've been in their ramshackle hut for three days.
"Three days!?" Arthur had cried in surprise.
"You lost a lot of blood, sire," Merlin had whispered as he'd stared at a crack in the wall. "You were very weak."
"What about the horses?"
"Spooked by the boar, sire?"
"No one's come looking?"
"We're far from the castle, sire."
"You couldn't have gone for help?" At that, Merlin had paused briefly.
Arthur had leaned forward in anticipation, only to have Merlin respond with a monotone, "You couldn't be left alone, sire."
For all the times Arthur has wished his manservant would give him the deference his station demanded, Arthur finds himself wishing for a little insubordination. After his third failed interrogation, Arthur thinks about telling Merlin this, but he doesn't really think the man's listening when he speaks, anyway.
------
Arthur hasn't left the hut in five days. Five days if Merlin's to be believed, at least. Arthur still can't remember the 'hunting accident' and, in some of the more boring hours of the day (usually when Merlin's snoring away from his jumble of blankets) Arthur wonders if he's ever actually existed outside the hut.
Merlin leaves the hut about twice a day (Arthur's been counting). He mutters about fetching firewood or more water from the well or something else that really doesn't account for the hours' length of time he's absent. Arthur secretly envies his mobility as he glares at his bandaged leg.
Arthur is perfectly capable of sitting still when a situation requires it. He's had enough practice: from boring state dinners to only-slightly-more-exciting bouts of sentry duty. But lying in bed, day after day because of a lousy, incompetent leg, is about to drive him mad.
He'd asked Merlin if he could go outside, even just to sit for a bit. (The hut is dark and dirty and depressing and Arthur's pretty sure he's halfway listened to Gaius rattle on about fresh air being good for the healing process once or twice.) Merlin had immediately refused and then spent a good half hour glaring at Arthur, as if daring him to try moving from the bed. Arthur had been ready to order Merlin to let him outside, but the intensity of the glare had gone up as soon as he'd opened his mouth. Arthur had given up, if only for the added opportunity to sulk. But, as soon as Merlin had stepped outside that evening, Arthur had tested his leg. Scooting to the edge of the bed so his legs dangled over he'd pushed himself experimentally to his feet. It had hurt, no doubt, but he'd been able to put some weight on the injured limb.
------
Arthur glances over to where Merlin's sacked out on his pile of blankets in front of the fire. The prince can't quite understand why his servant's been sleeping so much. As far as Arthur's seen, Merlin's been just as lazy as always the past several days. There's no reason he should look so exhausted.
Arthur slides to the edge of the bed with a wince, putting both his feet on the floor. Merlin doesn't stir at the slight creak the bed frame makes and Arthur lets out a sigh of relief. He's not afraid of Merlin, really, but it's no fun arguing with someone who's barely speaking to him.
Arthur finds himself staring down at the other man. He'd never admit it, but over the past year he's spent a lot of time just watching Merlin. It's one of his favorite forms of entertainment. Arthur's never met anyone quite as clumsy as his manservant. If he takes a bit of perverse pleasure in watching Merlin knock over a tower of clean pewter mugs or snickers when Merlin trips over his own legs while carrying a clean set of linens past a mud puddle, well that's just part of the joy of being royalty.
From all his observation, Arthur knows Merlin stays pale year-round. Even last summer when Arthur took it upon himself to drag Merlin outdoors at least once a day the young man never got any darker. So now it's a bit disconcerting to find Merlin looks just a shade darker; especially considering that shade looks suspiciously grey. Arthur frowns as he lets his eyes sweep over Merlin. Could he have possibly gotten thinner in a week?
It angers Arthur, slightly, that it's taken him so long to notice that Merlin's not exactly in top form himself. Had he been injured in the supposed hunting accident as well?
Arthur's resolve hardens with a sudden determination to get them both back to Camelot. The injured leg aches as he pushes himself to his feet. It doesn't give out beneath him so, with a steadying breath, he limps purposefully toward the door. His hand is reaching for the rough handle when he hears a mutter behind him.
"Arthur, wait!" he hears Merlin call, sounding desperate. It's too late; Arthur's already yanking open the door. The wound in his leg begins to burn more with each step, but he's determined not to let his servant order him about any longer. Especially when said servant is starting to look like he's the one who should be bedridden.
Arthur keeps walking, even as he lets his eyes adjust to being out of the dim hut for the first time in nearly a week. At first, Arthur thinks the sun must be setting. Everything's cast in a dark orange hue he can't not consider 'dusk.' He's confused, then, when he looks up and sees the sun burning bright directly overhead. Arthur immediately drops his gaze to the edge of the clearing, a dozen yards away. Merlin's told him they're somewhere deep in the forest that surrounds Camelot, so Arthur thinks he probably shouldn't be seeing so many gaps in what is supposed to be thick foliage.
He feels boney fingers close around his upper arm, trying to tug him away just as he reaches the trees. “Arthur, please,” he hears Merlin plead, too late to keep him from stepping through one of the too-big gaps between two trees.
Everything is dead in front of him. Where the royal forest is meant to stretch for days, a flat wasteland sits before him. The earth looks like a burnt out husk of its former self; and it seems to stretch on forever. Arthur has a sudden memory of the forest fire that had threatened Camelot the summer he’d turned thirteen.
The air seems to shimmer before him and he turns to Merlin, ready to demand answers. His tirade falters, however, when he actually sees the other man. Merlin is leaning heavily against the bole of one of the trees. His eyes are closed, his breathing heavy, as Arthur watches a bead of sweat slide down that pale-grey face. Merlin is whispering something Arthur can’t quite make out. His eyes open suddenly, fixing on Arthur with a pale-yellow gaze.
“Merlin?” Arthur says in concern as he watches his servant slide to the ground.
“I just have to hold it for three more days,” Merlin whispers, staring out across the wasteland. Arthur turns to follow his line of sight. The air seems to shift again and Arthur looks quickly to his companion.
“Merlin, what’s happened?” he asks in the best authoritative tone he can manage. Merlin slowly meets his eyes. Arthur notices, with no small amount of relief they’ve returned to their expected blue, even if they are a shade or two too light. (It’s not as if Arthur spends a lot of time keeping track of the color of his servants’ eyes, he’s just sure he remembers Gwen or Morgana or someone else female making a comment about Merlin’s eyes specifically.)
“I couldn’t stop it,” Merlin whispers so quietly Arthur wonders if he’s really the one being spoken to. Merlin quickly scrambles to his feet. “Let’s go back inside,” he says in a stronger tone. He puts a shaky hand on Arthur’s arm, turning them hopefully toward the hut. Arthur takes another long look at the empty land before he looks to Merlin again, ready to argue; demand answers. But Merlin’s expression looks so worn Arthur thinks he may be ready to collapse and he’s pulling on Arthur like he’s desperate to get back inside and find a chair.
“I’ll tell you everything if you’ll just come inside,” Merlin tells him. Arthur finally nods and lets Merlin guide him back toward their shelter.
Arthur sits heavily in the chair closest to the door. As soon as they’d turned back, his leg had decided to speak up with a throbbing complaint of abuse.
“How’s your leg?” Merlin asks, hovering over him. Arthur gives him a half-hearted glare as he bats Merlin’s hands away.
“Sit down, Merlin,” he orders. “You have an explanation to give.” Merlin looks slightly terrified as he moves to the other rickety chair across the table from Arthur’s. He says nothing for a long time, staring blankly at the dying fire.
“Merlin?” Arthur means to sound commanding, but he’s fairly certain his tone comes out worried instead.
“I did everything I could,” Merlin says finally. His tone is flat, but Arthur can see the hand resting on the table is shaking. “The Dragon warned me it was going to happen. He told me to grab you and run, no looking back. But I couldn’t just leave everyone else.” Merlin’s voice cracks slightly. “There wasn’t any time.” Merlin finally looks at Arthur, his eyes shining. “I almost got you killed,” he says quietly. Arthur frowns at him.
“Merlin, you’re not making any sense. A dragon? There aren’t any left! What happened out there?” Merlin stares down at the table, picking at an imperfection in the wood.
“There was a sorcerer,” Merlin says quietly. Arthur tenses immediately. His whole life he’s been raised knowing the evils of magic. He’s never quite been the fanatic his father is, but he wouldn’t want to come across a sorcerer on his own. “He was bitter. His whole world died; my fault.” Merlin closes his eyes, his hand going up to rub across his brow.
“The Dragon warned me he was coming.” He dropped his hand to look at Arthur. “It’s my destiny to protect you,” Merlin says tiredly in a tone that hints at exasperation. Arthur almost starts to laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement, but he stops when he sees Merlin’s expression has hardened. “I was going to find you, to take you away like the Dragon said, but I ran into Gwen and Morgana in the courtyard. I couldn’t…” Merlin’s voice cracks. “I got them and some of your knights into the dungeon, put them all into a deep sleep. They might make it through.”
“Make it through what, Merlin?” Merlin scoffs lightly.
“You saw it, Arthur. The world is ending out there. It has ended. The only reason we’re alive is because I used magic.” Merlin whispers the last word as Arthur stares at him. He couldn’t have heard right, Arthur thinks. There’s no way Merlin, of all people, knows magic. He laughs a shaky laugh.
“Come off it, Merlin,” he says. “How much blood do you think I lost? Who trapped us here?” Merlin sighs and stares at the fire again.
“It was the only place I could think of,” he says quietly. “I stopped here for a night the first time I went to Camelot.”
Arthur’s thoughts are racing, suddenly remember every time Merlin had helped him, saved his life. Had all those times been tainted by magic?
“You’re a sorcerer,” he whispers. Merlin nods nervously. “You practice magic in my father’s kingdom!?” Arthur hisses as he stands in anger. Some small part of his brain is telling him to stop and think before he speaks. This is Merlin he’s talking to, one of the biggest bleeding hearts he’s ever met. But Arthur’s been brought up to hate all things magical. To discover his manservant has been practicing magic under his nose feels like a personal insult on his intelligence.
“Take me back to Camelot,” Arthur demands in a harsh tone.
Merlin swallows heavily before he speaks. “I can’t, sire. Camelot is gone. The whole world is gone. We have to stay here. It’s not safe beyond the trees. The only thing keeping us alive right now is the shield I’ve placed around us.” Arthur glares at him.
“Are you really trying to hold your prince for ransom?” he challenges. Merlin stands quickly, looking offended.
“I’m trying to save your life, you prat!” Merlin shouts in a tone Arthur never thought he’d hear from him. Merlin takes a deep breath and continues more quietly. “In three days time it should be safe for us outside. Just bear with this for three more days, Arthur,” Merlin pleads. “After that, I don’t care what you do with me.” Arthur doubts that’s the truth, but there’s something about the worry in Merlin’s expression that calms his anger slightly.
“Three days,” he says in a tight tone. “And then you will return me to Camelot.”
“Camelot’s gon…” Arthur’s glare cuts Merlin off. Arthur’s surprised when Merlin drops his gaze to the floor and responds with a perfectly meek “Yes, sire.”
------
For the past day and a half, Arthur has been very determinedly avoiding Merlin. It feels like a strange role reversal from how they’d been living just a few days before.
Arthur can barely even stand to look at the other man. That…magician. For all he knows, Merlin was the one who set the world on fire. Though, Arthur must admit, he’s not the destructive type and even Merlin’s not that clumsy.
So Arthur stays on his side of the hut, glaring in Merlin’s direction whenever his servant gets too close. It’s not very mature and it doesn’t solve any of the hundreds of problems Arthur knows they’re facing, but how else is Uther Pendragon’s son supposed to react to finding out his manservant is a bloody sorcerer? He certainly can’t kill him; not if they are possibly the only two people still alive, anyway.
------
Arthur wakes from a nap and finds the hut empty again. He frowns as he considers the trouble Magical Merlin may be getting into by himself. His leg has finally healed enough that he barely limps to the door.
He finds Merlin at the edge of their little haven. He’s seated on the ground, back resting against a tree as he stares out at nothing. It’s hard for Arthur to keep the anger up when he sees the way the young man trembles. He can’t remember the last time he saw Merlin eat anything, though there’s always been plenty of bread in the basket on the table.
“What are you doing out here, Merlin?” he asks softly. Merlin startles and quickly twists his neck to look up at him. His eyes are a swirl of pale gold and dark blue and Arthur fights the urge to back away from the way they seem to dig into him.
“Sentry duty,” Merlin says in a deadpan tone, turning his head away again. Arthur scoffs and leans against the tree next to Merlin’s.
“There’s nothing out there, Merlin,” he says bitterly. “You said so yourself.” Merlin doesn’t reply, just continues staring at a random point in the distance. Arthur watches him for a long time, watching the shaky way his servant’s breathing; the tremor in his hands.
“It’s killing you, isn’t it?” Arthur blurts out as the realization slaps him in the face. His gut drops when Merlin doesn’t immediately deny it.
“What are you talking about, sire?” Merlin asks with a sigh. Arthur crouches down next to him, ignoring the pull in his leg.
“Keeping this…shield…or whatever up. Is it killing you?” Merlin doesn’t look at him; seems to be refusing to look at him.
“Is. It. Killing. You?” Arthur repeats slowly, demanding an answer. Merlin finally meets his eyes.
“Might be, yeah,” he answers. He gives Arthur a small, self-deprecating smile. “I figured out how to turn lead into gold, but I can’t save the world. I’m a shit sorcerer, apparently.”
Arthur gapes at him. Something clenches in his chest as he realizes this man, his friend, is killing himself. Arthur has to stand, closing his eyes as he turns away. He knows Merlin’s saved his life a dozen times already, but Arthur has never wanted to live at the cost of anyone else’s life. Especially not someone he’s already indebted to; someone he may, very possibly, even care for, just a bit.
He can’t think of anything to say, so he turns and stalks angrily back to the hut.
------
The prince calms down considerably after a couple hours of frustrated pacing. Well, mostly his leg decides to remind him it’s not quite fully healed and forces him to sit down to take a deep breath.
Arthur thinks about how much time has passed and frowns, realizing Merlin has yet to come inside. His heart pounds in his chest as he thinks Merlin may’ve already killed himself maintaining that damn shield. Ignoring the renewed ache in his leg, Arthur rushes out the door.
He spots him immediately, sprawled out on the ground halfway between the hut and the trees. As he jogs to his side, Arthur can see the protective shield flicker next to Merlin’s prone figure. He’s not sure he wants to know whether Merlin’s intentionally pulled it in closer to the hut or if the magician’s weakening reserves have forced him to pull back their defenses.
“Merlin!” Arthur gasps as he falls to his knees next to him. Merlin blinks up at him with glassy eyes. The other man is wheezing for breath as Arthur gathers him in his arms to pull him into a sitting position.
“Had to move it back,” Merlin whispers as Arthur more or less pulls him into his lap.
“Just leave it, Merlin,” Arthur tries to order him. He can feel how badly Merlin is shaking, pressed against him.
“One more day,” Merlin’s voice is so quiet Arthur almost doesn’t hear him. He ducks his head to rest his cheek on top of Merlin’s head.
“It’s killing you. You have to let it go, Merlin,” Arthur whispers into the damp hair that’s curled around Merlin’s ear. With Merlin pulled close, Arthur can feel the rattle of Merlin’s chest as he takes a breath.
“Too soon,” Merlin gasps. Arthur closes his eyes and turns his face into Merlin’s hair briefly. His friend is dying and Arthur can’t keep him from killing himself.
“It’s okay, Merlin,” he says softly. “We’ll be okay.” Merlin trembles in his arms; Arthur tightens his hold. “Let it go and we’ll make it work. Together.”
“I don’t…want you to…die,” Merlin pants as he weakly grips at Arthur’s arm.
“I won’t,” Arthur promises. He thinks it’s likely he just lied, but he can’t let Merlin die. Not first, not trying to buy him more time. What would a prince even do without a manservant to lord over? “Please, Merlin. Follow my orders for once and let. It. Go.” Merlin gasps suddenly and Arthur is sure his own heart stops as the dark-haired man goes limp in his arms.
“Merlin?” he whispers, voice cracking slightly. He watches as the air in front of them shifts and knows Merlin’s dropped whatever was holding the protective shield in place. Arthur wants to feel relief, but Merlin’s not moving.
“Merlin?” he whispers a little more desperately as he shakes the body in his arms. He pulls back enough to stare into dull, blank eyes. It’s a look Arthur’s seen often enough to recognize and his own eyes begin to burn.
“Merlin,” he whispers again. His eyes squeeze shut as he leans forward to bury his face in Merlin’s hair. The prince of Camelot is not unacquainted with loss; men have fought and died for him from the day he was born. But Merlin’s not a knight; he was never meant to have to die for his prince.
Arthur takes a long moment to mourn the loss of his friend. He tries not to consider the possibility that Merlin’s left him utterly alone on a destructed earth. It wasn’t as if the servant meant to abandon him.
The body in his arms feels like it’s slipping away from him. Arthur tightens his grip, not ready to let go just yet. A warm breeze grazes his cheek and he turns his head away, wanting a moment or two more to grieve before he has to consider that maybe he’s about to die by fire after all.
“Arthur?” a voice whispers. Arthur sits back with a start, staring down in disbelief as Merlin blinks up at him. Though he’d once heard of sorcerers capable of raising the dead, Arthur somehow doubts it was meant to be believed they could do so for themselves. And Arthur knows, without a doubt, Merlin just died in his arms. But now the young mage is staring up at him, breathing a little shakily, but breathing all the same.
Arthur promptly drops him. He scrambles to his feet, eager to get away from what can’t be his manservant. Merlin groans and rolls to his side, giving Arthur a tired glare.
“See, this is why I never listen to you,” he croaks. “I always end up in pain.”
“You were dead,” Arthur blurts out. Merlin rolls his eyes as he sits up.
“Like you’d let me die,” he grumbles. “Not so long as your chamber-pot needs emptied or your armor needs polishing…”
“As if you ever actually manage to do either of those things,” Arthur counters, mostly out of habit. He takes another wary step back as he watches Merlin push himself to his feet. His servant certainly looks more alive than dead. Merlin looks at him and sighs before turning his attention toward the trees.
“Still alive, then,” he says quietly. He takes a deep breath and looks to Arthur again. “Are you going to stare at me all day?”
“I’m trying to remember how one’s supposed to kill the living dead,” Arthur mutters. Merlin gives him one of his broad grins.
“Beheading, I think, sire.” Arthur’s missed that mocking tone these past few days and he can’t help but smile slightly in return. Merlin turns toward the hut and manages a step toward it before he sways. Arthur moves in quickly to catch him, wrapping an arm around Merlin’s waist before he can fall on his face. “Not quite ready for sudden movement…” Merlin mutters. He’s breathing against Arthur and Arthur’s grip tightens momentarily as he realizes Merlin really is alive.
“Come on, Merlin,” he says as he aims them toward the hut. “It’s not like the world will end if you take a nap now.”
------
Merlin ends up sleeping a full day through. Arthur watches him from the table, keeping track of how often his chest rises and falls with each breath. The movement’s a welcome reminder Arthur’s not been left alone.
When Merlin finally wakes, Arthur notices his eyes still haven’t returned to their normal shade of blue. They’ve stubbornly remained so pale they’re nearly white. Merlin can’t explain it, so Arthur tries not to dwell, but he knows whether the world’s actually ended or not, those eyes will always remind him of the sacrifice Merlin had been willing to make for him.
They argue for days about their next move. In the end, Arthur reminds Merlin of how the three days he’d agreed to have long since passed. There’s still no real distinction between night and day, but Arthur thinks the sun is resting a bit lower in the sky when they move to the edge of the trees. They glance at each other before they take a cautious step together. Neither of them falls down dead and they immediately share grins of relief.
Then they find themselves staring into the distance, seemingly stuck on what to do next.
“So, what now, sire?” Merlin asks in what Arthur thinks may be a condescending tone. Arthur turns to glare at him and catches the mirth at the corner of Merlin’s pale eyes. He stares at Merlin for a long moment. Chances are, he’s staring at all that’s left of his kingdom. It’s funny, really, the most inept servant he’s ever had being the one who survived. The one who saved him.
It’s enough to make Arthur lament the changes in Merlin. The paleness of Merlin’s eyes is enough to mark how much the end of the world cost him. The lines of his face have hardened as well, no hint behind of the boy Merlin once was.
“Arthur?” Merlin prods gently, pulling his prince from his thoughts. Arthur forces himself to look away, into the distance.
“Now we head for Camelot to see what’s left,” Arthur says steadily. “Perhaps your spell worked and the others are still asleep,” he adds with a confidence he does not feel.
“Perhaps,” Merlin agrees softly, sounding no more confident. Arthur looks to him again and finds Merlin watching him. They stare at each other for a long moment, neither man speaking. Arthur is terrified of what they’ll find when they leave their sanctuary, but Merlin’s gaze is unwavering, silently offering Arthur whatever he may need.
“Come along, then, Merlin,” Arthur breaks the silence in a falsely cheery tone. “There’s a quest to be had.” Arthur turns and begins walking determinedly toward Camelot.
“Uh…sire?” Merlin speaks up from behind him. Arthur stops and turns.
“What is it now, Merlin?” he asks in exasperation. He frowns when he gets the impression Merlin’s trying not to grin at him.
“Camelot’s that way,” the magician says, pointing in the opposite direction Arthur had been heading. Arthur glares to the West.
“You’re sure?” he asks before he can stop himself. Merlin does grin then, a flash of gold making his eyes light up for an instant.
“Quite sure, yes,” he agrees, his grin turning smug rather quickly. Arthur grumbles a curse or two under his breath as he changes direction and starts walking once again.
“Can’t you just…magic us there or something?” Arthur asks. The glare Merlin gives him in response lightens his heart in some odd way. It’s enough to make Arthur smile as he faces the path ahead. Together, through the ashes and dust of his father’s forest, they trudge on.
/end
AUTHOR: beggar_always
RECIPIENT: maryavatar
FANDOM: Merlin
RATING: PG/PG-13 (a few bad words)
SPOILERS: Nothing specific. Perhaps general for all of Series 1.
WARNINGS: Well…it is the end of the world… Implied character death.
SUMMARY: “It’s funny, really, the most inept servant he’s ever had being the one who survived. The one who saved him.”
AO3 Link
Author’s Note: The first time I write Merlin fic and the world ends. I wonder if that's a sign... This could possibly be taken as Arthur/Merlin pre-slash…but (sadly) there's nothing explicit.
Many, many, thanks to slartibartfast for the beta. And to maryavatar for the prompt that WOULD NOT leave me alone. I hope you enjoy it! :)
------
He wakes disoriented. The pain isn't entirely unexpected, he's woken to enough injuries in his life, but something feels...wrong.
Merlin is quickly at his side, looking grim as he whispers about some sort of hunting accident. Arthur thinks his manservant isn't being entirely truthful, but his head aches and his leg is on fire so he lets himself drop away.
------
When he wakes again, Merlin helps him sit up and hands him a mug of water. The servant shuffles away as Arthur finally gets a decent look at their surroundings. The quarters don't look fit for a peasant, much less the crowned prince: dirt floor, cracked wattle-and-daub walls. The thatch hanging above them looks frail and ready to collapse at the slightest touch. The only furniture Arthur can see, aside from the bed he finds himself in, comes in the form of a battered table with a chair on either side of it in the far corner of the room.
Merlin stoops to straighten a pile of blankets not far from where Arthur sits. It takes the prince a moment to realize they're meant to be a crude version of a bedroll.
"Where are we?" Arthur croaks. He takes a drink of water to ease the scratch in his throat.
"An old hut I found. Do you not remember, sire?" Merlin asks as he pokes at the small fire in the crumbling hearth. Arthur frowns as he tries to think back. The last thing he can (somewhat clearly) remember is standing in the middle of his bedchamber, trying to recall where he'd left his spare gauntlet.
Arthur looks up to watch Merlin move endlessly around the small space, having the sudden thought his manservant is trying to avoid him.
"We were hunting?" Arthur asks, trying to draw Merlin back to him. He knows through experience that if he can get Merlin talking, eventually the other man will stumble over himself and end up telling all. Grace under pressure is not something Arthur's observed in Merlin. It's bothersome, mostly, but comes in handy when he needs information. All he gets out of Merlin this time, however, is a distracted looking nod.
When he tries to move, Arthur is stopped by a stabbing pain in his right leg. He curses, nearly dropping the mug of water as his free hand clutches at his thigh. Through the pain, he can't help but smirk in victory when Merlin suddenly appears at his side.
"Lie still," Merlin says in his familiar tone of exasperation. Arthur finds it's somewhat comforting to know that, as distant as the other man may try to act, Arthur can still rile some emotion out of him. Even if it is annoyance.
"Hunting accident?" Arthur gasps out the question as Merlin begins unwinding the bandage that starts just above Arthur's knee.
"Wild boar," Merlin mutters absently as he prods at a deep gash. Arthur grits his teeth throughout the examination. "I wouldn't suggest trying to stand again for a few days, sire."
"Did you just call me 'sire'?" Arthur thinks back to the start of their conversation. "Twice?" It's not that Merlin's never used the title. It's just that it's used so rarely, and never without a sarcastic tone to accompany it.
Merlin doesn't reply. He stands as soon as the wound is re-bandaged and puts the meager length of the room between them once again.
"I need to fetch more wood for the fire," he says quietly before he ducks out the only door.
Arthur stares after him a long moment, contemplating whether or not he really needs to stay in bed. In the end, he defers to the advice of a healer's apprentice, as inept as that apprentice may tend to be. It's not like his leg isn't throbbing anyway.
------
According to the brief bits he's managed to get out of Merlin, they've been in their ramshackle hut for three days.
"Three days!?" Arthur had cried in surprise.
"You lost a lot of blood, sire," Merlin had whispered as he'd stared at a crack in the wall. "You were very weak."
"What about the horses?"
"Spooked by the boar, sire?"
"No one's come looking?"
"We're far from the castle, sire."
"You couldn't have gone for help?" At that, Merlin had paused briefly.
Arthur had leaned forward in anticipation, only to have Merlin respond with a monotone, "You couldn't be left alone, sire."
For all the times Arthur has wished his manservant would give him the deference his station demanded, Arthur finds himself wishing for a little insubordination. After his third failed interrogation, Arthur thinks about telling Merlin this, but he doesn't really think the man's listening when he speaks, anyway.
------
Arthur hasn't left the hut in five days. Five days if Merlin's to be believed, at least. Arthur still can't remember the 'hunting accident' and, in some of the more boring hours of the day (usually when Merlin's snoring away from his jumble of blankets) Arthur wonders if he's ever actually existed outside the hut.
Merlin leaves the hut about twice a day (Arthur's been counting). He mutters about fetching firewood or more water from the well or something else that really doesn't account for the hours' length of time he's absent. Arthur secretly envies his mobility as he glares at his bandaged leg.
Arthur is perfectly capable of sitting still when a situation requires it. He's had enough practice: from boring state dinners to only-slightly-more-exciting bouts of sentry duty. But lying in bed, day after day because of a lousy, incompetent leg, is about to drive him mad.
He'd asked Merlin if he could go outside, even just to sit for a bit. (The hut is dark and dirty and depressing and Arthur's pretty sure he's halfway listened to Gaius rattle on about fresh air being good for the healing process once or twice.) Merlin had immediately refused and then spent a good half hour glaring at Arthur, as if daring him to try moving from the bed. Arthur had been ready to order Merlin to let him outside, but the intensity of the glare had gone up as soon as he'd opened his mouth. Arthur had given up, if only for the added opportunity to sulk. But, as soon as Merlin had stepped outside that evening, Arthur had tested his leg. Scooting to the edge of the bed so his legs dangled over he'd pushed himself experimentally to his feet. It had hurt, no doubt, but he'd been able to put some weight on the injured limb.
------
Arthur glances over to where Merlin's sacked out on his pile of blankets in front of the fire. The prince can't quite understand why his servant's been sleeping so much. As far as Arthur's seen, Merlin's been just as lazy as always the past several days. There's no reason he should look so exhausted.
Arthur slides to the edge of the bed with a wince, putting both his feet on the floor. Merlin doesn't stir at the slight creak the bed frame makes and Arthur lets out a sigh of relief. He's not afraid of Merlin, really, but it's no fun arguing with someone who's barely speaking to him.
Arthur finds himself staring down at the other man. He'd never admit it, but over the past year he's spent a lot of time just watching Merlin. It's one of his favorite forms of entertainment. Arthur's never met anyone quite as clumsy as his manservant. If he takes a bit of perverse pleasure in watching Merlin knock over a tower of clean pewter mugs or snickers when Merlin trips over his own legs while carrying a clean set of linens past a mud puddle, well that's just part of the joy of being royalty.
From all his observation, Arthur knows Merlin stays pale year-round. Even last summer when Arthur took it upon himself to drag Merlin outdoors at least once a day the young man never got any darker. So now it's a bit disconcerting to find Merlin looks just a shade darker; especially considering that shade looks suspiciously grey. Arthur frowns as he lets his eyes sweep over Merlin. Could he have possibly gotten thinner in a week?
It angers Arthur, slightly, that it's taken him so long to notice that Merlin's not exactly in top form himself. Had he been injured in the supposed hunting accident as well?
Arthur's resolve hardens with a sudden determination to get them both back to Camelot. The injured leg aches as he pushes himself to his feet. It doesn't give out beneath him so, with a steadying breath, he limps purposefully toward the door. His hand is reaching for the rough handle when he hears a mutter behind him.
"Arthur, wait!" he hears Merlin call, sounding desperate. It's too late; Arthur's already yanking open the door. The wound in his leg begins to burn more with each step, but he's determined not to let his servant order him about any longer. Especially when said servant is starting to look like he's the one who should be bedridden.
Arthur keeps walking, even as he lets his eyes adjust to being out of the dim hut for the first time in nearly a week. At first, Arthur thinks the sun must be setting. Everything's cast in a dark orange hue he can't not consider 'dusk.' He's confused, then, when he looks up and sees the sun burning bright directly overhead. Arthur immediately drops his gaze to the edge of the clearing, a dozen yards away. Merlin's told him they're somewhere deep in the forest that surrounds Camelot, so Arthur thinks he probably shouldn't be seeing so many gaps in what is supposed to be thick foliage.
He feels boney fingers close around his upper arm, trying to tug him away just as he reaches the trees. “Arthur, please,” he hears Merlin plead, too late to keep him from stepping through one of the too-big gaps between two trees.
Everything is dead in front of him. Where the royal forest is meant to stretch for days, a flat wasteland sits before him. The earth looks like a burnt out husk of its former self; and it seems to stretch on forever. Arthur has a sudden memory of the forest fire that had threatened Camelot the summer he’d turned thirteen.
The air seems to shimmer before him and he turns to Merlin, ready to demand answers. His tirade falters, however, when he actually sees the other man. Merlin is leaning heavily against the bole of one of the trees. His eyes are closed, his breathing heavy, as Arthur watches a bead of sweat slide down that pale-grey face. Merlin is whispering something Arthur can’t quite make out. His eyes open suddenly, fixing on Arthur with a pale-yellow gaze.
“Merlin?” Arthur says in concern as he watches his servant slide to the ground.
“I just have to hold it for three more days,” Merlin whispers, staring out across the wasteland. Arthur turns to follow his line of sight. The air seems to shift again and Arthur looks quickly to his companion.
“Merlin, what’s happened?” he asks in the best authoritative tone he can manage. Merlin slowly meets his eyes. Arthur notices, with no small amount of relief they’ve returned to their expected blue, even if they are a shade or two too light. (It’s not as if Arthur spends a lot of time keeping track of the color of his servants’ eyes, he’s just sure he remembers Gwen or Morgana or someone else female making a comment about Merlin’s eyes specifically.)
“I couldn’t stop it,” Merlin whispers so quietly Arthur wonders if he’s really the one being spoken to. Merlin quickly scrambles to his feet. “Let’s go back inside,” he says in a stronger tone. He puts a shaky hand on Arthur’s arm, turning them hopefully toward the hut. Arthur takes another long look at the empty land before he looks to Merlin again, ready to argue; demand answers. But Merlin’s expression looks so worn Arthur thinks he may be ready to collapse and he’s pulling on Arthur like he’s desperate to get back inside and find a chair.
“I’ll tell you everything if you’ll just come inside,” Merlin tells him. Arthur finally nods and lets Merlin guide him back toward their shelter.
Arthur sits heavily in the chair closest to the door. As soon as they’d turned back, his leg had decided to speak up with a throbbing complaint of abuse.
“How’s your leg?” Merlin asks, hovering over him. Arthur gives him a half-hearted glare as he bats Merlin’s hands away.
“Sit down, Merlin,” he orders. “You have an explanation to give.” Merlin looks slightly terrified as he moves to the other rickety chair across the table from Arthur’s. He says nothing for a long time, staring blankly at the dying fire.
“Merlin?” Arthur means to sound commanding, but he’s fairly certain his tone comes out worried instead.
“I did everything I could,” Merlin says finally. His tone is flat, but Arthur can see the hand resting on the table is shaking. “The Dragon warned me it was going to happen. He told me to grab you and run, no looking back. But I couldn’t just leave everyone else.” Merlin’s voice cracks slightly. “There wasn’t any time.” Merlin finally looks at Arthur, his eyes shining. “I almost got you killed,” he says quietly. Arthur frowns at him.
“Merlin, you’re not making any sense. A dragon? There aren’t any left! What happened out there?” Merlin stares down at the table, picking at an imperfection in the wood.
“There was a sorcerer,” Merlin says quietly. Arthur tenses immediately. His whole life he’s been raised knowing the evils of magic. He’s never quite been the fanatic his father is, but he wouldn’t want to come across a sorcerer on his own. “He was bitter. His whole world died; my fault.” Merlin closes his eyes, his hand going up to rub across his brow.
“The Dragon warned me he was coming.” He dropped his hand to look at Arthur. “It’s my destiny to protect you,” Merlin says tiredly in a tone that hints at exasperation. Arthur almost starts to laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement, but he stops when he sees Merlin’s expression has hardened. “I was going to find you, to take you away like the Dragon said, but I ran into Gwen and Morgana in the courtyard. I couldn’t…” Merlin’s voice cracks. “I got them and some of your knights into the dungeon, put them all into a deep sleep. They might make it through.”
“Make it through what, Merlin?” Merlin scoffs lightly.
“You saw it, Arthur. The world is ending out there. It has ended. The only reason we’re alive is because I used magic.” Merlin whispers the last word as Arthur stares at him. He couldn’t have heard right, Arthur thinks. There’s no way Merlin, of all people, knows magic. He laughs a shaky laugh.
“Come off it, Merlin,” he says. “How much blood do you think I lost? Who trapped us here?” Merlin sighs and stares at the fire again.
“It was the only place I could think of,” he says quietly. “I stopped here for a night the first time I went to Camelot.”
Arthur’s thoughts are racing, suddenly remember every time Merlin had helped him, saved his life. Had all those times been tainted by magic?
“You’re a sorcerer,” he whispers. Merlin nods nervously. “You practice magic in my father’s kingdom!?” Arthur hisses as he stands in anger. Some small part of his brain is telling him to stop and think before he speaks. This is Merlin he’s talking to, one of the biggest bleeding hearts he’s ever met. But Arthur’s been brought up to hate all things magical. To discover his manservant has been practicing magic under his nose feels like a personal insult on his intelligence.
“Take me back to Camelot,” Arthur demands in a harsh tone.
Merlin swallows heavily before he speaks. “I can’t, sire. Camelot is gone. The whole world is gone. We have to stay here. It’s not safe beyond the trees. The only thing keeping us alive right now is the shield I’ve placed around us.” Arthur glares at him.
“Are you really trying to hold your prince for ransom?” he challenges. Merlin stands quickly, looking offended.
“I’m trying to save your life, you prat!” Merlin shouts in a tone Arthur never thought he’d hear from him. Merlin takes a deep breath and continues more quietly. “In three days time it should be safe for us outside. Just bear with this for three more days, Arthur,” Merlin pleads. “After that, I don’t care what you do with me.” Arthur doubts that’s the truth, but there’s something about the worry in Merlin’s expression that calms his anger slightly.
“Three days,” he says in a tight tone. “And then you will return me to Camelot.”
“Camelot’s gon…” Arthur’s glare cuts Merlin off. Arthur’s surprised when Merlin drops his gaze to the floor and responds with a perfectly meek “Yes, sire.”
------
For the past day and a half, Arthur has been very determinedly avoiding Merlin. It feels like a strange role reversal from how they’d been living just a few days before.
Arthur can barely even stand to look at the other man. That…magician. For all he knows, Merlin was the one who set the world on fire. Though, Arthur must admit, he’s not the destructive type and even Merlin’s not that clumsy.
So Arthur stays on his side of the hut, glaring in Merlin’s direction whenever his servant gets too close. It’s not very mature and it doesn’t solve any of the hundreds of problems Arthur knows they’re facing, but how else is Uther Pendragon’s son supposed to react to finding out his manservant is a bloody sorcerer? He certainly can’t kill him; not if they are possibly the only two people still alive, anyway.
------
Arthur wakes from a nap and finds the hut empty again. He frowns as he considers the trouble Magical Merlin may be getting into by himself. His leg has finally healed enough that he barely limps to the door.
He finds Merlin at the edge of their little haven. He’s seated on the ground, back resting against a tree as he stares out at nothing. It’s hard for Arthur to keep the anger up when he sees the way the young man trembles. He can’t remember the last time he saw Merlin eat anything, though there’s always been plenty of bread in the basket on the table.
“What are you doing out here, Merlin?” he asks softly. Merlin startles and quickly twists his neck to look up at him. His eyes are a swirl of pale gold and dark blue and Arthur fights the urge to back away from the way they seem to dig into him.
“Sentry duty,” Merlin says in a deadpan tone, turning his head away again. Arthur scoffs and leans against the tree next to Merlin’s.
“There’s nothing out there, Merlin,” he says bitterly. “You said so yourself.” Merlin doesn’t reply, just continues staring at a random point in the distance. Arthur watches him for a long time, watching the shaky way his servant’s breathing; the tremor in his hands.
“It’s killing you, isn’t it?” Arthur blurts out as the realization slaps him in the face. His gut drops when Merlin doesn’t immediately deny it.
“What are you talking about, sire?” Merlin asks with a sigh. Arthur crouches down next to him, ignoring the pull in his leg.
“Keeping this…shield…or whatever up. Is it killing you?” Merlin doesn’t look at him; seems to be refusing to look at him.
“Is. It. Killing. You?” Arthur repeats slowly, demanding an answer. Merlin finally meets his eyes.
“Might be, yeah,” he answers. He gives Arthur a small, self-deprecating smile. “I figured out how to turn lead into gold, but I can’t save the world. I’m a shit sorcerer, apparently.”
Arthur gapes at him. Something clenches in his chest as he realizes this man, his friend, is killing himself. Arthur has to stand, closing his eyes as he turns away. He knows Merlin’s saved his life a dozen times already, but Arthur has never wanted to live at the cost of anyone else’s life. Especially not someone he’s already indebted to; someone he may, very possibly, even care for, just a bit.
He can’t think of anything to say, so he turns and stalks angrily back to the hut.
------
The prince calms down considerably after a couple hours of frustrated pacing. Well, mostly his leg decides to remind him it’s not quite fully healed and forces him to sit down to take a deep breath.
Arthur thinks about how much time has passed and frowns, realizing Merlin has yet to come inside. His heart pounds in his chest as he thinks Merlin may’ve already killed himself maintaining that damn shield. Ignoring the renewed ache in his leg, Arthur rushes out the door.
He spots him immediately, sprawled out on the ground halfway between the hut and the trees. As he jogs to his side, Arthur can see the protective shield flicker next to Merlin’s prone figure. He’s not sure he wants to know whether Merlin’s intentionally pulled it in closer to the hut or if the magician’s weakening reserves have forced him to pull back their defenses.
“Merlin!” Arthur gasps as he falls to his knees next to him. Merlin blinks up at him with glassy eyes. The other man is wheezing for breath as Arthur gathers him in his arms to pull him into a sitting position.
“Had to move it back,” Merlin whispers as Arthur more or less pulls him into his lap.
“Just leave it, Merlin,” Arthur tries to order him. He can feel how badly Merlin is shaking, pressed against him.
“One more day,” Merlin’s voice is so quiet Arthur almost doesn’t hear him. He ducks his head to rest his cheek on top of Merlin’s head.
“It’s killing you. You have to let it go, Merlin,” Arthur whispers into the damp hair that’s curled around Merlin’s ear. With Merlin pulled close, Arthur can feel the rattle of Merlin’s chest as he takes a breath.
“Too soon,” Merlin gasps. Arthur closes his eyes and turns his face into Merlin’s hair briefly. His friend is dying and Arthur can’t keep him from killing himself.
“It’s okay, Merlin,” he says softly. “We’ll be okay.” Merlin trembles in his arms; Arthur tightens his hold. “Let it go and we’ll make it work. Together.”
“I don’t…want you to…die,” Merlin pants as he weakly grips at Arthur’s arm.
“I won’t,” Arthur promises. He thinks it’s likely he just lied, but he can’t let Merlin die. Not first, not trying to buy him more time. What would a prince even do without a manservant to lord over? “Please, Merlin. Follow my orders for once and let. It. Go.” Merlin gasps suddenly and Arthur is sure his own heart stops as the dark-haired man goes limp in his arms.
“Merlin?” he whispers, voice cracking slightly. He watches as the air in front of them shifts and knows Merlin’s dropped whatever was holding the protective shield in place. Arthur wants to feel relief, but Merlin’s not moving.
“Merlin?” he whispers a little more desperately as he shakes the body in his arms. He pulls back enough to stare into dull, blank eyes. It’s a look Arthur’s seen often enough to recognize and his own eyes begin to burn.
“Merlin,” he whispers again. His eyes squeeze shut as he leans forward to bury his face in Merlin’s hair. The prince of Camelot is not unacquainted with loss; men have fought and died for him from the day he was born. But Merlin’s not a knight; he was never meant to have to die for his prince.
Arthur takes a long moment to mourn the loss of his friend. He tries not to consider the possibility that Merlin’s left him utterly alone on a destructed earth. It wasn’t as if the servant meant to abandon him.
The body in his arms feels like it’s slipping away from him. Arthur tightens his grip, not ready to let go just yet. A warm breeze grazes his cheek and he turns his head away, wanting a moment or two more to grieve before he has to consider that maybe he’s about to die by fire after all.
“Arthur?” a voice whispers. Arthur sits back with a start, staring down in disbelief as Merlin blinks up at him. Though he’d once heard of sorcerers capable of raising the dead, Arthur somehow doubts it was meant to be believed they could do so for themselves. And Arthur knows, without a doubt, Merlin just died in his arms. But now the young mage is staring up at him, breathing a little shakily, but breathing all the same.
Arthur promptly drops him. He scrambles to his feet, eager to get away from what can’t be his manservant. Merlin groans and rolls to his side, giving Arthur a tired glare.
“See, this is why I never listen to you,” he croaks. “I always end up in pain.”
“You were dead,” Arthur blurts out. Merlin rolls his eyes as he sits up.
“Like you’d let me die,” he grumbles. “Not so long as your chamber-pot needs emptied or your armor needs polishing…”
“As if you ever actually manage to do either of those things,” Arthur counters, mostly out of habit. He takes another wary step back as he watches Merlin push himself to his feet. His servant certainly looks more alive than dead. Merlin looks at him and sighs before turning his attention toward the trees.
“Still alive, then,” he says quietly. He takes a deep breath and looks to Arthur again. “Are you going to stare at me all day?”
“I’m trying to remember how one’s supposed to kill the living dead,” Arthur mutters. Merlin gives him one of his broad grins.
“Beheading, I think, sire.” Arthur’s missed that mocking tone these past few days and he can’t help but smile slightly in return. Merlin turns toward the hut and manages a step toward it before he sways. Arthur moves in quickly to catch him, wrapping an arm around Merlin’s waist before he can fall on his face. “Not quite ready for sudden movement…” Merlin mutters. He’s breathing against Arthur and Arthur’s grip tightens momentarily as he realizes Merlin really is alive.
“Come on, Merlin,” he says as he aims them toward the hut. “It’s not like the world will end if you take a nap now.”
------
Merlin ends up sleeping a full day through. Arthur watches him from the table, keeping track of how often his chest rises and falls with each breath. The movement’s a welcome reminder Arthur’s not been left alone.
When Merlin finally wakes, Arthur notices his eyes still haven’t returned to their normal shade of blue. They’ve stubbornly remained so pale they’re nearly white. Merlin can’t explain it, so Arthur tries not to dwell, but he knows whether the world’s actually ended or not, those eyes will always remind him of the sacrifice Merlin had been willing to make for him.
They argue for days about their next move. In the end, Arthur reminds Merlin of how the three days he’d agreed to have long since passed. There’s still no real distinction between night and day, but Arthur thinks the sun is resting a bit lower in the sky when they move to the edge of the trees. They glance at each other before they take a cautious step together. Neither of them falls down dead and they immediately share grins of relief.
Then they find themselves staring into the distance, seemingly stuck on what to do next.
“So, what now, sire?” Merlin asks in what Arthur thinks may be a condescending tone. Arthur turns to glare at him and catches the mirth at the corner of Merlin’s pale eyes. He stares at Merlin for a long moment. Chances are, he’s staring at all that’s left of his kingdom. It’s funny, really, the most inept servant he’s ever had being the one who survived. The one who saved him.
It’s enough to make Arthur lament the changes in Merlin. The paleness of Merlin’s eyes is enough to mark how much the end of the world cost him. The lines of his face have hardened as well, no hint behind of the boy Merlin once was.
“Arthur?” Merlin prods gently, pulling his prince from his thoughts. Arthur forces himself to look away, into the distance.
“Now we head for Camelot to see what’s left,” Arthur says steadily. “Perhaps your spell worked and the others are still asleep,” he adds with a confidence he does not feel.
“Perhaps,” Merlin agrees softly, sounding no more confident. Arthur looks to him again and finds Merlin watching him. They stare at each other for a long moment, neither man speaking. Arthur is terrified of what they’ll find when they leave their sanctuary, but Merlin’s gaze is unwavering, silently offering Arthur whatever he may need.
“Come along, then, Merlin,” Arthur breaks the silence in a falsely cheery tone. “There’s a quest to be had.” Arthur turns and begins walking determinedly toward Camelot.
“Uh…sire?” Merlin speaks up from behind him. Arthur stops and turns.
“What is it now, Merlin?” he asks in exasperation. He frowns when he gets the impression Merlin’s trying not to grin at him.
“Camelot’s that way,” the magician says, pointing in the opposite direction Arthur had been heading. Arthur glares to the West.
“You’re sure?” he asks before he can stop himself. Merlin does grin then, a flash of gold making his eyes light up for an instant.
“Quite sure, yes,” he agrees, his grin turning smug rather quickly. Arthur grumbles a curse or two under his breath as he changes direction and starts walking once again.
“Can’t you just…magic us there or something?” Arthur asks. The glare Merlin gives him in response lightens his heart in some odd way. It’s enough to make Arthur smile as he faces the path ahead. Together, through the ashes and dust of his father’s forest, they trudge on.
/end