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It started with a stain. Just one. A crimson red stain which spread on the side of Merlin’s trousers. Quiet, angry, unnoticeable unless you really looked. Merlin himself hadn’t noticed, but then he never took great care for looking in the mirror. Unfortunately for Merlin he had one person who stared, who really tried to see him, more than even himself.
Arthur Pendragon ran his eyes over his emaciated man servant. Now this stain wouldn’t have been an issue, he would’ve swept it under the rug, put it down to a dinner stain or unwashed blood from training if it hadn’t become part of a pattern. Just little things, things that nobody else would pay attention to if they weren’t a little too obsessed with their best friend. The way Merlin carried himself, sometimes limping on one leg more than the other. The sleepless nights which were evident in the shadows under his eyes. The way he’d begun to refuse food, something he once would have found unimaginable. So when the second stain appeared Arthur couldn’t shake the feeling that something awful was happening under his watch.
Since becoming King, he’d seen a change in Merlin, at first he’d seemed relaxed, more content with himself. But recently there was such dread in his body language that it was eating Arthur alive. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something to do with him, ever since he’d met Merlin he liked to joke that Arthur was a narcissist, but in this case he really did suspect it. It kept Arthur awake, constantly trying to recall what he possibly could’ve said or done to hurt his friend in this way. He saw it in the longing looks when he thought Arthur’s back was turned, the whispered cautions before he went on a hunting trip. Merlin cared, he’d always known that, but this was different. It was genuine fear he saw in his eyes now.
And then this? Blood stains inexplicable in their cause. The distance, the tangible distance that Merlin was creating between them. Once it had been mischief and disobedience that radiated off the younger man, now it was sadness.
On one particularly chilly autumn evening Arthur and Merlin lay side by side on the ground of a forest. Anything to conserve the heat, had been their verbal reasoning. In reality Arthur sought comfort during this trip in the only way he knew how, with Merlin next to him. Their relationship had always been abnormal, their closeness strange to any onlooker. But they understood it, so that was all that mattered. Arthur’s eyes found Merlin’s hip, once stained with blood and now bulky with what looked like a bandage. He couldn’t be sure, but he had his theories now and he didn’t like any of them.
“Merlin?”
Merlin rolled over.
“Sire?”
His next words were carefully calculated.
“What happened to your hip? I saw blood the other day and now you're bandaged. Did you fall over?”
Arthur knew damn well you didn’t get a wound like that from falling over. But this was a necessary route, he couldn’t scare Merlin off.
“Fell off a stool, landed on one of Gaius’ scalpels. Painful to say the least.”
Merlin managed a shallow, humourless laugh.
“And was that the same scalpel that also cut your thigh. Repeatedly?”
Merlin froze, all words and logic betrayed him. How could he possibly have worked it out? He’d been so careful, put his walls up and hidden himself away.
“Ah, those were wounds from picking herbs. You’d be surprised how sharp the branches get at this time of year Arthur. Not that you’d know, given you’ve never done chores in your life.”
The deflection was worse than the lies. Arthur’s eyes bore into Merlin’s, desperate for the truth.
“You know I don’t believe in a word you just said. So where does that leave us?”
“Arthur, I-”
“I might be slow sometimes, Merlin but I’m no idiot. I can see your hurting and now even hurting yourself. Why?”
Merlin’s eyes closed, blinking back tears.
“It helps.”
The silence settled between them. Arthur knew he couldn’t hope to understand this kind of pain but he could certainly try.
“Helps with what, exactly? Please Merlin, I'm trying to understand.”
“Arthur, I’m so scared. All the time. For you, for your men, for Guinevere.” His words were a whisper so fragile Arthur could have imagined them.
“Jesus Merlin, you don’t have to carry this, not alone.”
“There’s a prophecy Arthur, a prophecy you’ll die in battle.”
Now the fear in his man servants eyes matched his own.
“Who told you this?”
“I cannot say, Sire. I’m sorry.”
Arthur sat up now.
“Look Merlin, destiny is a powerful grip on us all. Of all people I know that, I’ve long reconciled that we can’t control our fate. Whatever happens to me, wherever or whenever I fall I know it will not have been long enough to achieve what I wanted to in my reign. When people mourn me, it will be the unfulfilled promises they mour-”
“Arthur, that's not true. You’ve done more for this kingdom in your time than anyone in history.”
“That’s subjective. The point is, death is cruel. Death wrenches you from this Earth for no reason at all and it takes and takes. We can’t control the future but we can control today. The important things in everyday life and for me that is you. I will not allow you to hurt and bleed for fear of what may happen to me. As long as I am alive, even beyond the grave, you’ll have someone who will care.”
Merlin nodded, once. But the steel in his gaze told Arthur all he needed to know.
“We have to fight for this kingdom, for our people. I need you by my side and I need you healthy. God Merlin I need that more than anything.”
Merlin pressed his lips to Arthur’s in one rapid movement. A half second later and the King of Camelot was kissing him back. Gloved hand in dark brown hair, pasty hand on armoured sleeve. Arthur broke away first.
“Whatever happens, I’m glad we had this. We had us.”
And for a moment, the years of unspoken secrets, quiet need, lust and longing were a distant memory. Merlin could allow himself to believe he had a future, with Arthur- for no future without Arthur would even bear thinking about.
The chaos of tomorrow was tomorrow’s problem. And for now, the warlock and the king lay as equals.