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Gwen worried about Arthur. There was nothing unusual about that fact. Between him trying to be a good king for Camelot, the attacks against the kingdom, and the sometimes still lingering hurt in his eyes when he looked at her, she worried near constantly about her husband. She worried that she wasn’t a good enough queen to stand beside him, that he would one day be cut down in battle, or that he might never trust her again.
She also worried about Merlin, even before she knew about his past in Essetir. Between his many duties at the castle, his loyal support of Arthur, and his knack for getting into trouble, she worried about him quite often. She worried that he would overtax himself, that Arthur might put too much weight on his shoulders, or that he might put himself in harm’s way accidentally.
But there was one thing she had never worried about with them- that the bond between them could become so strained.
Since Merlin had come forward with his story, she had watched them both as they struggled to find their footing with each other again. Arthur was seeing his friend in an entirely new light, and Merlin had placed himself in that light. She had no doubt that Merlin was now stuck in warring limbo with himself, unsure how he should act now that Arthur knew.
She had watched all day as Arthur and Merlin fumbled their words around each other, and now she watched as Arthur paced back and forth in his room. He’d been at it for hours now, ever since Merlin had left for the night, and his frustrated restlessness was getting him nowhere. Finally, she could take it no more and stood.
“Arthur, that’s enough, now.” She said softly as she wrapped her arms around one of his, staying his feet. “Come to bed with me.”
The king let himself be pulled to the mattress but grabbed her hands as she moved to help him undress. “Guinevere, I don’t think I can tonight.” He murmured, hanging his head.
The queen simply shook her head fondly with a smile and brushed her fingers through his hair. “When I said come to bed, that wasn’t what I meant.” She assured him, leaning down to kiss his temple gently.
This time he let himself be dressed down to his braies and a sleep shirt. Gwen set his clothes aside in a basket for Merlin to collect the next day and slipped into the bed with her husband. “Everything is going to be alright, Arthur.” She whispered, pulling him to her chest and hugging him close.
Slowly, she felt him grip onto her and curl up against her body, hiding his face against her chest in a way that he only did when he felt truly lost.
“It’s alright. I’m here.” She said, her voice as soft and silken as a downy feather, and her touch just as light as she embraced him and kissed the crown of his head.
That was how the king fell asleep, held close in the arms of his wife, and anchored in the safe harbor she provided him.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
It was cold, so cold. Shivers wracked his thin body as Merlin pushed himself back against the stone wall, trying to preserve some of his body heat. But it wasn’t enough. With no blanket to lay over himself, the frigid air of the dungeon sunk its chilled claws into him, piercing his skin clear to the bone. He shifted, turning slightly to tuck his red nose against his arm, the position helping to warm his face as he breathed, as well as helping to block the rank scent of the dungeon that was permeated with foul odors of human waste and blood and death.
A tormented scream bounced off the walls from another cell further down the hallway, and Merlin flinched against the rough texture of the wall. Another cry, this one weaker and broken had the young boy sobbing and trying to cover his ears. He didn’t want to listen as another child was beaten down and taught his place through pain. He didn’t want to listen as a knight from another kingdom was tortured for information. But he couldn’t tune the noise out as the knight screamed, the child cried, and the prisoners groaned from the aching cold.
All he could do was lie there and shiver and listen to the sounds surrounding him.
Merlin woke with a gasp, his body still trembling from the cold in his memory turned nightmare. His hand came up to cover his face as he sat hunched over in his bed, his eyes wide and unwilling to close, to go back to that terrible place.
He was no stranger to nightmares; One couldn’t go through what he had, both as Cenred’s child warrior and as Emrys, and not acquire plenty of fodder for bad dreams. But it had been quite a while since he’d dreamt in such vivid detail about what he’d gone through in Essetir.
He gripped onto his blanket with a tight fist, anger rising within him and tasting bitter on his tongue. Why did he have to deal with this now? After so long, why did it have to come back to haunt him again? He thought he had moved past these awful memories, at least to the fullest extent possible. In the past few years, Merlin’s dreams of Essetir had become less frequent until they were nearly all together gone.
Merlin closed his eyes and closed his hand in a fist, pressing his lips to his knuckles as he swallowed back a sob. They had nearly been gone, and sure, maybe the only reason for it was that he had traded his nightmares of Essetir for new ones of Camelot, but now they were back- and he didn’t want them back!
He shook his head, both hands now pressing against his temples. I don’t want this, he thought as blood-stained stones flashed in front of his eyes.
I don’t, the thought whispered alongside a child’s scream.
Please, stop! he begged as empty, lifeless eyes stared back at him.
Why can’t you just leave me alone?!
He tore his eyes open then, his gaze landing on Mordred as the boy slept peacefully under the window. His panic faded then, the anxious energy shifting to channel into anger. It was Mordred’s fault that this had happened. If it hadn’t been for Mordred, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have told Arthur and the others about his time in Essetir. He wouldn’t be having these nightmares again. He wouldn’t keep seeing himself every time he thought of a sword in Mordred’s hand.
It was all his fault, and Merlin couldn’t stand to look at the boy for a second longer. He got out of bed, getting dressed quickly before leaving. It wouldn’t be long until the kitchen would be serving breakfast to the live-in servants, and while Merlin didn’t usually eat with the others, preferring Gaius' company and cooking, it was the safer option for the morning. This way, at least, he wouldn't have to think about Mordred for a while.