Chapter Text
"Arthur, are you listening?"
Merlin's voice had snapped him out of whatever trance he was in, as he stood hunched over the edge of his desk with his back turned.
The memories were still fresh, laid waste to his mind that took precedence over absolutely everything, now—even with what little rest he'd forced himself to get last night. The pure exhaustion and growing apathy for anything that wasn't stood right directly in front of his face—the draw of a half-empty goblet nearly falling off his desk.
His irritation towards the fact that nobody could address him properly after it happened.
Without, of course—looking at Merlin first.
"Sire."
"Please, continue."
"I've—did you just say, 'please'?"
Arthur whipped his head around angrily, until he saw—it—and had to force himself to look away again, eyes now glued to his desk.
Disgust was the only word for it.
Gods above.
"Sorry, I... So, Gedref. I think we can still cross as it was before, but Leon forgot to mention we're at a disadvantage if we need to camp there. Her Majesty won't allow it anymore, not after Odin caught wind of her father's death. They've already invaded the forest, captured some of her men, spread rumors of a war and it's been less than—"
"Less than a week, I'm aware."
Nothing but silence and the mindless, rhythmic tapping of Arthur's ring on his desk.
Rodor's death should've had more of an effect on him than this. If it'd been a week ago, they'd be halfway there by now.
"Arthur—"
"Yes, I know."
"Then, you should know that I'm coming with you."
Arthur faced him directly, for the first time in three days.
"You will not." He stated, a finality to his tone that left no room for argument. So help him—if he had to chain Merlin to the walls of his dungeon, he'd do so without hesitation and with little regard for his current state.
The boy shifted uncomfortably under his stare, head bowed and arms obediently placed behind his back. It was a stark contrast to their usual dynamic, a certain level of disconnect that set Arthur's teeth on edge, ever since the morning after he found him.
Strung up by his wrists in the cellar of a tall guarding post, stationed just outside the Valley of the Fallen Kings.
Naked, unconscious, and debauched like a common prostitute.
To be faced with those filthy marks on his body threatened to upend everything in his immediate surroundings, even if most of them were covered by his clothing.
Most of them.
Excluding the ones still adorning his left cheekbone and lower right portion of his chin—large fingerprints turned a sickening gradient of purple, yellow, and green against his pale skin. The rest of them disappeared under his neckerchief, but that didn't stop Arthur's mind from torturing him with how bad it looked yesterday and the day before that.
He hadn't eaten anything since they got back to the castle.
Too preoccupied by every gruesome detail of the massacre that ensued, shortly after they walked in on it. In his blinding rage fueled by adrenaline and hatred, he dropped bodies like they were ragdolls, one after another after another, until his vision blurred under the torrent of blood dripping down his face, soaking through the gaps of his chainmail.
He would've started and finished an entire war that night, if not for Leon and Lancelot restraining him by his armor and dragging him in the opposite direction of Cenred's kingdom—repeatedly shouting that they were dead and it's enough, it's enough, Arthur. He's alive, you must stop, stop this, it's over, they're dead. We've got him, don't look, don't look at him—look at me. Look at us, sire. Focus on the path ahead. We're taking him to the castle, he will be alright, calm yourself, Arthur, you're not thinking clearly, you must stop...
Elyan and Percival had to carry Merlin out of that vile place and Arthur threatened both of their lives when they attempted to sling him over the back of a horse. Leon struggled to keep the King away from them, steering him towards the back of the line, shouting at Percival to cover his body with a cloak and carry him the rest of the way.
Arthur had never been so desperate for retaliation in his life.
He blinked in the present moment, not realizing that he'd been waiting for Merlin to say something.
"I understand why. I do, but I—"
"But you never listen, do you? You are not permitted beyond these walls, until I can figure out exactly what I'm meant to do about this. I told you to..."
He paused and exhaled deeply, thinking back to the last conversation they had before Merlin took off without warning.
"I told you to wait until we had some more information. Still, you had no protection and were ambushed on the very road to the castle, not even five leagues away, with poisoned darts no less—Gaius had to physically extract that stuff from your legs right in front of me. Do you have any idea... The kind of sickness that would've killed you long before you could even get the chance to beg for your life—were it not for your magic somehow always managing to keep that idiotic brain of yours inside your skull. They thought you were dead. And—I can tell you with a disturbing amount of clarity—they didn't seem to mind that part at all, in fact... Did they, Merlin?"
He flinched at the bluntness of Arthur's rhetoric, but shook his head anyway in response. Merlin always took interrogations like this quite well, even if the King didn't deserve half of his respect.
He really didn't deserve any of it, if he were honest.
"No, I..." His voice sounded so small and faraway, strained by a very vulnerable place inside of him, unknown to Arthur.
"I'm sorry, sire... I thought I was protecting you—"
"You put yourself first!"
Merlin nodded once, moisture swelling in his eyes from the sudden outburst. He bowed his head and stared at the floor, chewing nervously on his bottom lip, waiting for another lecture that never came.
There was nothing left to say.
"Get out of my sight and be rid of those markings on your face."
"Arthur—"
"Now."
He left in a hurry, body disappearing past the threshold without even bothering to close the doors behind him.