Chapter Text
The courtyard felt like a place that held no warmth anymore.
Arthur stood at the edge, the stones beneath his boots slick with the remnants of rain, and the air was thick with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid. The wind had picked up, biting, as though it, too, was tired of the silence that had stretched for weeks—months—since the day Merlin had gone.
He could feel it now, in the spaces between his breaths. The hollow ache in his chest that had been there since the day he’d lost Merlin. And it wasn’t just the physical absence. No, it was the ache of everything they’d been to each other—the connection that had always been their unspoken truth—torn apart in the space of a single argument.
Arthur rubbed a hand across his face, feeling the roughness of his own skin. He hadn’t slept in days. He hadn’t been able to. His thoughts, his guilt, were too loud.
He had never wanted to hurt Merlin. Not truly. But now, standing here, alone in the emptiness of Camelot, he wasn’t sure he could even remember the man he used to be—before all this. Before Merlin had become something else, someone else to him. Emrys. A name that burned like fire. A name that had been hidden in plain sight all along.
How could he have missed it? How could he have been so blind?
He exhaled a long breath, pulling his cloak tighter around him, the fabric rough against his skin. And then he heard the footsteps.
Slow. Measured. Not hurried. Not a soldier, not a servant. The quiet, deliberate footsteps of someone who didn’t belong here, but had no other place to go.
Arthur didn’t turn to face him. He didn’t need to. He knew. And yet, in his chest, something tugged, something old and familiar. The ache of seeing Merlin in front of him again, and knowing that this—this moment—wasn’t something that could be healed in a glance or a simple exchange of words.
Merlin was standing at the edge of the courtyard, still as stone, but his presence was a living thing, filling the empty spaces between them.
Merlin had always been the one to move first.
It was the way it had always been. He had always been the one to rush in, to put things right, to fix what was broken. But this time—this time it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.
Arthur’s anger had been real, and Merlin couldn’t deny it. The weight of those words, the betrayal, the shock—they had cut deeper than anything he’d ever endured. But Merlin wasn’t here for that. He wasn’t here to argue, not anymore. What had been said couldn’t be unsaid. What had been broken couldn’t be fixed with a simple apology.
He had never wanted to leave. Not really. Not in his heart. But he had been forced to leave. And now, standing here, he was faced with the impossible. Could he truly forgive Arthur? Could he trust him again?
Could he trust himself?
Merlin felt the familiar rush of emotion—anger, sadness, guilt. They all pressed in on him like a physical weight, but there was something else there, too. A fragile, tender thing that flickered inside him when he saw Arthur standing there, so broken, so alone.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Arthur,” Merlin said softly, his voice low and steady despite the turmoil inside. “You’ve already said what you needed to. What else is there?”
Arthur stiffened at the words, but he didn’t turn away. He couldn’t.
“You think it’s that simple?” Arthur’s voice cracked, and for the first time, Merlin saw the raw pain that had been buried behind the prince’s arrogance. “That I could just… walk away from you? From us? That I could just—” He choked on the words, his throat tight, as if admitting this truth—this weakness—was too much to bear. “I can’t do this without you, Merlin.”
The confession hung in the air between them, heavy and fragile, like glass waiting to shatter.
Merlin stepped forward then, slowly, his boots sinking slightly into the mud. But he didn’t take the last step toward Arthur. He couldn’t.
“Then why did you push me away?” Merlin asked, his voice hoarse. His hands were trembling, the weight of his own hurt making him feel like he was drowning in it. “Why did you say those things to me?”
Arthur closed his eyes, and for a moment, Merlin thought he wouldn’t answer. But then, Arthur’s words came, broken and jagged. “I was angry. And terrified. I was so afraid of losing you… that I made you into something I couldn’t bear to face.”
Merlin’s chest tightened at the admission, but the sting was there, too. “You never asked me what I was. You just… decided.”
Arthur’s eyes were wet with unshed tears, his breath shallow. “And now I see. Now I understand what I’ve done. What I did to us. I’ve lost you, Merlin. I don’t know how to fix it, but I’ll do anything to try.”
Merlin stared at him for a long, silent moment, his heart pounding in his chest. The anger was still there. The hurt was still there. But what else was there?
He didn’t want to forgive him. He didn’t want to open himself up to that kind of pain again. But… could he live with nothing? Could he live with this guilt between them, this rift that had been carved by his own silence?
“I don’t know if I can ever trust you again,” Merlin said, the words like a knife in his own chest. But the truth had to be said. “But I know that I can’t keep running.”
Arthur’s eyes darkened, and for a second, he looked like a man who had been shattered completely. “I will never forgive myself for what I’ve done, Merlin. I don’t know how to make this right, but I swear I will spend every moment trying.”
Merlin nodded slowly, the lump in his throat growing larger. “And I’ll stay. Not because I think you deserve it, but because I… I can’t leave you like this. Not when we both have so much left to give.”
Arthur stepped closer, his voice barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything. “Then let me start over. Let me show you what you mean to me. Let me fix what I can.”
Merlin’s heart ached at the words, but for the first time, there was a flicker of something. A glimmer of hope. Not a guarantee. Not a promise of everything being okay. But a beginning.
“I’ll stay,” Merlin whispered, his voice breaking. “But you have to show me. You have to prove it.”