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Merlin was used to pressure; his life was an endless source of it. Anger, however, was new to him.
Oh, sure, he’d encountered short bursts of rage in battle, especially when taking down yet another sorcerer that had targeted Arthur. But on those occasions, the anger would soon fade, returning only when he needed it.
Kilgharrah was dying. And ever since Merlin had come to know that brutal fact, anger had become his steadfast companion.
The dragon’s deterioration had started slowly at first. He’d begun to look smaller- but Merlin was always so wrapped up in his own fears when they’d met, that it had taken some time to take notice.
Kilgharrah had told him there was nothing to do, that he was simply too old. Merlin, of course, did not accept this.
The first week, he had scoured all ancient books he could get his hands on, searching for a remedy. After finding none, he’d recruited Gaius to put together whatever potions he could, in hope of staving off the inevitable. The dragon had surprisingly humored Merlin, sampling the comically small potions. But every night that Merlin returned to him, he looked worse than the one before.
The third week, Merlin had simply stayed with him, keeping him company into the late hours of the night. Kilgharrah would tell him stories of the old world- of ancient congregations between dragons and their lords. Of a world where magic ran free, embraced instead of forbidden. Of peace.
And all the while, Merlin grew angrier. He was angry that things hadn’t been different between him and Kilgharrah, that circumstances had demanded he use the dragon as an advisor, not as an equal. For a time, they’d even been enemies- and to some extent, the bond between them had never been the same since.
Merlin was powerless. He couldn’t even summon Aithusa to provide Kilgharrah company; the young dragon was in the wind. Kilgharrah was largely silent on the matter, but Merlin could sense his guilt and regret over not being able to say good-bye.
And throughout it all, he was stuck every day listening to Arthur prattle on about meetings and practices and hunting and nothing.
“What do you think of Hanford?” Arthur asked one night, taking his boots off as Merlin polished one of the gauntlets he’d tossed carelessly to the side. They’d just finished a late practice, with Arthur touting to his knights the importance of being able to fight in the dark. It was a solid enough argument, but it had left Merlin even more annoyed than usual. The exhaustion he felt then was edging itself towards delirium.
“Where’s that?” Merlin murmured absently, focused on a stubborn spot of dirt on the metal.
Arthur laughed. “It’s a who, not a where, Merlin. He was one of the new trainee knights- you held the shield for him.”
“Oh. Right.”
“So?” Arthur said, falling back onto his bed. “What do you think of him?”
“Does it matter?”
The words came out with more bite to them than he’d intended. Merlin paused in his polishing, hoping it would go unnoticed- and then cringed when he heard the shifting of weight as Arthur stood up.
“Alright. That’s it.” Suddenly, there was a hand on Merlin’s back, pulling him up. “Sit down.”
“What? No, I have to-”
“Sit down,” Arthur said, forcing Merlin into a chair before he could protest any further. “And tell me just what the hell is going on with you.” Sitting down in a chair at the opposite end, Arthur leaned forward, one arm on the table, fingers drumming. He leveled Merlin with an expectant gaze.
Merlin laughed nervously, feigning a look of incredulity. “I don’t…”
“Don’t even try, Merlin,” Arthur said sternly, shaking his head. “You’re a sorry liar.”
It was all Merlin could do not to laugh at that - but any humor he still had quickly faded as Arthur continued to stare questioningly at him.
I could just walk away. It wouldn’t be the wise thing to do- it would certainly spell tension between them in the coming days. But did he truly owe Arthur an explanation? It had been his father, after all, who had confined Kilgharrah for years in that miserable cave. Perhaps he wouldn’t be dying if he had lived as a dragon should, all that time.
But Arthur wasn’t his father. Merlin couldn’t give him the whole truth- but he deserved to know at least a part of it.
“There’s a… friend of mine,” Merlin began slowly.
At this, Arthur relaxed, raising an eyebrow. “A special friend?”
If it wasn’t the tavern, it was a lady; this was how Arthur seemed to fill in the holes of his friend’s existence. Merlin supposed he should be flattered by this, but he wasn’t in the mood just then.
“He’s dying.” Merlin spoke the truth quickly, before his fear could catch up with him.
Arthur blinked. Then blinked again. “I’m sorry,” he said, not knowing what else to say.
“And I kept thinking that there was something I could do, that I could find a way to help him- you know, healing wise, after everything I’ve learned.” Merlin swallowed hard. “But he’s dying, and I can’t do a damned thing about it.”
As painful as it was, it felt good to say these things to Arthur. He grew tired of trying to appear as the simple, untroubled servant.
Arthur, meanwhile, shifted in his seat. This was not at all how he had thought the conversation would go. So he turned to something a bit more familiar as a king- strategizing. “Have you asked Gaius?”
“Of course,” Merlin said. “But it’s beyond him.”
Arthur nodded, and was quiet for a time. When he spoke again, it was to ask, “What’s his name?”
“His name?” Merlin repeated in surprise.
“Yes. Your friend’s name,” Arthur said slowly, as though speaking to a child.
“Gharrah.” Yet another half-truth. Or, more accurately, two-thirds of a truth.
“Gharrah?” Arthur squinted as he said it. “Odd name, that.”
Merlin shrugged. “But it suits him. He’s an odd one.”
“Hm. Makes sense. He is your friend.” Arthur tapped his chin in thought. “Though to be honest, I am a little surprised you have one.”
Merlin pretended to be affronted. “I do have a life outside this castle.”
“I find that hard to believe. How do you even know him? I give you enough chores, trying to keep you out of the tavern.”
“That’s why you give them to me, huh?” Merlin muttered, rolling his eyes. “I’ve known him a long time. Almost as long as I’ve known you.”
Distract, and re-direct- that was how he handled many of his conversations with Arthur, when they strayed out of comfortable bounds.
It worked; Arthur took the bait. “He’s from Camelot?”
“Sort of. But he doesn’t really have… family. So I’ve been helping him, since he’s gotten ill.”
“When? You’re here all day.” Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Or at least, you’re supposed to be.”
“I help him at night,” Merlin said, frowning. He had thought that would have been obvious. “Bring him food, medicine- that sort of thing.”
“At night?” Arthur’s eyes shifted, a realization coming to him. “You were going to leave just now, weren’t you?”
Merlin nodded, puzzled about the turn in the conversation.
“It’s midnight,” Arthur said, gesturing to the window in case Merlin hadn’t realized. “What were you planning to do? Stay with him the whole night, and come back here?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
Arthur sat back in his chair, looking- much to Merlin’s confusion- quite troubled. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Couple of weeks. Arthur, what-”
“No wonder you look dead on your feet. God, Merlin-” Arthur paused, shaking his head.
A growing fear took root in Merlin’s heart then. What had he done wrong? How had he put that look of hurt on Arthur’s face?
Arthur answered him with a question. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” he said, his voice much quieter than before. “Do you really think so little of me? That I wouldn’t care?”
“No! No, it’s not that, it’s-” Merlin broke off, sighing. Reflection was not a strength of his; one could get bogged down by that, when they were doing what they had to to survive.
“I don’t know,” Merlin said at last. “I guess I just thought, if I didn’t talk about it… maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with it.”
“Huh.” Arthur was silent for a time, even his hands having gone still. “Well. I can’t say I haven’t made the same mistake.”
Merlin gave him the ghost of a smile. If anyone knew about trying and failing to suppress their emotions, it was Arthur.
Arthur stood suddenly, striding over to the window. “Go,” he said, not turning around. “Be with your friend.”
Merlin waited for something more- one last joking threat was to be expected. When nothing came, he stood hurriedly, quickly making his way to the door. “Thanks. I’ll be back in the morning-”
“No,” Arthur said quickly. “Stay with him- for as long as you need, just… stay there.”
Merlin’s widening eyes could be seen in the reflection of the window. “Really?” he murmured
“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur said impatiently. “I’ve grown tired of your moods, and anyway-”
The king was rudely interrupted by his servant wrapping his arms around him from behind. The fast gibberish coming out of his mouth couldn’t easily be made out, but was something along the lines of “thank you” and “be back soon” repeated over and over.
“Alright, alright!” Arthur laughed, making futile efforts to untangle himself. “Get off me, you idiot.”
At last he managed to shove Merlin off. The man was beaming even as he stumbled back.
Merlin recovered into a swift bow. “Thank you, Arthur.”
Arthur smiled back at him, watching as he left the room with more of a skip in his step then he’d had in weeks. As sad as the circumstances were, it was still good to see some happiness in Merlin again. He hoped some would remain, whatever the coming days brought for him and his friend.