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Sitting at his desk in the quiet evening, the king hung his head and pinched his eyes shut to try and overcome his fatigue. After a few deep breaths, he heard something shift by the fire, a small groan barely reaching his ears.
Standing on sore legs, he made his way to the door, calling for the servant stationed outside to fetch some dinner. He sighed as her footsteps faded away and the door knocked into place.
He had to drag heavy feet over to the seats by the fire, settling down into the spare one next to his friend. He stared into the flames for a long while, trying not to think. Eventually he had to look though, overcome with gruesome fascination.
Merlin was staring at him, half lidded, glazed eyes shining from the shadowy depths of their sunken sockets. He seemed to drown in the shirt he wore, long and loose as it was. His arms poked out of the sleeves, thin as reeds with a pattern of veins showing through. He was so small in Arthur’s big, furred chair, sitting with knees brought together and resting on the arm of the chair.
“Sleep well?”
Merlin breathed out a laugh through his nose, saying nothing.
Arthur chewed at his lip.
“How's your voice?”
Merlin looked back to the fire, opened his mouth for a moment as if to speak, but said nothing.
Arthur looked woefully at the hearth as well.
“Be-tter.”
Arthur looked up in surprise at his friend's voice. It had jumped and cracked from disuse but was present nonetheless. Merlin’s throat made a clicking noise as he swallowed a few times.
The door opened then and the young serving girl wandered in and placed a tray of food on the table. Arthur turned in his seat and whispered his thanks as she bowed to him and left.
He rose and collected some things from the tray, bringing them back to Merlin. He prepared a bowl of broth on his lap and stirred it a bit with his spoon. Merlin’s stomach knotted up and he looked away.
Arthur brought a spoonful to Merlin’s mouth. “You need to eat.”
Merlin eyed the food cautiously.
“You know I'll force it down your throat if you don't.”
Merlin opened his mouth slightly and Arthur smiled as he slipped the food past his lips. Merlin seemed to have trouble getting it to the back of his throat and so Arthur put his hand behind his neck and adjusted the way he was sitting. Then, after a long few moments of working his throat to swallow, Arthur brought him another bite.
The feeding was painstakingly long and Merlin nearly choked more than once, but he desperately needed the sustenance. Gaius had left for the week to help prepare a rather old woman that was possibly expecting twins, and so Arthur was left with instructions on how to treat and feed his friend whilst the physician was gone.
He wiped Merlin’s chin with a hanky and returned the dishes to the table. Already, Merlin’s head was nodding towards sleep and so Arthur gently slid his arms underneath his servant’s form and hefted him up, cringing at the knobby bones that jabbed him as he walked.
Merlin’s face pinched up in irritation as he was carried and he tried feebly to turn out of the king's grasp. Arthur frowned at him, dark memories resurfacing.
They did not know what they expected to find in that well.
But Merlin certainly wasn't one of their suspicions.
The knights all pulled hard on the rope, their teary eyed ruler climbing over the threshold, a wriggling figure in his arms.
He collapsed onto the ground and the knights all gawked at the haggard man that cried out hoarsely as he curled in on himself, falling gently out of the king's hold. He screamed and screamed and covered his head with his arms, blocking out the light and the noise and the space.
Arthur fell to his knees, tears of shock and woe spilling uncontrollably. His knights all looked to him for answers– “who is that?” – but he could not speak.
Beneath the matted hair and beard, the tattered clothes, and the filth and grime of the dark, dark well, was Merlin.
Merlin settled when he was in Arthur’s bed, sinking into the soft, down mattress. He recalled the first time Merlin had slept in a bed after he'd been recovered from the well and the way he seemed to have dissolved into the sheets what with how thin and fragile he was.
He still looked like that now, only clean and shaven. Arthur recited Gaius’s words as he climbed into bed after him. He will need to share body heat. His blood is thin. His body is weak.
Arthur cocooned the blankets around them, trapping the warmth inside. He watched Merlin breathe as he drifted off, the possibility of him slipping away in the night still far too real.
In the morning, it was due time that Merlin had a bath. Servants came, bucket laden, and hurriedly filled a tub by the fire with warm water.
No cold water. But not too hot either. The skin is delicate. Arthur nodded after dipping his hand into the bath. He turned to the bed. Merlin had stirred awake and was squinting, even in the minimal light that slipped in through the closed curtains.
He truly must have been prone to the cold for he gasped when Arthur tugged his long shirt off of him. Again, Arthur frowned. Merlin’s ribs were easily countable and his stomach was disturbingly concave. He still didn't wear any trousers, his form so slight that they would not stay up unless they were tied tightly above his protruding hips, which Gaius warned would chafe the skin.
Once more, the king scooped him up and laid him gently into the bath. He wielded a soapy rag to Merlin’s skin, sure to be as gentle as possible. His hands shook. He wasn’t used to this. He did his best to wash Merlin down and rinse the grease from his hair, but he was no nursemaid nor father, and soon forfeited his efforts, claiming to have done as much as he could.
He then went to drape a towel by the fire, letting Merlin soak for a few more minutes. He seemed to be relaxed in the warm water. Arthur busied himself with getting his medications out and setting aside one dose of each of them, trying to keep a lump of despair from forming in the back of his throat.
He cursed as he realized that his mind had drifted and he turned to see that Merlin was shivering slightly in the tub. He muttered to himself as he stumbled over to the basin. His hands shook as he tried to pull Merlin out of the water, his tiny limbs trembling with the slight cold.
The light slipped away from him as he was lowered into the well, darkness closing in around him. Soon, there was a strange glow, a pale figure contrasting against the abyss. Big, black eyes looked up at him, framed by hollowed cheeks and tangled hair.
Arthur’s mind froze in shock as he got closer. Dilated pupils staring uncomprehendingly, the king didn't know what to do with himself. After a year of wondering and never knowing, he felt he may vomit due to this cruel closure.
He slipped another clean shirt over Merlin’s shoulders once he was finished drying off and helped him get to the fire.
Getting the medicine down Merlin’s throat was a challenge. Many of the potions were thin liquids and Gaius had advised not to dilute them with food in fear that they would lose effect. And so, as he did every morning, Arthur had to force his friend to swallow, both of their eyes brimming with tears and shaking with stress.
He was screaming again. Gaius was alone with him in his chambers, trying to get him to take a remedy to help him gain nutrients. Merlin was having none of it. He was still delusional. He was still so weak.
Arthur heard a thump from inside and Gaius cried out to his ward, trying futilely to calm him. Arthur fisted his hand into his hair, face scrunched up in woe.
Eventually the noise died down and Gaius emerged, looking very worn. “He tired himself out. He is sleeping now.”
Arthur nodded. Gaius walked past him.
“Will he ever get to . . .”
Gaius turned to face him and he thought he might die on the spot.
“Will he ever be okay?” he asked, trying to hold his composure. “Will he be okay . . . again? I can't–”
“He will get better,” Gaius said with surety. “But that is all that I can promise you.”
“Alright, try again. On three. One . . . Two . . . Three.”
Arthur and Elyan each lifted Merlin up by an arm and his feet jittered, trying and failing to gain purchase on the ground.
“We're just going to walk to the chair, alright?”
Though Merlin’s breath was labored and his legs were shaking, he nodded to Elyan, giving them permission to guide him.
Never had putting one foot in front of the other seemed so difficult before. With only a few steps, his legs were burning from the strain of it.
Arthur grimaced as he watched Merlin’s ankle almost roll, lifting up that side of his body to avoid the injury.
By the time they made it to the chair, Merlin was red faced and huffing. He collapsed into his seat and the boys all looked at Gaius in question.
“Good. We'll have to keep working up his muscles to walk on his own, but that was an impressive first run.”
Merlin scoffed between taking big, long breaths.
His ribs moved gruesomely with each breath, pressing against thin skin as if it would tear through.
His stomach seemed to have been dug out. Arthur imagined some greedy beast holding his flesh in large hands, the size of one's head.
His limbs had naught but the girth of broom handles and it was surprising that they had not snapped with each touch.
He squirmed and fought but could do nothing. The only bruises he could ever hope to land would be from the press of his bones, not the force of his blow.
He screamed and wailed but there was no voice, only noise.
“What happened to Elyan’s beard?”
Arthur was surprised by Merlin’s scratchy voice. “What?”
“Elyan. I remember him having a beard.”
“He never had a beard, Merlin . . .”
“Oh.”
“You alright, Merlin?”
“Yeah, I just thought . . . It wasn't you, was it, that had a beard?”
“No, Merlin.”
“Then who . . .”
“Gwaine has one,” Arthur offered. “Sort of.”
“Does he? Where is he?”
“He's in Ealdor still.”
“I lived there. What does he look like?”
“What do you think he looks like?”
“Well I didn't think he had a beard. And he had hair like a woman's, down to his waist.”
Arthur bit his lip. “Not quite that long.”
Merlin hummed.
“Merlin, are you okay?”
Merlin stared at the floor, hugging himself.
“Merlin?”
“My heads all . . .” he paused, throwing his hand about into strange gestures, “fuzzy.”
Arthur pulled his chair around, squarer to Merlin’s. “Well, do you remember what happened?”
Merlin’s eyes looked up to his. “In-in-in the . . .”
“No, no, no. Before that.”
Merlin looked away, fear and woe in his eyes. Arthur bit his lip.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“I'm sorry–"
“I know.”
“I should never have–"
“It's not your fault.”
“I was an idiot, Merlin! I shouldn’t–"
“Please,” Merlin cut him off. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Arthur had yelled. He had yelled the way he had yelled when he thought his father to be a traitor, when he thought his wife to be an adulterer. His face was red and his eyes were bright and Merlin was scared.
He'd never been more afraid in his entire life.
Arthur pushed him and shoved him and he kept falling to the ground, barely able to scramble to his feet before he would be gripped by the shoulders again, leaving bruises that hurt through to his core.
And Arthur kicked at him, made himself look very big and frightening, and Merlin was forced to crawl away, fleeing the city until he felt his heart could burst.
“Merlin, we need to know what happened to you.”
“What?” he questioned, looking up at his mentor.
“What happened to you after you left?”
Merlin’s face scrunched up in confusion. He looked to Arthur, pleading for a diversion, but the king only sighed.
“We need to know how you ended up in the well,” he said, avoiding Merlin’s eye.
Merlin froze for a moment, wishing with all his might that he had the strength to get up and walk away. But he didn’t. So he answered.
“I, er, I ran into Agravaine.”
Arthur and Gaius’s heads shot up at that, curiosity and concern in their faces.
“There was apparently a connection between he and Morgana that we didn't know about. It seemed to have driven him a bit mad.” Merlin swallowed, suddenly feeling like a fool claiming that of a man. His mind was damaged as well, for more reasons than one. “After, uh, what happened in the courtyard . . . uh, he didn't take kindly to me, too much.”
“And he threw you into the well?” Gaius questioned.
Merlin nodded.
“Well why didn't you . . .” Arthur hesitated, searching Merlin’s face. “Why did you not use magic to climb out.”
Merlin was surprised to hear Arthur speak of his powers. He was unsure of where they stood on the matter. But the shock wore off after a moment, and he said, “He commissioned a band of mages to enchant it and I was unable to . . . Magic could not be done within.”
Arthur looked away, guilt bubbling in his throat. He wished that Merlin would feel comfortable around him, feel safe.
Gwen approached him from behind, a light but firm hand on his shoulder. He hadn't realized she had been listening.
"I think it would be best if you gave him a break," she said. It sounded like a warning. She turned to the patient. "Don't worry about any more questions for the day, Merlin." Her voice was sweet like honey, and was missing the strain she used with Arthur.
Arthur let her guide him out, at the mercy of his silent but furious queen.
She had been cold to him since he'd sent Merlin away.
Merlin came out of the well changed, as would any man. He was delusional. Even as he improved, both in mind and body, he continued to fear what would not come.
Early on, he was afraid that walls would close in on him or that the floor would drop out and he'd fall straight down back into the watery pit.
He hated people as well. The last faces he saw before being plunged into darkness were of hate and anger and betrayal, and he continued to see the faces of his friends shouting at him from the shadows, induced by maddening isolation. People scared him. He flinched at every touch and screamed when being handled. He was so afraid in the beginning, Arthur feared that it would kill him.
Eventually he grew compliant. He would no longer fight back, but he would cower and shy away. It was Arthur he feared the most and it was Arthur who had to draw him from his stupor.
One evening he kneeled before his friend and confessed his wrongs and his woes unto him.
And he laid his head gingerly upon Merlin’s lap and wept. And, though Merlin could say nothing, he too had tears, and lifted an unsteady hand to pet Arthur’s hair. A sob erupted from Arthur then, and he knew he was forgiven, and he knew he did not deserve it.
Eventually, Merlin’s ribs filled in and his appetite improved, but he was still worryingly thin and could only really get around with a walking stick as aid.
Arthur was pondering that very staff when he and Merlin sat down for lunch one day. Merlin was finishing up his meal and the stick was resting against the bedpost behind him.
“Your staff looks strangely familiar.”
Merlin promptly choked on his sausage, coughing several times before sputtering, “What?”
“Your walking stick,” Arthur said, brow furrowed suspiciously, “I feel as though I've seen it before.”
Merlin looked back at it, eyeing the blue stone at the top with fright. He would have thought that Arthur already knew about his battles with the Sidhe.
“Merlin.”
The boy gulped, turning back to his king. “It-it was Sophia’s.”
“Sophia’s?”
“Yeah, erm. She enchanted you to fall in love with her and tried to sacrifice you to the Sidhe . . . I thought Gaius might have told you . . .”
Arthur laughed lightly. “No. He must have forgotten that particular tale.” He took a sip of his wine, eyeing Merlin down. “Care to indulge me?”
Merlin smiled slightly. “Well . . . Uh, remember when you woke up from . . .”
It had taken weeks for Arthur to come to his senses. He'd brooded for an immeasurable amount of time, talking little and acting harshly towards anyone. It seemed that the anger Merlin had embedded in him was seeping out as steam through his skin, slowly and burning those who tried to come near him.
But eventually he ran out of steam. He crumbled into grief and woe and slumped into depression. When finally he took a moment to think about Merlin, he was guilt ridden. He was crushed by the notion that his loyal, innocent, hapless manservant was the same man who brought the great Lady Morgana to her knees.
However, the king could not bring himself to inquire about Merlin. He was suddenly very aware of the melancholy that plagued the palace. all brought on by either Merlin’s absence or his own downfall in character.
He secluded himself in his rooms, wallowing in his confusion. Then, having pity, Gaius came to him in the night and told him of all the feats done by the legendary Emrys and the once and future king.
The ban on magic had been lifted before Merlin was found and sorcerers had begun to migrate to the city. Merlin, of course, approved, but could not fathom why it caused him so much anxiety.
He was never returned to his station as Arthur’s manservant, but he was widely regarded as his closest adviser, often spending time at the King's side, offering support and company.
This was all well and good, of course, except for the fact that it made him a target.
They became abruptly aware that Agravaine was still at large when an arrow whizzed past Merlin’s ear whilst he, Arthur, and the round table knights filed out of the council room.
The knights all drew their blades and Arthur gripped Merlin by the shoulders and shoved him into the nearest broom closet, all whilst the warlock sputtered out a surprised protest.
The battle was short, Gwaine having uncovered the assassin rather swiftly, dispatching him before he could let loose another arrow. It was clear that Agravaine still had magical allies, there being a number of markings on the assailant’s arms that resembled those of the old religion.
Arthur quickly returned to the cupboard Merlin was hidden in and swung it open, only for the trembling warlock to fall into his arms, gasping and crying.
“God, Merlin! What happened? did it hit you?”
Merlin couldn't speak, his eyes were wide and he held onto Arthur for dear life as his legs struggled to keep him up.
“I think he may be in shock, sire,” Leon said.
“What?”
“No,” Percival argued, taking Merlin from Arthur and lowering him to the ground “He's having a panic attack.”
Merlin clung onto Percival as his cries died down, trying and failing to catch his breath.
“Merlin, can I touch you?”
Merlin, unable to spare enough breath for speech, nodded. Percival sighed and gently began rubbing circles into his back.
“How did you . . .”
“I used to have them when I was little,” Percival explained. “I lived in Cenred’s land and we were raided often. He'd take young boys from their families to be in his army – a terrible draft. My parents would hide me with the food stores.” He began to pet Merlin’s hair. “I think it might have been the closet. After being in that well for a year, I don't think I'd have much luck with tight spaces either.”
Arthur’s chest welled with blame as he watched his knight calm Merlin down.
“You want to walk around a bit?” Percival asked.
Again, Merlin nodded.
“Okay.” Slowly, Percival helped him to his feet.
Arthur stepped forwards to join them, supporting Merlin’s other side.
They made their way through the halls, making their way back to the king's chambers. When they got there, Arthur noticed that Merlin’s brow was strung up in some sort of conflict.
“Why did you lock me in the cupboard?” he asked as Percival lowered him into a chair.
“I'm sorry, Merlin. I had no idea that–"
“No, no. I know.” He paused, looking up at his king with pain in his eyes. “I meant, why did you hide me? Why take me out of the fight?”
Arthur blanched. “I-I just . . . You're not a knight, Merlin. And you were the target. I–"
Merlin looked hurt and possibly a bit angry. “Why . . . You know that I can help. Why would you just . . . Why can't you trust me to do things for you?”
Arthur rubbed his hand down his face anxiously. “I do, I do. I just–"
Merlin seemed to be unaware of his own voice as he muttered to himself, cutting Arthur off. “He's still brooding away about the magic. He says he's accepted it but no, he'll have his tail between his legs the moment you lift your hand . . .”
Arthur felt his face heat up and he immediately knew that his anger was rather irrational but he really didn't care in that moment.
“I was not– You are not yet well, Merlin! I wasn’t keeping you from battle because of your magic! I was keeping you because you're still not yet healed! You are far from recovered and I won't have you lapsing just for some stupid sense of pride!”
Merlin was shocked out of his musings by Arthur’s booming voice and sat somewhat dazed in his seat, staring up at his king.
“And no, I haven’t quite gotten used to magic yet, but I'm trying. You cannot expect me to be comfortable with all of this so soon, Merlin. You know what magic has done to me, more than anyone. I would have expected at least for you to be understanding of what I'm going through.”
“I'm sorry,” Merlin whispered, at a loss for words.
Wisely, Arthur turned and left, trusting Percival to care for his friend. But Merlin was still a damaged, healing soul and he began to weep, pressing his palms into his eyes.
Percival guided the shaking man into the bed, making sure that the curtains were shut against the sun but that the fire was burning lively. Tired beyond belief, Merlin soon succumbed to slumber.
When Arthur returned to his chambers to find Merlin sleeping soundly in his bed, he smiled sadly. Merlin had been staying in the royal chambers ever since Gaius had left him in Arthur’s care. He still got chills in the night, so extra heat was always good, but he also suffered from terrible night terrors. Sleeping alone was not a plausible thing for Merlin, not now. And Gaius wasn't very capable to handle Merlin physically. Besides, Merlin would want to remain at Arthur’s side anyway.
“I'm sorry.”
Merlin blinked hard before rubbing at his eyes. “What?”
“I'm sorry,” Arthur repeated.
“For what?”
Arthur let out a nervous laugh. “For everything! For more specifically last night. I shouldn’t have shouted at you and I've been a stupid friend.”
“Arthur, you couldn't have known . . .”
“But all of this is my fault, Merlin! All of it! It's my fault that you got lost! It's my fault that Agravaine found you! It's my fault you ended up in the bleeding well!”
Merlin stiffened at Arthur’s words, looking away from the king.
Pain stirred in Arthur’s heart and he leapt to amend his actions. “I'm sorry, Merlin. For all of it. I know that that doesn't help things at all, but I need you to know that I regret everything. You're the truest friend I have and I betrayed you in a fit of blind rage and prejudice and . . . I didn't think, Merlin. I just acted and that cruel, cruel part of me is sickening and wrong and I've realized recently that . . . you were the only one ever to be able to draw me away from that path . . . And I still think that way sometimes and I hate it. I want to be better, Merlin. I want to make sure that you're safe and I want to better myself. I need to better myself. Because . . . I know nothing.” He looked up to see that Merlin was still looking away from him, shaking slightly. “Merlin–"
“I want to go to bed,” he said quietly, in a hoarse voice.
Arthur’s brow furrowed. “You've just had breakfast. I–"
“I'm tired.”
Arthur’s stomach tied itself in knots at the sound of Merlin’s broken voice. He slowly got out of his seat and moved to assist the boy out of his chair. He lead him to the bed, watching painfully as Merlin’s legs shook beneath his weight. He settled him in, under the covers. Leaning in, he whispered, “I'm sorry,” one last time.
“Stop, please,” Merlin pled.
Arthur bit his tongue and stepped away, slowly moving to shut the curtains and stoke the fire before leaving the boy to his rest.
The rest of Arthur's day was stressful beyond belief, the knowledge that Merlin was angry with him constantly at the front of his mind. He tried to keep his mind clear throughout his duties, but he constantly caught himself doing stupid, selfish, or unsavory things. And of course Gwen could guess what he was going through. She'd been warring for Merlin to stand up for himself and not take this whole ordeal sitting down. And that would only worsen his stress because he knew that Merlin had always been there to better him, to make him a better person, but all he was doing lately was letting him down over and over.
He stood outside the door, staring at the lines in the wood and hearing the sound of his own breath vividly. Swallowing his shame, he stepped inside.
Merlin was still asleep but the blankets were oddly twisted around his torso. Arthur walked to him slowly, curious but not willing to disturb the man's much needed rest.
As he got nearer, he saw that Merlin’s cheeks were flushed and his forehead glistened in the candlelight. Brow drawing together, Arthur gently placed his hand on Merlin's forehead.
“Damnit Merlin.”
Everyone was grief stricken by the news.
Merlin had relapsed.
Arthur cursed himself repeatedly. He should have known better than to leave Merlin alone in bed at the beginnings of winter. His body was still weak, still tired. He stood no chance against even the slightest of illnesses.
He was sick doubly long due to his condition, weakening by the day. Soon, it were as if the past few months had never happened. He'd staggered back in time, the chill in his chest sapping away all of the strength he had earned since he had returned.
They would have to start again, it seemed.
“Come on, Merlin. Eat up,” Arthur said, trying to smile naturally.
Merlin simply stared at the bowl in front of him, eyes unfocused and body still.
“You've got to get your strength up if we plan to walk you around the chambers by next week as we planned.”
Nothing.
“Shall I fetch something better for you?” Arthur suggested. “Perhaps we don't need lunch today. We can just skip to sweets.”
No response.
Arthur sighed and sat beside his friend. “You have to eat, Merlin.”
Again, nothing.
“You've got to fill that stomach of yours.”
“Shut up.”
Arthur faltered, eyes growing wet with tears. He blinked them away. Staring at Merlin, he let a few moments of silence pass. The boy never moved his unseeing eyes away from the porridge.
“Gaius will have my head if you don't–"
“Please.”
Arthur's mouth snapped shut and he looked away, fighting the urge to speak again. Time passed slowly and yet, he was surprised at the position of the sun when Merlin next spoke.
“I don't want to do it again.”
“What?”
“It's too much.”
“Merlin . . .”
“It took months to walk last time.”
“You've already done it once,” Arthur tried. “Second time around should be easier.”
“Well it's not,” Merlin bit out, finally turning his glossy eyes on Arthur.
Arthur hung his head, biting his tongue.
Another few moments passed.
“Are you tired?”
Merlin swallowed a lump in his throat, guilt rising in his gut. Despite this, he nodded. “Yes,” he whispered.
The king stood and gently pulled out Merlin's chair before lifting him up into his arms. He carried him to the bed and set him down gently before lying beside him.
“I'm sorry,” Merlin whispered, eyes drooping towards sleep.
Arthur held him close, not willing to risk anything on such a cold, winter night. “I'm sorry too.”
Merlin's eyes finally slid closed and Arthur tucked his head beneath his chin, hiding his tears above Merlin's matted hair. He wished they could stop with all of this sorry business, but he knew more than anyone that neither of them were capable of ever fully forgiving themselves.
The worst was when it would rain.
Merlin, delirious and alone, would feel around the small space from time to time, fingers shoving into the minuscule crevices between the bricks and coming back with broken nails. The bricks rarely budged and, when they did, there was just more stone or dirt behind it.
The well had a cover, a sturdy board of wood with a small hole on one side, to slide a finger or hook through to lift it open. At night, it let no light in, plunging the well into total darkness. During the day, it was barely visible, nonexistent to Merlin in the later days as his vision blurred and he strained to see.
But at high noon, when the sun nestled just above the well and shone down on him, it appeared as though there was a single star in the night sky, watching over him.
He would stare at that star for the meager time it existed, the only thing he could see in this dark, dank hole.
When weather was bad, the star wouldn't show for horribly long stretches of time, and he would lose himself in the darkness of his prison, shapes materializing in static sound on where he guessed the walls were, sometimes reaching for him. Other times, they appeared far away, and he would try to crawl to them, let them lead him someplace else, only to jam his knuckles on the edge of his cage, or bump his head into the rough brick wall.
And then, when it seemed the star would never show again, a pummeling sound would fill the hole, paining his ears like never ending thunder. Water would seep down the sides of the well, filling the bottom with mud and grime and making the air thick to breathe.
He would press his face against the bricks, their coolness a relief against the humid air, and allow himself to swallow what water made its way into his mouth, no matter if it tasted of grass and grit.
Merlin's mirth didn't return, even after he was able to walk once again. He was, however, given the much more official title of advisor, and would attend round table meetings in his rightful seat at the table.
When he wasn't at meetings, he alternated between staying in his old room with Gaius, and the antechamber attached to Arthur's room. He was glad for the independence of returning home, but most busy days he failed to find it in himself to make the climb up to the physician's tower.
Arthur found him in there, one day, with the curtains drawn and his head bowed over his desk, hands covering his ears.
"Merlin?"
He grunted in response, not moving.
"Everything alright?"
Merlin didn't move, simply sat there, breathing evenly in and out through his nose.
Arthur's eyes flickered to the window, where he saw the shadows of water droplets racing down its panes. The steady beat of the downpour against the glass was relaxing to him.
Thunder clapped and Merlin gripped his hair more tightly, shoulders coming up in shock. His breath faltered, but he forced himself to work it back down to the steady rhythm.
Arthur didn't know all of what had transpired whilst Merlin was in the well, but he was able to fill in some of the gaps with his own guesses.
"The band from the feast has put off their departure due to the rain," Arthur said, coming closer. "They've decided to play in the hall, if you're interested."
Merlin still didn't move, seemingly focused solely on his breathing.
"Merlin?"
His hands peeled away from his head and he opened his eyes. He looked dead tired, unshaven and disheveled, but he offered a pained smile. "I'd like that," he whispered with a small nod.
Arthur smiled and waited as Merlin coerced his joints into moving and grabbed his staff, then lead Merlin to a peaceful, warm night full of merriment and gentle tones.
She had taken siege of the castle.
Queen, she called herself, whilst the righteous Guinevere sat in her dungeons, in line for execution.
Merlin was meant to be there too.
But he wasn't.
He was back in the ongoing battle, battered and bruised already, and running out of options.
Arthur stood tall, and fought off three men on his own as his knights circled about, downing Morgana's minions with exhausted force.
The faux queen stood high, watching her dragon survey the scene. And Merlin was darting through the crowd, straight towards her.
Arthur faltered, seeing his servant move through the waves of people with a determination he had not seen in him before. A soldier caught his arm and he yelled in pain before returning to the fight, his mind wandering to the blue and red blur in the corner of his eye.
A roaring voice erupted from the crowd, speaking in tongues and booming over the noise of battle. The dragon screeched, head bowed in the sky as it skirted away in submission.
Morgana screamed with rage, many pausing in the frey to cower. Arthur followed her gaze, and found Merlin again.
"Emrys!" She wailed, eyes burning.
She conjured a ball of light, of which the crowd could feel like the beating of the sun's rays, and surged it towards Merlin, where he was engulfed.
Arthur's mouth was gaping, his friend's name on the tip of his tongue, but before he could shout, the light dissipated, revealing Merlin with his eyes brazen gold.
Merlin had held Morgana as she fell, uttering small words and goodbyes. The battle was bright and radiated an energy that made the hairs on the back of men's necks stand on end. But it was ended quickly.
Arthur stood stunned in the aftermath, sword hanging limply by his side.
Merlin approached him slowly, eyes flickering between those of his king and the ground.
"You have to deal the final blow," he said quietly.
"What?"
"She sleeps," Merlin explained, and Arthur realized that he was shaking. "Only your sword can best her."
Arthur held the sword aloft, gazing down at its golden embellishments. Merlin had been the one to lead him to it. He squared his shoulder and walked past Merlin, heart pounding as he took up his blade and drove it quick and hard into his sleeping sister's heart.
He cast it away then, hands grasping at the air by his sides as he struggled to compose his breathing. A thousand eyes on him, his chest huffed so laboriously that the heaves were visible beneath his armor.
"Arthur?"
Gods, he sounded worried.
A step closer, hesitant.
"Arthur."
The king turned.
And then he erupted.
Merlin had insisted.
He wasn't Arthur's servant anymore, but he was still at his heels, now that his health had improved, still following him with such severe and unwavering loyalty. He didn't dress him or bring him his dinner, and he could hardly draw a bath, even if he wanted to.
But he wanted to sharpen his sword.
Excalibur , he called it; a name Arthur had not heard before. Merlin even seemed surprised at himself as he said it, as though he hadn't known he knew the name until it left his mouth.
He was doing so, sat in the armory with a whetstone, slowly working at it with a practiced hand. The rhythmic shhhhhing of the passes ringing in the mostly empty space. One or two squires lingered on the far end of the room. Arthur motioned for them to leave and they scurried off, whispering excitements to one another.
Arthur approached slowly, aiming to claim the spot beside Merlin on the bench, and found that he was smiling softly to himself.
"Merlin." He settled into his seat, ears ringing in the silence between strokes.
Merlin hummed his acknowledgment, but did not look up.
"There is something I need to discuss with you."
"What is it?"
Arthur put his hand over Merlin's as it came up to strike the sword again, stopping him from continuing. Merlin frowned at it, but finally met his eyes after a moment.
"Arthur?"
The king swallowed, glancing around once to be sure that no one else was there. "Agravaine," he finally said. "He is in our custody."
Merlin's expression was frighteningly blank as he stared back at Arthur, silent.
"Leon and Gwaine," Arthur continued awkwardly, "they caught him attempting a bribery in one of the southward villages. He's in the dungeons waiting on a sentence and the–"
"Why are you telling me this?" Merlin cut him off, still unreadable.
Arthur frowned at him. "Merlin . . ."
Merlin snapped his eyes back to the sword and hastily began his work again, steady at first, but he could feel Arthur's eyes on him. His hand shook slightly, tapping at the metal when he brought the stone into contact with it. He worked his jaw nervously, chewing on his tongue.
"I don't understand you," Arthur told him after a while.
"There isn't much to understand," Merlin mumbled with a small shake of his head.
Arthur scoffed. "I don't believe that for a second."
Merlin faltered, pausing for a moment, his eyes flickering briefly in Arthur's direction. The comment reminded him of a time long before, in his muddled memory, but he couldn't quite place it.
There's something about you, Merlin.
"I told you," Arthur belatedly answered, "because I value your wisdom, and Agravaine is yet to be punished."
His face flashed in Merlin's mind, far to clear in his memory when his friends' faces were blurs and smears of color. He stopped the movement of his hand again, and rested his supplies on his lap as he listened.
"The council has yet to meet on the matter. Your presence at the table will be most valuable in deciding his fate."
Like he decided mine?
"I don't want to see him," Merlin blurted.
"You wont have to," Arthur said. "He will get a fair trial, but you can give me your written testament for that."
Merlin frowned, biting at his lip.
"Or I can take one from Gaius," Arthur suggested. "Merlin, I . . . You don't have to. I needed to let you know we found him though, either way."
Merlin sniffed and rubbed at his nose, stone forgotten beside him. "Thank you," he said softly. "I can't . . . I don't think I can. I haven't seen him since . . ." He looked up, meeting his eyes with a sudden confidence. "I trust your judgment."
Arthur felt guilt pool in his stomach at the statement. What had he done to deserve such devotion? He tried not to show his doubts, however, and gave his friend a firm nod. "It's settled then."
Merlin smiled slightly, some of the edge leaving his frame.
Arthur clapped him on the back and stood. "I'm off to have dinner with Guinevere, if you care to join. This can be a matter for another day."
Merlin returned Excalibur to its sheath and got to his feet. He shuffled across the room to put his supplies away as he answered. "Need me there to stop the queen from bullying you?" He hung the scabbard over his shoulder and found his staff, standing taller.
Arthur scoffed. "She does not bully me." He shirked away though, not looking behind him as he lead them out the door. "We've been talking. I had a lot to apologize for. Still do." He let out a long sigh.
Gwen might have let up on her anger earlier, if Merlin had shown any rage. But Merlin wanted nothing more in his life than to be at his king's side. After such an ordeal, returning to an accepting friend instead of the spitting fire he had last seen, Merlin couldn't find the effort to be angry for long, even though he knew he should have. He was just so tired. By the time he was recovered, he had grown too thankful to foster any upset he had left, so Gwen seemed to have taken up the mantle and been cross enough for the both of them.
Merlin touched Arthur's back as they crossed the threshold, a gesture he had picked up in the months of healing. "She'll come around," he said, knowing it was true. Gwen's anger was gentle and stern, a judgment passed by a fair queen. "You've been doing well, Arthur." He sounded like the advisor he had become. "She recognizes that. But who else is going to keep your head from getting so big?"
"You mean other than you?" Arthur harrumphed.
Merlin laughed sharply through his nose, a warmth overcoming him that he hadn't felt in a long time. "Yeah."