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Arthur felt ridiculous, watching Merlin set his breakfast on the table.
Sunbeams were trickling into the room, making it shimmer and glow in such a rich gold it would put the treasures in their vaults to shame. The plate Merlin set down was filled with cheese and meat and fruit, and Arthur could recognize that it was a meal anyone - him included - would kill to get. There was a light breeze filtering in from the open window, and he could hear the citadel bustling below. It was a high-spirits sort of day. A good day.
It was a good day, and Arthur felt ridiculous because it was the sort of day that would make a knight - or anyone fond of the outdoors - or anyone in general - jump at the chance to seize it; to do something and make something with it. It was the sort of day that would make anyone excited to see it start so that they could enjoy it, and Arthur could not get out of bed.
And it didn’t make any sense because getting out of bed was just - it was something that he was supposed to do; something everyone was always supposed to just do without the overthinking and grief and, so, it made no bloody sense why he suddenly couldn’t. He just had to push up with one arm and push away the blanket and raise and walk and it was a thing as obvious and simple as breathing and he just - couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Letting out a breath, Arthur clutched at his pillow. Just push the blanket off, he thought, angry and annoyed with himself, it’s just a stupid blanket. Except, the blanket in question was too heavy on him - a welcomed weight, really - and moving to push it off felt - wrong. Unnatural and too exposing and too much. It felt like maybe if he didn’t move, nothing bad could happen, as if moving in general was wrong in and of itself.
Merlin finished getting everything ready - putting his breakfast on the table and cleaning up a few messes he’d left the night before - and turned to look at him expectantly. Arthur clenched his jaw and groaned, refusing to acknowledge the pain in his throat from how tightly it suddenly seemed to close up. He buried his face in his pillow, hoping to god it would soak up the prickling of tears at the corner of his eyes, and then turned away, towards the opposite wall.
He felt ridiculous. Like an utter invalid. His throat was sealed shut as tight as it could get, and tears were still welling up behind his eyelids and it didn’t make any sense because whatever this grief was - there was no reason for it.
Arthur heard Merlin sigh, exasperated, and he squeezed his eyes closed a little tighter because it didn’t make sense to him, either; because he was just as annoyed and frustrated with himself but - god - he really just needed to be the only one that was.
“Come on, Arthur, we don’t have time for this,” Merlin said, with little patience. He felt the bed dip from where Merlin was surely kneeling on it, and felt an insistent tugging at his shoulder. If his head wasn’t being so bloody stupid, he might’ve been indignant (perhaps a little amused, but in a very stoic and disapproving way) at Merlin’s gull. Kneeling on the king’s bed was one thing, but trying to drag him off could - with a bit of persuasion - be argued as attempted regicide.
“Just give me a few minutes,” he muttered, instead of voicing any other thoughts. Just enough time to sort out my own scattered head. Yes, all he needed was a few minutes. He probably just woke up wrong.
“You don’t have a few minutes,” Merlin argued, his tugging becoming more insistent. And then he started listing off all the things on the schedule for the day. Finishing reports, attending council, holding audiences, training, knighting ceremonies - on and on and on, and Arthur’s body felt heavier with each item that Merlin listed.
It’s too much, he wanted to say, but then shame washed over him at the thought.
His father had ruled the kingdom for decades. He had done all those on the list - perhaps even more - every single day, and not once had he refused to get out of bed. His father had made kingship look like a luxury - like the simplest job in the world - and Arthur could not even get out of bed with the thought of a single day of it.
He cursed himself, over and over and over. Uther had died and left Camelot in Arthur’s care. It made no sense for the job to seem so impossible, not when his father had made sure he spent his whole life getting ready for it. Not when he had taken the role of Crown Prince in stride, never once faltering. Not when it didn’t seem impossible at all yesterday (not when it was enjoyable, even, yesterday).
The tugging on his shoulder stopped, suddenly, and Arthur only had a second to be disoriented by the change before Merlin’s face appeared before him, brows furrowed and head tilted and a million questions in his eyes.
“Arthur?” He asked, voice quiet and so very tender that the blasted lump returned in full.
“Leave me,” he commanded, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping that for once , Merlin would just listen. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this - this… stupid.
“Are you sick?”
“No, just - just get out, would you?”
He regretted it, the tone, the second it left his mouth, but suddenly speaking became akin to moving. He couldn’t bring himself to take it back, say no, wait or sorry or even I didn’t mean to make it so -
But the door was already slamming shut and the room was quiet again, suddenly, and at least now there was no one to witness how utterly useless and stupid and ridiculous he was being. Arthur clenched his jaw and let out a stuttering breath, refusing to get even more emotional, and turned to lie on his back.
Minutes or hours could’ve passed while he laid there, staring at the canopy of his bed, trying to imagine the constellations he’d drawn in the stars as a boy, when the door opened again. Arthur didn’t turn towards it, but could guess who had entered, from the lack of knock; from the weight of the steps.
He swallowed, resolutely facing upwards.
“I informed Geoffrey and Leon that you won’t be attending council or training,” Merlin said, by way of greeting, and it took a second for his words to process, because Arthur had been expecting him to be angry, for the way he was dismissed earlier, but his voice was soft and concerned.
“You -” he started, turning towards Merlin at last, completely baffled once the words did catch up.
“I’ll deal with the reports you need to get done today, too, but I couldn’t do anything about the hearings,” Merlin said, cutting him off and sounding apologetic, as if he hadn’t done enough.
Arthur could barely breathe.
“Merlin,” he choked, forcefully swallowing the perpetually rising lump down, “I -”
And then his voice wouldn’t cooperate, because what could he possibly say? Merlin’s lips quirked into a small smile at the corners, as if maybe he understood, anyway, and he made his way over to the bed. He sat down beside Arthur’s sprawled body, and ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair; traced the line of his jaw with his finger and smoothed over his cheeks with his thumb. When Arthur bit his lip, Merlin ran the pad of his thumb over that, too.
“Thank you,” he said a while later, into the quiet of the room. His voice was hoarse, but Merlin just hummed, his hands not stilling.