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Merlin was getting slower.
Arthur liked to ignore it; to pretend he hadn’t noticed the way Merlin’s movement had become more sluggish, or the way his face was starting to hollow out around his cheekbones.
But the truth was, he had noticed it.
He’d noticed the way Merlin’s wide eyes didn’t shine when he smiled anymore, and the way Merlin avoided any conversation about himself. He’d noticed how Merlin somehow managed to get all his chores done, even though the list was growing impossibly long, and it was blatantly obvious that he was exhausted.
So yes, Arthur supposed he had noticed. Just a bit. A normal amount.
“Does that mean you’re worried about him?” teased Gwaine one night, when they’re deep in the woods on a hunt. Merlin’s gathering firewood, and Arthur frowns in his direction.
“I’m not worried,” he scoffed. “Of course I’m not.”
Gwaine had stared at him. “Of course you’re not,” he repeated sourly, before moving away to brood in silence.
And then Merlin had returned, his arms full with wood for the fire, looking scared straight out of his mind.
Arthur turned away.
It’s about three weeks later when Arthur finally realized that something was really wrong- that he couldn’t keep pushing Merlin away; that Merlin wasn’t okay.
It happened quickly- Arthur playfully shoved Merlin, in the way that they usually do, and Merlin’s smile drops, so quick and calculated that Arthur wondered if his smile was ever even real at all.
“Merlin,” said Arthur. “Merlin, are you alright?”
Merlin blinked. He shook his head, and painted a small smile back on his face. “Yes, sire. I’m fine.”
Arthur frowned. “Merlin-”
“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” Merlin cut him off, dragging him up the stairs to bathe.
Arthur let him.
“Merlin,” Arthur whispered, about a month down the road. “What’s wrong?”
Merlin froze. “Nothing, sire.”
“I don’t believe that. Not for a second.” He paused. “And stop calling me sire. It’s strange.”
Merlin grinned for a second. “Alright, King Prat.”
He couldn’t help himself- Arthur smiled. “There you are,” he said, without thinking.
“What?”
“The old Merlin.”
Merlin was silent. He shifts, curling into himself. He avoided Arthur’s gaze, hugging his knees to his stomach. “I’m still the same Merlin.”
And, well, Arthur didn’t know what to say to that. Because it was clear that he wasn’t the same old Merlin, not anymore.
“I want you to talk to me,” Arthur said. “You’re tired all the time, you barely laugh anymore… did I do something?”
Merlin looked appalled at the fact Arthur would even suggest something like that. “No! Arthur, no. This-” he gestures to himself “-is not your fault.”
“Then whose fault is it?” asked Arthur. “Tell me, Merlin, and I promise you…”
“Arthur, this isn’t anybody’s fault.”
Arthur shook his head, face blooming red. “I don’t understand, Merlin. Something is obviously going on, yet you won’t tell me. Do you not trust me?”
Merlin was quiet.
Arthur sighed. “I just… look. I’m worried about you, alright? I miss you. The real you. Not whatever part you’re playing right now. You. ”
Merlin looked up, his eyes holding an emotion that the king didn’t recognize. Their faces are inches apart, noses barely not touching. Arthur holds in a gasp of surprise.His eyes flick down to Merlin’s lips.
“Arthur,” Merlin breathed.
Arthur didn't think. He grabbed Merlin by the chin, and smashed their lips together.
Merlin’s hands snaked up to Arthur’s hair, combing through it greedily- as if it’s their last moments together, as if there’s no one else in the world but them.
Arthur pulled back, flushed. “Is this okay?” he whispered. “Are you-”
“Don’t talk,” said Merlin. “Please. Just- kiss me again.”
Arthur did.