Work Text:
A MATTER OF TRUST
Merlin ran. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, ignoring the way his lungs burned in protest. He had just buried Daegal. Daegal. A naïve boy who had seen himself involved in treachery and intrigue and had ended up paying for it with his life. It was a price too high, a price Merlin was not willing to let anyone else pay. So he ran, ran without thinking, before anything could change his mind. He ran until he reached Camelot, and once there he flew through the castle, up the steps two at a time, fists and jaws clenched, telling himself he would not stop, he could not stop, he would go and find Arthur and tell him everything. The time had come, there was no turning back.
So, when he finally reached the king's chambers, he opened the door without a second thought.
"Arthur I need to talk to you," he blurted out breathlessly before he had even fully entered the room.
"Hello, Merlin," replied a deceptively sweet voice. "Oh, you were looking for Arthur? I'm afraid he's not here."
Merlin stopped in his tracks. There was only Gwen in the room, staring at him with that smile that looked more like a rehearsed grin. His heart, which until that moment had been beating a thousand beats a minute, seemed to freeze in his chest.
"Where is he?" he demanded to know, with an all too familiar terror running through the marrow of his bones. He had only been gone a couple of hours, it couldn't be, he couldn’t... "Where is Arthur, Gwen," he repeated, trembling from head to toe.
Gwen's smile widened and she took her time, basking in Merlin's distress.
"He’s in a council meeting. There's a lot to sort out after the accident with the Sarrum," Gwen finally replied with a crooked grin.
Merlin let out the breath he had been holding.
"Did you want to say something to him?" she asked softly. She looked like a snake waiting for the right moment to strike. Merlin shivered at how much she reminded him of Morgana.
"I did, actually. And I'm not going to wait any longer," Merlin warned, looking at her coolly.
"Mmm. I thought so. My dear Merlin, if you want a word of advice..." Gwen approached him with a beatific expression. "You’d better remember what happened the last time you tried to warn Arthur of the treachery of a member of his family. Or don't you remember Agravaine?"
Something as cold as ice ran down Merlin's spine.
"You're a servant, Merlin. If Arthur didn't believe you when you accused his uncle... I don't know, what do you think he'd say if you dared to raise your voice against someone even closer? Someone like... I don't know, like his wife?"
"Stop playing games, Gwen," Merlin snapped, trying to remain calm but suddenly feeling very tired. It was as if he'd already lost the battle before he'd even fought it. "We both know what is going on here."
"Oh, really? I don't think so," Gwen said, her eyes hardening at once. Her face transformed into a cold, hate-filled mask, and it was an expression so alien to her sweet, gentle nature that she suddenly looked like an entirely different person. "I am the queen, Merlin, and Arthur's wife. You are a servant, nothing more. If you try anything against me, then you are even more foolish than Arthur believes. We are not equals, Merlin, not anymore. I am your queen, and I have all the power in the world over you. I can do with you as I please."
"Arthur wouldn't allow it," Merlin said, trying to convey a confidence he didn't feel.
"Arthur will be pleased with anything I do. I am his sweet, sensible wife. He will know I have had my reasons."
"Arthur trusts me."
"No more than he trusts me," she countered. "You'd better keep your mouth shut, Merlin, for your sake."
"So now we've moved on to direct threats. Good," Merlin said, taking a deep breath. "In that case, I want you to know that I won't let Morgana use you anymore. She's not going to hurt anyone else. Least of all Arthur," he warned, clenching his fists.
Gwen narrowed her eyes. Something twisted seemed to dance in them.
"I sincerely believe, Merlin, that you need someone to teach you a lesson. Arthur is far too lenient with you. Guards!" she shouted in an authoritative tone, causing Merlin to cringe involuntarily. Two guards burst into the chambers. "Take him to the stocks. A day and a night. No food or water. Then maybe he will learn to be more respectful."
If the guards found the order strange, they did not show it. They closed the distance between them and grabbed him by the elbows. Merlin wanted to offer resistance, but decided he would not give that woman who looked like Gwen, but could not be more different, the satisfaction.
The guards dragged him out of Arthur's chambers, and Merlin had to watch as the stranger who inhabited his friend's body waved him goodbye with a cruel smirk.
When the hours passed and no one came to his rescue, or offered him a glass of water or a piece of stale bread, Merlin realised that Gwen had known she had a trump card from the start.
There had never even been a game; Merlin had never had a chance.
***
It had been a long day. A very long day. Arthur was exhausted and almost dizzy. The morning before had seen him ready to sign an important peace treaty with a once-enemy king, and now he was suddenly dealing with the death of said monarch who, to make matters worse, happened to have plotted an attempt on his life and who, as if sentenced by divine justice itself, had ended up with the arrow that should have been Arthur's in his heart. A visiting king dead on his Round Table. Not an ideal scenario, certainly. Arthur could not complain, though, for the alternative would have been far, far worse. Had it not been for Merlin's intervention —how many times had his servant saved his life already? Arthur had lost count many years ago— and that anonymous boy, the dead king would be him.
The boy.
Arthur closed his eyes, feeling a deep sorrow in his heart. The boy who had saved his life was dead too. One more innocent life lost in the seemingly endless war against his sister. Arthur didn't even know the boy's name, and yet his death had affected him as much, if not more, than that of any of his knights. It was all he had really been able to think about during all those long hours of diplomacy and negotiations; that young, lifeless face and... and Merlin.
Merlin, who had been absent all the previous day and had returned limping and accompanied by that boy just in time to save his life once more. Merlin, lying on the ground and clutching the boy's body with his face painted with grief. Merlin, who had nevertheless come to Arthur's chambers to serve him at supper, and who had not so much as cracked a smile when Arthur had mentioned the girl with whom he supposedly spent his free time. It was obvious that the boy's death had affected him, so Arthur had asked him to arrange for a proper burial, and Merlin had dutifully and mournfully set about the task.
And Arthur hadn't seen him all day.
He had missed him, of course. In difficult times, having Merlin by his side was like having a balm that, while it couldn't always cure everything, at least mitigated the pain to the point where it was bearable. Merlin's presence was always accompanied by warmth and security, and when Arthur did not have it, he felt strangely lost, as if he were a castaway in the middle of the sea, drifting aimlessly and afraid of drowning.
But as much as his father had tried to teach him otherwise, Arthur understood that the world did not revolve around him and his needs, and Merlin had needed space to say goodbye to the boy, even though he hadn't seemed to know him very well himself. But Merlin was like that. Years ago he had mourned the death of that dragonlord bitterly, and Arthur marvelled that, so long and so much loss later, his friend still had the capacity to grieve for an unknown boy. Arthur would never admit it aloud, but he admired that soft heart of his. Perhaps Merlin was the person he admired most in the world. If his father knew, he would turn over in his grave.
Arthur sighed. Hours after the funeral Merlin still hadn't made an appearance, and knowing Merlin, who went out of his way to always be by his side in moments like these, that wasn't a good sign. Arthur sighed again. Merlin was always there for him, and Arthur was aware that he had never exactly been an exemplary friend to Merlin –yes, friend , Arthur had long since lost his fear of calling a spade a spade, and there was no doubt that if there was a word that described his relationship with Merlin, it was friendship—, but, if Merlin needed him for once, then Arthur would offer him a shoulder to lean on and a friendly hand to cling to. It was the least he could do.
So, although he was used to it being the other way round, if Merlin didn't go to Arthur, Arthur would go to Merlin. It was as simple as that.
Or should be. For, after scouring the castle, he had found no sign of Merlin. He was not in his chambers, he was not with Gaius, he was not in the armoury, he was not in the stables. Frustrated and somewhat worried, Arthur returned to his room once more, hoping to find him there this time.
Empty. The curtains closed. The fire extinguished. Cold, dreary, lifeless.
"Have you seen Merlin?" he asked his guards, hoping he didn't sound too desperate.
"Yes, Your Majesty. He is in the stocks."
Arthur blinked a couple of times.
"Excuse me?" he said, sure that he had misheard. It was absurd. Merlin had not set foot in the stocks for years, since before Arthur was even king.
"He is in the stocks, sire, by order of the Queen," the guard reported again. The second guard shifted the weight of his feet, visibly uncomfortable.
"Why?"
"Her Majesty said he deserved punishment for his disrespect."
Oh. It must have been a joke between them, then. A bit odd, considering the circumstances, but they were Merlin and Gwen, and they had their own language. They must have been joking, and the guards would have misinterpreted the situation.
"I see. How long ago was that?"
"It was early this morning, sire. After Merlin returned from the forest."
From burying the boy, Arthur completed in his head.
"It's been almost a whole day, then. Have you seen him recently?"
The guard blinked, confused.
"Well... no. But he must still be in the stocks, sire."
Arthur frowned, feeling even more lost than the soldier.
"Come on, I'm serious, don't you know where he is?"
The guard looked at his companion, unsure how to proceed.
"He's... He's in the stocks, sire," he stammered.
"You don't mean... Wait, is he really in the stocks?" said Arthur dumbfounded. He had a strange feeling in his legs, as if he were walking on ice.
The man nodded.
"We took him there ourselves, sire. The Queen ordered that he should spend the whole day and the whole night there without food or water."
It was as if the ice had suddenly cracked and Arthur had just fallen into a lake of glacial water.
"What?" he stuttered.
"We were merely following orders," the other soldier interjected, his tone grave and his eyes sorrowful, and Arthur knew this was serious.
Without a word, he turned on his heels and started walking, almost running, in the direction of the courtyard.
No. No, it couldn't be. Merlin couldn't have been in the stocks all day. It was cold, very cold in the evenings at that time of year, and Merlin didn't wear warm clothes, never did, because he didn't have any. And why had Arthur not ever given him a fur jacket or a woollen cloak? Because you're an insensitive prat, that's why, his head offered in a voice that sounded just like Merlin’s.
No food or water. Merlin had gained muscle lately thanks to the training Arthur had forced on him after the mace incident in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, but he was still thin even though he ate like a horse. It was as if he was always starving, as if his body needed all the energy it could get and yet it was never enough, so Arthur made sure that there were always leftovers on his plate that Merlin could claw at when he thought Arthur wasn't looking. Merlin needed to eat regularly. Arthur knew that, and so did Gwen.
Why would Gwen impose such a punishment on him? Merlin and Gwen had been good friends since the day Merlin first set foot in Camelot, long before Arthur had started to tolerate Merlin’s presence or even begun to notice Guinevere. And Guinevere was the kindest, sweetest person he knew. It had to be a mistake, there was no way she could have decided to punish Merlin, just as it was impossible for Merlin to have been disrespectful to her in the first place.
Although things between them had been somewhat tense since... Arthur stopped in his tracks, horrified. Since Guinevere accused Merlin of poisoning Arthur a little less than a month ago. Arthur had chalked it up to shock, because no one in their right mind would have considered Merlin a suspect of trying to harm Arthur, least of all Gwen.
Arthur cursed and picked up his pace. He should have paid more attention, should have talked to them about that incident. It was Gwen and Merlin, by all the gods; the two most important people in his life, the two people he couldn’t live without. Something had happened between them and now....
Now Merlin was there, in the stocks, hanging forgotten like an old puppet.
Arthur's heart sank. He stopped a few feet away from his friend and blinked to relieve the sudden sting in his eyes.
There had been a time when the stocks had been a companion of Merlin's, in another life when Arthur had been an arrogant prince and Merlin had been an insolent servant. Arthur would send him there for a while now and then so that he could laugh afterwards at the rotten vegetable scraps that ended up in his hair and at his complaints, which were endless, because Merlin never took Arthur's punishments seriously. And instead of feeling affronted, Arthur was moved by Merlin's perseverance everytime, marvelling at the fact that he never left his side no matter what he did to him. That was how Merlin had made himself a place in Arthur’s heart so soon. Or perhaps he simply filled a void that had always been there, aching and longing for someone to be brave enough to do it. Whatever it was, Merlin settled comfortably there, and their relationship changed little by little.
The stocks, which had been something of a running joke between them at first, became a faded memory as soon as Arthur realised that the rest of the people did not perceive it as a joke, but as a humiliating punishment. Arthur had been angry with himself for having been so inconsiderate, and now, seeing Merlin looking so miserable, he couldn't help but wonder if it had been like that back then too. He imagined a very young Merlin, with those big blue eyes so full of wonder, caught in the stocks like that and he felt nauseous.
Arthur had promised himself years ago that he would never again abuse the power difference between them in that way, because if he did he could never call Merlin his friend, and he had discovered that that was what he wanted —no, what he needed Merlin to be to him. Arthur knew he hadn't always kept that promise. But he did know that after all they had been through together he would never, ever, have subjected Merlin to such humiliation. It was so… wrong.
It broke his heart. He would have wept, seeing Merlin trapped in the stocks, shivering and covered in filth, his head down, no trace of fight left in his lean body. As if he were a common thief, and not the man the King of Camelot would trust with his life without a moment's hesitation. As if he were a slave, and not the man who had been practically ruling Camelot at his side for more than two years. But, of the two, Arthur was not the one who had the right to cry.
He covered the distance between them in two strides.
"Merlin..."
Merlin barely made the effort to raise his head a couple of centimetres.
"Arthur," he acknowledged in a hoarse voice. There was no warmth in his greeting, no humour, not even anger. There was no emotion at all.
Arthur gritted his teeth and hurried to open the bolts. Merlin would have hit the floor had Arthur not thrown an arm around his chest to stop his fall.
"Hey, hey," Arthur muttered. Two trembling hands found his arms, seeking support. "I've got you."
Slowly Arthur helped Merlin to his feet, but his legs were shaking so badly that they could barely support him. Arthur slipped one of his arms under Merlin's shoulders and wrapped it tightly around his waist.
"Lean on me," he instructed gently. "That's it. Let's go inside."
Moving slowly, they soon left the courtyard behind and entered the castle. They made their way silently to Gaius' tower. Merlin's breath caught in shudders, and Arthur responded to each spasm by holding him a bit tighter.
He breathed a sigh of relief when the door to Gaius' chambers was finally opened, and hurried to help Merlin sit by the fireplace.
"Where is Gaius?" he asked, looking around when he realised they were alone.
"There's an outbreak of fever in the lower town," Merlin said by way of explanation, and Arthur guessed that the physician must be paying visits.
"Right," he said, frowning at Merlin. He didn't like the bluish tint to his lips at all. "Alright."
He went into Merlin's room and unceremoniously removed the blanket from his bed. He returned to the fireplace to wrap Merlin in it, and the fact that Merlin did not complain was proof enough of how badly he was feeling. Arthur frowned again and looked around. There was a cauldron on the table, and upon inspection, Arthur thought the liquid in it looked more like broth than potion, but you could never tell with Gaius.
"Is this edible?" he asked Merlin.
Merlin turned pityingly to look at him and nodded. His nose was red.
"It will have to do," Arthur decided, picking it up and putting it on the fire to heat. As soon as it began to smoke he picked up a ladle and poured Merlin a bowl. Merlin accepted it without a word, though he raised an eyebrow, and something relaxed slightly in Arthur's heart.
Arthur pulled a second stool closer to the hearth and sat down opposite Merlin, who did not look up from his bowl of soup. He watched him eat in silence, noting with relief the way his fingers stopped trembling and returned to their natural pale colour as a healthy flush began to tinge his cheeks.
Merlin finished the soup and bent down to set the bowl carefully on the floor.
"Thank you," he mumbled, still not looking at Arthur, and Arthur hummed absentmindedly.
Merlin sniffled, straightened up again and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. He stared into the fire, as if looking directly into the flames was more pleasant than looking Arthur in the eye.
"Merlin," Arthur called gravely.
At last, almost reluctantly, Merlin turned to look at him. Arthur was startled to see how tired his eyes looked; it was a look he would have expected to see in an old man, not in his friend.
"Are you going to tell me what happened?"
Merlin seemed to shrink in on himself and returned to scowling at the fire.
"Guinevere ordered you to be punished. Why?"
"Arthur..." began Merlin, but he broke off abruptly and fell silent.
He looked uncertain, as if he was torn between speaking and remaining silent, and it should have been rare for a friend who had never hesitated to speak his mind, but the truth was that this was not the first time Arthur had seen that expression on his face. He was struck by the memory of those months when Gwen had been in exile and Arthur had trusted his uncle's advice. Merlin had tried to warn him that Agravaine was untrustworthy countless times, and Arthur had stubbornly refused to listen and had even threatened to exile him as well. Merlin's face had often closed that way in those days.
Arthur now thought he understood why. And he recognised the emotions swimming in those troubled eyes: helplessness, worry, insecurity... fear.
Fear? Fear of what? Of Arthur? Why should Merlin, of all people, be afraid of him? It was Merlin. He couldn't be afraid of him, it had to be fear of... of his reaction. And why would Merlin think that Arthur might react badly? Arthur thought again of Merlin's tired eyes, and of Agravaine and...
Oh. Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Not again.
"Merlin. Something's wrong, isn't it? With Guinevere," he said breathlessly.
Merlin gave him a fleeting glance, and returned his gaze to the flames even more intently than before. Arthur frowned and concentrated on the flames in turn.
"It is not like her to accuse you of poisoning me. Nor to punish you to spend a whole day in the stocks without food or water," he said slowly.
Beside him, Merlin seemed to hold his breath.
"And I know you would never have given her a reason to do so," Arthur went on, thinking aloud. "It's... It's absurd. I don’t understand how she could blame you for that attempt against my life. Everyone in this castle knows you would never hurt me. To me you were literally the last suspect. What am I saying; even if there was no one else left, I still wouldn’t ever suspect you, damn it."
Merlin raised his face and looked at him with a renewed gleam in his eye.
"And you would never be disrespectful to Guinevere. I mean, you're terribly disrespectful to me, but that's part of our relationship." The corners of Merlin's lips twitched slightly, as if they wanted to smile, and that encouraged Arthur to continue. "What I mean is... you're a great friend, Merlin. To me, and I know to Gwen too. You're very fond of each other, I know that. So this doesn't make any sense."
Merlin parted his lips, but sealed them again. Arthur stared at him carefully. Merlin looked exhausted and almost ill. He thought of the way Merlin had disappeared the day before, how Gwen had dissuaded him from going in search of Merlin again and again, how, as night fell, she had joined Arthur in his provocations and had asked Merlin with something bordering on malice about his secret lover, when normally she would have scolded Arthur affectionately and told him to leave Merlin alone.
"Guinevere has been behaving strangely lately," Arthur concluded aloud. "Like she's not herself. And I think you've noticed." He squinted at Merlin. "And I'd say you know why."
Merlin exhaled slowly.
"Have you spoken to her?" he finally asked quietly.
Arthur shook his head.
"Then why do you think...?" began Merlin. "Why do you think there's something wrong with her, and not me?"
Arthur blinked, surprised.
"What do you mean?"
"Perhaps she had reason to suspect me when you were poisoned. Perhaps I have been disrespectful to her and deserved the punishment," Merlin posed, staring at him.
Arthur found that the answer was simple.
"No," he said earnestly. "You see? She... She's been cruel to you. And she's tried to justify things that weren't really justifiable. You haven't done any of that. You're still you."
Merlin took a deep breath. His fingers were shaking slightly again. Arthur buried his face in his hands.
"I'm an idiot. I can't believe... I hate that it had to come to this for me to realise that something is wrong. I'm.. I’m a fool."
"Arthur..."
"I'm sorry, Merlin. I didn't even know you were in the stocks, I swear. Forgive me," he said in a trembling voice, pulling his hands away from his face so he could look at him. "I don't know how to be a good king, and I certainly don't know how to be a good husband or a good friend."
Merlin's gaze softened.
"I think you are being too hard on yourself," he said. "You are a great king, Arthur, and a great husband too."
But not a great friend, Arthur noted. It was nothing he did not know, and yet he felt terribly disappointed in himself. Arthur felt ashamed that he had never lived up to the friendship Merlin offered him so selflessly, that he had failed again and again to repay his unwavering faith and loyalty, that he had never given Merlin the credit he deserved when no one deserved it more than he did. Arthur trusted Merlin, but he had failed to show it, and had never done anything to earn Merlin’s trust in return.
And why? Mostly, because Arthur had always been afraid. Of trusting too much, of feeling so much. Of having his heart broken yet again. And that fear... That fear was what had led him in the past to turn his back to reality just because it was more comfortable, just because it gave him a sense of false security. Now he saw it. And now he knew, too, that that was not a sensible choice. The truth, as much as it might hurt, was necessary. And Merlin did not deserve to be scorned just for being its bearer, much less when all he intended to do by trusting Arthur with it was to protect him.
"Listen, Merlin..." he began, quietly. "I know that in the past I haven't given you much reason to trust me. I have not listened to you and I have disregarded your warnings and your advice, and each and every time you proved to be right. I know you’ve only ever tried to protect me. I have been a bad king and a bad friend to you too many times, and you don't know how sorry I am."
Merlin took a deep breath.
"Please, Merlin... I'm… I’m frightened. And worried about Guinevere. I... Not her. I don't want to believe... I don't even want to think about..."
Merlin wrestled with the blanket to free one arm and place a hand on Arthur's right forearm. Arthur closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the warmth of that small gesture of friendship. Deciding to be brave for once in his life, he groped up his arm with his left hand until he found Merlin's, and gripped it tightly.
"I promise you that I have learned from my mistakes. I promise you that I will listen and believe everything you have to say to me. I promise you can trust me, Merlin," he said without opening his eyes, squeezing his friend’s fingers.
The two fell silent then, and Arthur tried to calm himself by listening to the crackling of the flames and their rhythmic breathing.
"What about you, Arthur?” asked Merlin at last in a soft voice. “Do you trust me?"
"Yes," Arthur replied without hesitation, opening his eyes to look at him. "Yes, Merlin. Of course I do. More than anyone else in the world."
Merlin turned to return his gaze. In one fluid motion, he twisted his wrist so that he could grasp Arthur’s hand properly, and took his other hand as well.
"Gwen's not been the same since she came back from the Dark Tower. Arthur, I think she's working with Morgana."
Arthur felt something die inside him. It was the worst news he had ever received, because it was Guinevere –his Guinevere–, and believing that would turn his whole world upside down. But it was Merlin –his Merlin– telling him, so Arthur had to believe him.
“Okay. O-okay. I… Gods.”
Merlin’s eyes softened. They had lost all trace of caution, and were as earnest and warm as ever.
“I’m sorry, Arthur.”
Arthur couldn’t speak. Merlin squeezed his hands.
“I swear we will fix this. I’m sure Morgana is controlling her somehow, but we will bring her back. I promise, Arthur.”
And it was Merlin, so Arthur simply believed him again.