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Tears dripped slowly to the ground, gathering in a puddle on the stone floor. For once, he didn’t try to hide the emotion. He was too tired. It was too much to hide. Too much to carry.
His father had such high expectations for him, and he would never be able to measure up. And until he could reach that impossible standard, he would never be good enough. Be good enough for his father. Be good enough for his title. Be good enough for his kingdom.
As much as Arthur knew that Uther was not a good father, he still longed for his approval as much as any son might. He still spend his entire life trying to be enough, but being told he never would be. It was one thing when his father told him he wouldn’t ever be enough in private. But in front of the entire council?
The door creaked open, and he hastily brushed away the telltale drops. Turning away, he picked up a scroll from his desk, hoping if he pretended to be busy enough, he would be left alone. He was in no mood for company.
Of course the man at the door would pay no attention to his subtle hints. Merlin bustled in, not even bothering to knock. Why was he even here? He wasn’t working. The only thing he was accomplishing was being an annoyance.
Tears rolled down Arthur’s cheeks behind the paper, and he muffled a quiet sob. Merlin didn’t even notice, too busy prattling on about nothing of importance. He picked up and dropped a few random pieces of clothing, pretending to work, but not actually doing anything of use.
Arthur tried to subtly brush the tears from his face before they could fall and betray him. He tried to focus on the words in front of him, hoping to distract himself enough to settle his emotions.
He must have missed something, though, because suddenly the paper was pulled away from his face, replaced by Merlin’s worried eyes. “Arthur?”
“M fine.” He replied shortly, trying to turn away to hide his red eyes.
“You’re quite clearly not fine.” Merlin retorted. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but at least let me help you.” Merlin tossed the paper onto the desk, dragging Arthur up out of his chair.
Arthur let him move him, following until they reached the bed. Merlin let go of him to pull down the covers, then gently tugged him to lay down. He replaced the blankets and turned to go, but before he could move, Arthur’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.
“Stay?” He pleaded. Merlin hesitated. “Please? Just lay here with me. Let me forget about the kingdom for just a few minutes?”
Merlin blew out the candles and climbed in next to him, settling himself on top of the blanket. He reached out slowly, as if expecting rejection, and gently ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair, soothing the headache that had been building all day.
“I don’t know what he said to you, but he was wrong.” Merlin spoke with unusual confidence. “You have such a great heart and care for this kingdom so much. You are exactly what Camelot needs.” He kept stroking Arthur’s hair gently. “Just rest and forget. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
With the soothing repetitive motion, Arthur found himself growing tired. He had cried himself out. Nothing was fixed, but the reminder that he had someone at his back was enough comfort to let him rest. He let his eyes fall closed, and slept.
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Merlin was still there when he woke up.