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Arthur knows something is wrong the moment Merlin arrives at his chambers.
When he pushes open the door—not slamming them open to startle him, as Merlin is wont to do—with a quiet resignation, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. Forlorn and dishevelled.
Arthur’s heart sinks. He had been afraid of this ever since he’d heard the news. Merlin always takes it so hard when he loses a patient. Arthur knows better than to ask him about it, though. Merlin is obviously in no state to talk. But he will. Eventually. Arthur knows how to care for him for now. He knows how to make Merlin feel loved and cared for, until he feels safe enough to let it all out. And Arthur will be there to hold him whilst he falls apart and then help put him back together again.
He hauls himself up from his chair and slowly makes his way over to Merlin. He approaches him carefully, as though he’s hunting an animal, creeping closer and closer, until he’s close enough to reach out and take Merlin’s medicine bag from him and set it down on the sideboard.
“S’rry,” Merlin slurs.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Arthur murmurs as he removes Merlin’s cape and hangs it off the back of a chair.
He wishes that he could protect Merlin from this. He can fight off bandits. Order men to war. Feed the hungry. Clothe the poor. But he can’t protect Merlin’s heart from hurt.
There’s only one thing to do when Merlin’s like this. And Arthur has prepared for it.
He’s had servants come in with his bath and the tub is filled.
Usually, Merlin brings the water back up to temperature with his magic. But he’s in no state to do that tonight.
Arthur glances over at the big pot, still heating over the fire.
“Come on, come over here and sit,” Arthur says, taking him by the hand.
He leads Merlin over to a chair and sits him on it, eyeing him warily as Merlin slumps into it, his chin meeting his chest. Arthur doesn’t want to let go of his hand; the one gesture of comfort between them. But he must if he’s to add the extra water.
“Stay there, he says softly. “I’ll be right back.”
Arthur hurries over to lift the heavy pot and heaves it up to pour into the tub, pleased by the steam that now rises from it. He swishes a hand around in the water to mix it, then dries it off with a sheet before returning back to Merlin’s side.
Then he gently pulls Merlin to his feet.
None of this comes easily to Arthur. His natural instinct is to tell Merlin to stop moping around and pull himself together. Or to tease him and try to get their banter going. But that’s not what’s needed here.
When Merlin is like this, he needs to be handled delicately.
God knows he deserves it after all the times he suffered through trials and tribulations on his own.
Arthur hates that he ever had to face things alone. He hates that, even now, Merlin feels the weight of their destiny in a way Arthur can never understand.
Arthur wants to protect him from everything that crosses their paths, as though, by doing so now, he can heal the wounds Merlin gained all those years ago.
He undresses Merlin with careful, gentle hands. Untying his shirt and lifting it over his head—the material far nicer than Merlin ever had before he became court sorcerer and Arthur’s consort. Merlin just lets him, his arms hanging limp and useless by his sides as he stands there shirtless. Arthur bends to lift Merlin’s leg—slowly, delicately—and slips off his boots and socks. Then he straightens up and undoes Merlin’s breeches, letting them pool around his ankles. He does the same with his smalls and then encourages Merlin to step out of them.
Arthur leads him over to the bath and coaxes Merlin to lift his legs, first one, then the other, to get in and slowly lowers him into the water.
“That’s it,” he murmurs softly, bending to place a kiss to Merlin’s head before hurrying to rid himself of his own clothes, which he’s more than capable of, even if his husband believes otherwise.
He encourages Merlin to scoot forward in the tub and steps in, sitting behind Merlin, his legs akimbo. The temperature of the water is perfect. Just as he’d planned.
Arthur pulls him close so that Merlin’s flush against his chest, though Merlin’s back is stiff, ramrod straight with tension, and he still hasn’t made a sound apart from his mumbled and completely unnecessary apology.
“Relax,” Arthur whispers around the shell of Merlin’s ear. “Let me take care of you.”
He pushes Merlin forward slightly and then cups his hands.
“Close your eyes,” he commands.
And Merlin, so pliant like this—Arthur would enjoy it, if it weren’t for the state Merlin is in—does as he’s told for once, as Arthur pours water over his dark locks, watching the water dripping from them. He repeats until Merlin’s hair is soaking wet, and then reaches out for a bar of soap—the finest soap in all of Camelot—and lathers it in his hand.
It’s only then, as he starts to rub the soap into Merlin’s hair, massaging his scalp with his fingertips, that Arthur sees him start to relax, his back sagging so slightly, you mightn’t notice it if you weren’t watching for it.
But Arthur knows right then that everything will be all right. It always ends up all right in the end. So long as they have each other.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”
His beautiful, stubborn, kind-hearted Merlin.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he instructs as he uses cupped hands to rise off the soap.
Arthur lets his leg slide forward, alongside Merlin’s until their feet brush and Merlin gives a quiet gasp, as he appears to recall where he is.
“I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere,” Arthur reassures him.
He’s instructed the guards that they’re not to be disturbed no matter what, as, given Merlin’s tender heart which takes the losses of life so hard, he had suspected that Merlin would be in such a state.
Taking the cloth he’d draped over the side of the tub, Arthur dips it in the bath, wringing out the worst of the water and then starts to wipe it over Merlin’s back. Normally, he’d savour this, enjoying the smooth, pale expanse of Merlin’s skin stretched taut across his muscles all for him, but not today. Today is all about Merlin. He rubs the bar of soap against the cloth, then swipes from shoulder blade to shoulder blade again, as though he can wash all Merlin’s troubles away. He runs the cloth all the way down one arm, carefully washing Merlin’s hand and elegant fingers, taking his time before doing the other.
He dips the cloth again, and then washes Merlin’s sides and chest. He places the cloth back over the side and grabs the soap, pressing close against Merlin’s chest as he runs it along Merlin’s legs and feet.
Still, Merlin is quiet and subdued, but he’s relaxed somewhat, sinking back into Arthur’s embrace as he holds him and continues washing his belly. He reaches back for the cloth and starts to clean Merlin’s cock—no hands or fun today like they indulge in on other nights; that’s not what Merlin needs.
“It’s all right,” Arthur tells him quietly, kissing his cheek softly. “You’re safe here.”
Merlin lets out a subdued sob.
That’s it. They’re almost there.
Arthur hasn’t been with Merlin for all these years without knowing a thing or two about how to comfort him.
Jonah had been weak and frail, but Arthur knows that he was a close friend and subsequently one of Merlin’s favourite patients. He’d been unwell for years now, and Merlin had been trying every remedy and every spell he could think of to cure him and help ease his suffering. It wasn’t as though Arthur wasn’t expecting this to happen eventually. But Merlin had been so sure he could save him.
When Arthur had heard the news through the grapevine, he’d been surprised. But he also knew that he would need to be ready to help his husband.
Merlin continues to make small, hitching sobbing sounds, his chest heaving with them, as Arthur wraps his arms around him and holds him close.
Arthur doesn’t hush him, or whisper comforting words. He just holds him, knowing how much Merlin needs this release. He spends too long bottling his emotions up. And bottling things up always makes things worse—Arthur knows that better than anyone. His father never let him have his feelings or express himself. He was expected to be poised and contained and manly. Chided more times than he can remember as a child for crying or being scared.
But tears and emotions are manly too. They’re necessary. And they’re both safe to have their feelings here, in each other’s arms.
Arthur’s heart aches as he listens to Merlin cry. He wishes he could feel the pain for him. He’d lay down his life and his heart for his love. But he can’t take away heartache like this.
Eventually, Merlin’s sobs and tears subside, his chest stops heaving and his breathing evens out, and the water grows tepid.
Merlin shivers a little in Arthur’s arms, and Arthur realises he’s hardly warm himself.
“Come on, let’s get you out,” Arthur says. “Before you freeze to death.”
Arthur stops in his tracks as Merlin stiffens, and Arthur kicks himself for being so thoughtless with his words.
He hauls himself and Merlin to their feet and reaches out to the chair nearby where he stacked a couple of drying sheets, wrapping one around Merlin’s shoulders as he uses another to dry his hair.
Arthur gets out of the bath and gives himself a quick wipe down before helping Merlin to step out too. Merlin stands by the tub meekly, looking lost still, his eyes red-rimmed as Arthur hurries to quickly, but carefully dry him off.
“Hey,” says Arthur softly, and Merlin’s eyes finally meet his.
“Thanks,” Merlin says, with a shaky smile. “I’m sorry for the—”
Arthur reaches out and grasps Merlin’s shoulders with his hands.
“Hey,” he says. “Don’t you dare apologise. I love you. And I’ll always be here for you, Merlin. Through the good times and the bad. I made a vow to you, remember? To love you and care for you through thick and thin. Forever. And I meant every word.”
He keeps eye contact with Merlin, staring at him, like he always has when trying to instill a thought or idea with Merlin, compelling Merlin to believe him. To see himself how Arthur sees him.
“Forever,” says Merlin, his voice quivering. “But I— Jonah—”
“You can’t save everyone.”
“I know, but…”
Merlin trails off hopelessly, and Arthur pulls him close for a bone-crushing hug. He’ll make Merlin understand how loved he is. How it wasn’t his fault and that everything will be okay.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, pressing his face into Merlin’s damp hair.
“No,” Merlin hiccups.
Arthur knows that he will eventually. But not today. It’s enough for now. He’ll talk when he’s ready, and Arthur will be ready to hold him when he does.
“Come on,” he says, releasing Merlin and kissing his forehead. “Let’s get to bed.”
He tugs Merlin over to the bed by the hand and grabs a pair of his softest sleeping trousers, tugging them on before helping Merlin into his and tugging a clean shirt over Merlin’s head.
Once they’re both under the covers, Merlin curls up around him like a cat. He’s trembling. Arthur makes sure the blankets are pulled all the way up to their necks.
“It’ll be okay,” Arthur reassures him. “You did the best you could. The best anyone could.”
Arthur holds Merlin close as he buries his face in Arthur’s chest and strokes his fingers along the back of Merlin’s neck.
“Get some sleep,” says Arthur. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“Love you,” Merlin murmurs quietly into Arthur’s chest.
“I love you, too,” says Arthur.
He keeps tracing his fingers across Merlin’s shoulders as he listens to the stillness of the castle now that the day has ceased and the sound of Merlin’s breath, slowing and then evening out into adorable little snores as he drifts off to sleep.
And try as he might, Arthur feels the weight of the day on him; his eyelids feel heavy, and he becomes powerless to resist the pull of sleep as he falls into oblivion with Merlin safe in his arms.