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Maybe it was the fact that he knew Merlin so well, or how the man was usually overflowing with sarcastic remarks, or even that their friendship had always thrived off of their friendly banter and insults that were merely thinly veiled affection. Maybe it was that they spent so much time in each other’s company and it broke the routine that Arthur had grown to appreciate, but Merlin’s bad moods always affected Arthur’s beyond how he had ever worried about anyone else. And maybe one of these things was why Arthur found himself fretting so much over his companion’s grump, or maybe, quite simply, it was just out of love. But something was off about Merlin and Arthur wanted it to stop.
Twilight had fallen in a dense mist over the forest, and Arthur and Merlin had just recently set up their final camp before finishing their journey back to the citadel tomorrow. It had been a long few days and each of them bore a thick smearing of dirt and their fair share of minor injuries to show for it (Merlin had a twisted wrist and Arthur’s hands were covered in scratches). For the one-off occasion, Arthur took it upon himself to light the fire and let his companion sit glumly off to the side. He would barely even look at the king, instead averting his gaze to the leaf litter on the muddied ground.
“You’re very quiet,” Arthur remarked. Indeed, Merlin had not said a word since they arrived.
“I’m sorry.” Merlin stated gruffly, quite out of character for him. As suspected, something was definitely up. He didn’t even look up as he said it, which was no help to Arthur, who was trying to analyse his face for any clues to his mood.
“What is it?” He asked softly, a tone he used to reserve only for Guinevere, but as of recently had found itself slipping into more conversations between the two boys. “Merlin.” He probed at the lack of response.
He turned just enough for Arthur to notice the sharp contours of his cheekbones with eyes sunk deeply behind dark bags, irises reflecting the light shining on the glossy curvature of his deep blue iris. “I-” He spoke cautiously, “It was here that I last saw my father.”
Arthur nodded slowly. It was a rare and precious statement from Merlin; it wasn’t often one heard him speak so vulnerably without using some kind of humour to distract. No, it was this raw admission of grief, an emotion Arthur knew too much about, enough to know that he should tread carefully around the subject.
He found it hard to think of the right words to say, but didn’t regret asking. He was going to draw out this conversation no matter how hard Merlin would try to deflect. Still, he thought carefully, not wanting to push him into a state of rage like he had done so many times to Morgana in her first few weeks at the castle. Mostly by accident, of course - Arthur rarely intended to cause people harm. However, that never changed the harm it caused - a lesson that took Arthur years to learn - intended or not, harm caused by his words and actions was still his fault and responsibility to rectify.
He took a second to find the appropriate words. He tended to find his mood plummeted at the mere mention of Ygraine, and transformed quickly into a severe embodiment of his anger if anyone said anything too close to home about Uther. He had raised his voice in, and sometimes even stormed out of, official councils more than he liked to admit. In the immediate weeks after his passing, Arthur had even gone off on one at Merlin for a simple comment. But this was Merlin’s father and not his own, so it could be that the fact Merlin had mentioned it in the first place showed a willingness to talk.
“You never talked about it.” Arthur looked across at the warm firelight shining onto Merlin’s face. He was fascinated by the way dancing light fell over the servant’s pale features. It highlighted him brilliantly.
“There’s not much I can say, I didn’t really know him that well. But-“ Merlin paused, restlessly fidgeting with a conker in the palm of his hand. “I was proud of him.” He looked up with a cautious grin that spread to the creases of his eyes. Arthur smiled as well, for he too had fond memories of Balinor. He didn’t know that he was Merlin’s father at the time, but they had the same sarcastic edge and ever-caring tone to their mannerisms. “And I want him to be proud of me.”
Arthur recognised a surge of fondness passing over himself. He couldn’t imagine a universe where Balinor wouldn’t be proud of Merlin. “I can understand that.” He spoke. “You should try being in my shoes. It was hard enough whilst he was alive, always having to live up to what he expected of me. It’s even harder now.” He explained “I now know what he faced, all the decisions he had to make.” Merlin looked up gently and Arthur continued, “I tell you Merlin, don’t start measuring yourself against a man who’s dead.” he looked at Arthur thoughtfully, he considered for a second, “you’ll never win.”
“I know.” Merlin affirmed, “He will always be better than me.”
The words struck a nerve right in the pit of Arthur’s stomach. He knew the feeling all too well. It didn’t matter how much time passed or how well he knew he was wrong, because almost every night, when the moon was high and sleep was impossible, he still found himself falling into a dark spiral of how he could never be as strong or powerful or brave as his father. The thoughts took him over. The way they riddled through his head was infuriating. A never ending stream of not good enough, never good enough taking control. Knowing he had all the compassion and mercy to give that his father lacked wasn't enough. He knew that, unlike his father, he could listen to people and had friends he trusted. But it was the most frustrating thing, Arthur knew Uther was not a good man, yet somehow he could not force himself to believe it.
This trail of thought came to an end by noticing by a small parting of Merlin’s lips out the corner of his eye, as though his friend had something to say. “What?” Arthur queried.
“For a moment there I thought we had something in common.” He said with a chuckle. Arthur chuckled too and tilted his head to the side calmly.
“Maybe - just this once - we do.” he responded honestly, “and for what it’s worth, Merlin, I think Balinor would be very proud of you.”