Merthur One-shots

All We Ever Need Know Of Hell

Summary: To keep Merlin safe, Arthur would break his own heart.

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It feels like the air has been sucked from the room. The pain in Merlin’s chest may be from suffocation, or it may be to do with the intense ache that seems to be spreading through all his vital organs like a wave of ice. He might be shaking. He can barely tell which way is up, and everything is blurred by the tears pooling in his eyes. He’s probably trembling. He’s not sure his legs can hold him up any longer, and has to stumble back to sit down on his bed.

He manages an inhale that feels like drawing blood from a stone, but it propels him enough to ask, “What?” His voice is small and barely carries.

“This, whatever it is, needs to end,” Arthur repeats, and even hearing it a second time doesn’t help Merlin to process any of the words.

Arthur seems so calm, stood a little way away with his arms crossed over his chest nonchalantly, and a placid expression on his face. There’s a little tension in his jaw, and his stance isn’t entirely casual, but he’s probably just uncomfortable about the fact that Merlin is falling apart. The tears slide down his cheeks, almost tickling, and his breath comes in short, sporadic pants that don’t carry enough air to his lungs.

“Why?” his voice is pitiful, whiny, pathetic.

Arthur scoffs, a humourless noise, with a shake of his head. “It’s how these things work, servants and royalty.” He raises a cruel eyebrow, “What, you actually thought I loved you? Don’t be ridiculous Merlin.”

Merlin has had wounds which have hurt less. He almost died once, and the pain then doesn’t even begin to compare to this. The ache digs into his lungs and his heart, his skin prickles and grows hot even as another wave of ice washes over his organs. He could drown in it; it could crush him. He doesn’t know if he wants to scream or cry or throw up. He looks up at Arthur through his tears, and aside from the tension he seems entirely nonplussed about this whole situation. Merlin’s world is falling apart at the seams and Arthur is acting as though it’s a normal Wednesday.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t even know where to begin. A million questions flood his mind: did he do something wrong? Is he asking too much? Did they need to be more discrete? Merlin would make almost any compromise for him, Arthur need only say the words. He racks his brain desperately to find something which might explain this sudden decision, but finds nothing. Just this morning they had lazed in bed long after the sun came up, teasing one another between kisses and sweet caresses as they did most days when neither of them had duties to fulfil. This conversation feels so at odds with that, Merlin can’t comprehend the change.

He swallows, then opens his mouth again, but is silenced by the sound of Gaius calling his name, and the thud of footsteps hurrying towards the room. Arthur shifts uncomfortably, and starts a little as Gaius bursts through the door. “Merlin, Uther-” he stops upon seeing the tears streaking down Merlin’s face. He looks between Merlin and Arthur and asks, “You’ve told him?”

The calm demeanour has completely fallen now, and Arthur appears almost frantic as he looks between Merlin and Gaius. “Told me what?” Merlin asks, voice still this side of pathetic, but with a little more force behind it now. “What about Uther?”

Gaius throws a quizzical look at Arthur before turning to Merlin. “He knows about you, he’s called for your arrest.”