Merthur One-shots

Same As Always

Summary: Arthur should have been celebrating. His knights certainly were. But there on the field of Camlann, surrounded by the sounds of victory… he couldn’t tear his devastated gaze from Merlin.

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The moment should have been a victory.

By any usual standard of measurement, it certainly was. The ground was littered with their enemies, Morgana’s forces obliterated, everything Arthur had hoped for achieved. Even from where he knelt on the ground, his knees sinking into the sodden mud and his bloodied cheeks stained with tears, Arthur could hear the celebratory cries of his men. They were shouting, singing, calling out his name in joy and the euphoric adrenaline of a hard battle won.

But even though he heard it, Arthur didn’t react. He didn’t feel it. His own cries were caught in his throat, tearing at his every breath with a brutal agony, breaking him apart more thoroughly than any of Morgana’s hired swords ever could have.

“It’s okay, Arthur,” Merlin said from where he was cradled in Arthur’s arms, those blue eyes shining the same way as always despite the grey pallor of his skin. “It’s okay.”

Arthur’s teeth grit together so tightly the ache spread from his jaw right up through his skull. Everything ached, not a single piece of his being granted mercy from the onslaught of hurt. The cuts along his skin, the bruises to his bones, the tears in his heart which only cracked wider the longer he looked at his dying friend.

“It’s not okay,” Arthur spat, the pain echoing into anger through his words. “You’re hurt, you’re—”

He cut himself off, wanting to look away but finding himself unable to. He knew he shouldn’t be angry, not at Merlin, not now—but he couldn’t help it. It was a curse he’d borne as long as he could remember, his pain shifting into the only reaction he had ever been able to muster in situations of hurt. Of betrayal.

He was angry at Morgana. At Mordred. At everyone who had ever tried to harm his people, and the people he cared about. He was angry at the blood and the magic and the impossible choices he’d had to make. He was angry at the world and godsdamnit, he was angry at Merlin.

“Why did you do it?” Arthur asked. “You had to know that she would—you had to—”

“I had to save you,” Merlin cut in, the weakness of his voice doing nothing to prevent him from interrupting. Same as always. “I had to—”

“You didn’t have to,” Arthur growled.

“I did. Mordred was going to kill you, and if you couldn’t see that then you’re more of a dollophead than I ever—”

“But protecting me allowed her to kill you,” Arthur snarled. The moment the words fell from his lips, words he hadn’t meant to say, words he didn’t want to believe—Arthur felt those cracks in his heart widen until it shattered entirely.

He knew it was true, he’d seen it. He’d seen the desperation in Morgana’s expression, the way she was faltering under Merlin’s attacks. He’d seen Merlin’s unshakable power, the way he wielded magic like he had been born to do so—like the magic of Albion itself stood behind him.