A Different Destiny / Merthur

Forgive Me

Merlin walked straight into Arthur chambers without stopping to knock, which was, perhaps, a mistake.

Arthur had stripped off his chainmail and was standing, bare chested, in the centre of the room. "Get out."

"No."

"Merlin," Arthur's voice was steely, "I said get out."

Doing the exact opposite, Merlin stepped further into the room and pushed the door shut behind him. "Not until you tell me what's been bothering you."

"Merlin—"

"I'm serious," Merlin warned, "you haven't properly spoken to me in days, you barely even look at me, so come on — out with it! Why are you being even more of a prat than usual?"

Arthur stilled. His eyes were fixated on Merlin. And then, very slowly, he turned his back and picked up a shirt from the bed. "You lied to me," he said softly, tugging the shirt over his head, "I know what you are."

Merlin tried to think of something to say, but there was something dangerous about the quiet of Arthur's voice. It held all the stillness of a hunter stalking its prey. Watching. Waiting for the moment to strike.

Arthur's jaw was clenched. "Well? Aren't you going to defend yourself?"

"How can I?" Merlin blurted out, "I don't even know what you're accusing me of!"

"Oh for gods' sake Merlin, I know you have magic!"

Merlin froze. He hadn't expected Arthur to yell. And he definitely hadn't expected him to say that. There was no way, he thought, there was no way Arthur could know. It was just an accusation. It didn't mean anything. He had no proof. A small, frightened smile flickered across his lips. "No," Merlin whispered.

"Don't lie to me!" There was a venom in Arthur's voice that, for a moment, came as a surprise even to him.

Merlin shook his head and desperately, desperately, tried to think of an excuse to leave. He started to shuffle backwards towards the door, but his legs didn't seem to want to support his weight. He felt numb. The air was being sucked from his lungs and it almost hurt to breathe; his side, already bruised, seared as he dragged in another breath.  He had to get out of this room. He had to leave before Arthur called the guards. He had to—

Merlin winced as he bashed into the side of the table.

And for some reason, that was all it took. The cold vanished from Arthur's stare. In front of him was no longer a warlock — at least not in the way Arthur had been taught to view them, because what was in front of him was not dangerous, and it certainly wasn't evil. In front of him was Merlin. An idiotic manservant who was incapable of leaving a room without injuring himself. And that was all he was: Merlin. His Merlin. His friend.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered.

Tears had started to prick his eyes. He couldn't move. His body felt like it was shutting down. Nothing was working. His legs would not move—

Arthur's fingertips curled around Merlin's sleeve as he whispered "it's okay," and "I don't mind," and "I'm sorry," all at once. And then, finally, "come here" as he tugged Merlin closer.