Fight For Me

Chapter 2

Arthur is pulled from the darkness. His eyes open slowly, feeling somewhat better, but somewhat worse. And it's cold. So very cold. And dark, only a mild improvement from when he had been unconscious. He hears sobs above him, a voice pained and upset as it chants.

"Licsar ge staðol nu," comes a voice of a dark-haired person huddled over his body. "Arthur, please..."

Arthur could recognise that voice anywhere.

"Licsar ge staðol nu!" Merlin repeats more firmly, lifting his head, eyes glowing gold once again. His eyes widen in relief at the sight of an awake Arthur.

Arthur, unable to help himself, tries to shift away, only to find himself too weak to move. Merlin feels his struggle, and assures his prince.

"Hey, it's me," he croaks, as Arthur continues to try and escape his grasp. "It's me, I promise. I swear it's me."

Arthur stops, eyes searching for the hint that means his friend is really himself, and not some old sorcerer. Seeing the pain in Merlin's eyes, the eyes red from tears, and those same tears still wet on his cheeks, Arthur gives a weak smile, recognising his friend, who's really himself.

That smile disappears within seconds as Arthur remembers what Merlin had been saying as he had just woken up. The gold he'd seen... right after the spell, in Merlin's eyes.

"But..." Arthur lifts a hand to Merlin's face, right to his temple. "Your eyes..."

Merlin's head drops in what seems to be shame.

Glancing at himself, he realises the wounds he'd had are now but small cuts, hardly anything of worry. Frowning, Arthur returns his gaze to his manservant. He feels much better, the pain having left him, leaving only faint itches and tiny irritations, but he feels unbelievably groggy, almost drunk, it would seem to him.

"The wounds..." he says, trying to adjust his position to get more comfortable. "They're... almost completely gone."

Merlin's eyes begin flooding with tears again. "I'm sorry--" he chokes out. "I healed you, as best I could."

"Why should you be..." But Arthur trails off, finally beginning to put the pieces together. He takes a sharp intake of breath, before asking, "How?"

Merlin's heart jumps. This is the moment he'd always dreaded, but it's too late now. How could he escape this one? There was no way out. He had no choice.

Still, even just thinking about it made him panic, made his breathing quicken, made him feel like the world was crumbling away around him, made him shake and tremble like he was nothing more than a scared child, made him feel sick to the stomach.

"I--" he begins, in tears. "I have--"

But he can't get the words out. He can't. Every time he tries, he can't breathe. He feels suffocated even trying, even beginning the sentence leading to the dreaded confession.
Arthur notices his friends struggles, and despite knowing what comes next, and fearing the words to come, he has to comfort him.

Unable to muster any words, he finds Merlin's hand, and squeezes it softly. This seems to have a little effect. Merlin replies with a sharp intake of breath, then returning his breathing to a more normal pace.

"You have magic," Arthur says, bluntly.

Lips thin, Merlin gives a weak, and obviously faked smile, which he can't even hold for more than a split second. Trembling and weeping with fear, Merlin awaits what comes next. Rejection. Hate. Death, even. His expectations are low, but he hopes for acceptance, he hopes to keep his friend. And that is why hope is such a dangerous thing.