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He should have seen this coming. Of course, he hoped this day would never come, but standing on the edge of the turret with a shaky knife to his throat? It was bound to happen sooner or later.
He doesn’t need to turn away from the view of people fighting in the streets to see who is holding the object pressing into his neck. He knows just from the way he breathes, how he holds himself, how his tears mix into Merlin’s neck and ragged linen shirt.
The King. Arthur. His friend. His King.
He hadn’t meant to put himself on show, hadn’t meant to lose control and end up with nowhere to go. After Uther died, he hoped that Arthur wouldn’t follow in the madman’s footsteps. That he would be a good King, but not a corrupt one.
He should have known better than to put his faith in that. Gaius would say that anyway. Merlin has always been a dreamer, however.
Standing here now, he could almost afford to dream, Dream that they are just stargazing, or Athur’s not sleeping because of something on his mind.
The bright light of day gives it away that it’s not a dream, but he’ll pretend as long as it takes to wipe Arthur’s face from his memory. The face he’d seen only mere moments ago when he’d blasted back some fighters from a nearby kingdom on the attack.
As they shed blood below, they stand up here and Merlin doesn’t feel hate, not guilt for once. All he feels is sorrow.
“It’s okay.” He finally speaks after a moment, the roars from down below muted as he does so while the knife still sits there, the arm around his upper chest unsteady. “It’s okay. Do it.”
“...I can’t.” The voice, far from commanding, is meek and deep, breathless. Merlin hates it. “You can, my King. All you have to do is strike me and push me off.”
“No, I can’t. I want to, I /need/ to, but I-”
“Arthur, it’s okay, I-” He tries again, but it’s only mere seconds before he’s turned, a hand gathered at his chest, holding him in place, but knife still pointed at the underside of his chin as Arthur, normally gallant and brave Arthur, King of England, watches him, terrified and panicked. “I can’t, I can’t Merlin!”
Merlin’s eyes flare gold as he watches him steadily, watching him fall apart, before he reaches up and touches the knife tentatively.
“Then don’t.”