REGICIDE ➳ MERTHUR

chapter four

They rode through the tranquil forests silently, with Merlin leading the way. It was a world away from their old travels, filled with Merlin's never-ending prattle and Arthur's constant toss of endearing insults. Neither of them knew what to say to one another, now that so much had changed between them. Arthur was confused over his inability to hate Merlin, even after all the torment brought upon him. At this point, he had begun to believe what Merlin had told him about his father, and now that he thought about it, was it really so hard to accept? His father had always refused to speak about Arthur's mother—to the same extent he refused to speak on the issue of magic.

Arthur sighed, slouching in his saddle. He didn't know what to believe; it was all so much to take in. If only he had someone to guide him, but his father was gone and the only other person who he could turn to was Merlin, who he still didn't completely trust. Maybe if all of what Merlin said proved to be true, somehow, a new sort of trust could bloom between them. However, trust was not forgiveness for the acts already committed; he didn't know if he would ever be able to forgive Merlin for the death of his father. Even if he had been horrible, he was Arthur's father, and the only one he'd had.

"I hope you're not too tired," Merlin piped up, leaning over to reach for a sword at his side. "We have company." He threw the sword by the handle in Arthur's direction, who caught it with a firm grasp. The weight of it was familiar in his hand, and it was the first true feeling of comfort he experienced since his Merlin had taken the throne.

Bandits jumped out of the trees. Arthur sprang off of his horse and met one of the men trying to slash at him. He swung back, and his feet found their old rhythm as he reached and parried against his opponent. After he'd disarmed the man, Arthur pushed the tip of his sword through his stomach, watching as he dropped to the ground. For a split second, he wondered why it was so easy for him to kill this nameless man, and why it was so hard to kill Merlin, who had wronged him worse than the bandit.

When Arthur turned, the rest of the bandits—there were so many of them—were dead on the ground. Merlin stood in the middle, looking down on all the carnage he'd wrecked, his face void of any emotion.

Arthur was afraid. He almost had a mind to run, but then Merlin was looking at him with widened eyes and yelling his name. Before Arthur could turn around, Merlin lifted a hand and flung the body of a bandit into the trunk of a tree like a rag doll, a sickly crunch bestowing the hit and the following fall to the ground. If Arthur had been afraid of what Merlin had been capable of before, the pure lack of thought that went into killing a man so brutally frightened him even more. But then, he realized that the bandit had been moving to kill him, and would have had Merlin not intervened. Merlin had saved his life, again.

This time, however, he was not hiding under a false identity. There could be no hidden motive, since there was really no reason for Merlin to be keeping him alive. Working under Arthur for the many years he had allowed him to know all of Camelot's secrets because he had been the prince's most trusted servant. Arthur truly had no idea why he was still alive and not being tortured, unless Merlin really did care for him still—if he ever had in the first place. It would certainly explain why he'd been named crown prince, and maybe he could let his guard down, finally.

However, Arthur had no further proof on the matter and he wouldn't make himself vulnerable to being hurt again. His walls would stay up until he found reason to break them down.

"Are you alright, Arthur?" Merlin asked. He still stood a distance away, but he conveyed concern in his eyes, an emotion Arthur never thought he would see from Merlin ever again.