Merthur - Forgotten

Spring Growth

"Is that disappointment I see in his eyes, or contempt?"

"It's worry." 

___ ___ ___ 

Via's death didn't go unnoticed. Whispers of her disappearance saturated and soaked through the civilians of Britain. Rumors of her death were spread far and wide, sowing the seeds of doubt into even the most stubborn of fools. People once again felt the electricity that gossip brought animating their bones.

When the snow melted and spring came with the vigor of life, three people set out in search of the missing Via. They were the people closest to her. The ones who, try as they might, could not simply let her go. They were her friends, her family, and her lover. Each newly budded flower crushed under their heels was a small price to pay for what they would find.

So brings them to the damp, musty halls of an abandoned library, stinking with the stench of death. Via's body had already begun to wither and rot. Two of her discoverers wept, each reaching out to her in their heart and soul and wishing they could bring her back. One did not. He took from rigor mortis a book that was probably best burned. Gawain read on the title page what Via had been too desperate to see.

"A Story Best Forgotten," by Emrys

Perhaps it was the name that struck him, or that it was his dead sister's hands that he'd pulled it from, but Gawain took it home under the cover of darkness.

Merlin spent the rest of the next day wondering what Arthur had meant, distractedly and clumsily performing duties he had no business messing up. Each mistake brought the heat of shame to his ears and more than once, he caught the young prince staring. In his delirium, Merlin had assumed it was the way in which he was acting that had the prince's face twisted back into a bitter cinnamon.

They'd hunted in the bitter cold, Merlin hardly able to catch a thing and, more than once, preventing Arthur from doing so as well. With each little mishap, Arthur's annoyance with him grew stronger. It showed in the way he walked, his shoulders hunched and his step heavy. In the way he spoke, his tone harsh and indignant. Merlin, unable to help himself, had flinched away more than once.

By the time they got back to Arthur's chambers, Merlin was sure Arthur was going to dismiss him early, but he didn't say anything. In fact, he acted as if nothing had happened. Night had invaded a frozen Camelot and now the only light in the prince's chambers came from the soft moonlight seeping in through the windows.

Merlin didn't hesitate, already on his way to start the fire and warm the usually comforting room. This time, Merlin didn't get to. This time, Arthur caught his wrist. Merlin looked back at him, knowing the worry he felt showed on his face. Arthur's expression hadn't changed.

"Merlin..." he started, drawing closer than Merlin was comfortable with. Not when his fingers were wrapped so easily around his wrist. "You've been off today. What's wrong?" Had Arthur been any louder, his voice would have echoed against the vaulted ceilings of his chambers. His voice was no more than a whisper.

"Nothing, sire." Merlin pulled his hand away, finding it to be easier than he'd wanted. Arthur hadn't really been holding on at all. "Just... " Arthur's gaze shifted from Merlin's eyes to his cheek, tracing the healing cut without actually touching it. That didn't stop Merlin from feeling it on his skin.

"Just..." Arthur prompted.

"I don't want to say."

To Merlin's surprise, Arthur didn't press him. Instead, he nodded in grim understanding. Merlin couldn't tell whether or not the young prince was making fun of him. He really hoped that wasn't the case.