The first few times Gaius said Merlin was at the tavern, Arthur stormed off to find him. He was never there. He was never anywhere as far as Arthur could tell.
Arthur wasn't stupid. He knew something was up. Unfortunately, he just jumped to the wrong conclusion about what.
Arthur knew he wasn't the easiest man to get along with. That was why, every time Merlin went missing, he had two layers of lies. The first lie was that he didn't care. The second lie, for those who cared to find it, was that he was just worried because this was Camelot. Bandits, magical attacks, and wild animals that could eat overly skinny servants in one bite weren't just possibilities, they were the norm.
And that was true. But the deeper truth, the one he was afraid to admit even to himself, was that every time Merlin disappeared, Arthur was afraid he'd finally hurled one too many goblets, gone too far on one of his rants, or that the danger had finally risen past even Merlin's courage (insanity) threshold. Every time he left, Arthur was afraid he'd never come back.
But he always did. He'd be gone for three days and then show up one morning looking for woodworm in his headboard.
He wasn't sure what he'd do if one time he didn't.
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Merlin Headcanons
Fanfiction. . . As well as theories, drabbles, and rants on ships.
