i'm on the right side (with you)

Chapter 4 Arthur's POV

Nearly everything has changed. The world has moved on without him. It has been centuries since his death, but it feels as if it were only yesterday he was lying in Merlin's arms. Just hold me. The only constant that has remained is Merlin.

Arthur remembers dying. He remembers the pain in his chest, can almost feel the fragment of a blade just below his heart. He remembers being so tired, limbs as heavy as lead, dragging him down and burying his hope, even as Merlin begged him to carry on. He remembers the dragon that danced in the fire, the familiar feeling of betrayal, never wanting to look Merlin in the eyes again because he'd been a sorcerer for all that time. Merlin didn't trust him and it hurt, more than anything, even more than the wound piercing his side. He remembers Merlin talking to him, his shouts that were muffled in Arthur's ears as everything seemed to die around him, his eyelids too heavy to open as light faded into darkness.

All of that makes no sense, because Arthur is alive. He is in bed, breathing, his heart beating and his hands feeling, tracing his fingers along his abdomen, trying to find the wound or even a scar that would indicate the place where Mordred had driven his sword into. It isn't there. Arthur sighs and slides out of bed. Everything feels wrong, as if he were lost and had forgotten the way home. He is in a stranger's home almost, even though the layout of the room is nearly identical to his own one in Camelot, but the walls are white with beams of wood, and the windows are small and square. Arthur walks over to a window, and peers out to see a garden with a patio and stepping stones that mark out a path leading to a vegetable patch, and then to a pond. Most of the grass has gone wild, however nothing about the garden is messy. Arthur stares outside for a while longer.

Turning back into the room, Arthur spots a vase on the table. The flowers that had been fitted in it were fresh. Arthur can't help but smile a little, reminded of the time when he had found out Merlin had been giving Morgana flowers, feeling jealous that he had been given none. The thought of Morgana turns the memory sour. Arthur looks away.

Arthur does not feel like he wants to sleep. He knows that even if he tried, his mind will keep him awake. Therefore he opens his door and checks up and down the corridor. A door opposite him is ajar, and the light from the moon spills in through the windows in the room, highlighting the floor boards and casting corners into darkness. Arthur walks over and peeks his head in. Most of the contents in the room are hidden in shadows, but Arthur can tell that the furthest wall from him to the right is fully covered by bookshelves, apart from a window in the middle and a double bed beneath. Arthur watches, as he sees how the moonlight washes over Merlin's face. He looks peaceful, and Arthur can almost forget how broken he had seemed when he had cried and screamed, and had held him in his arms, holding him tight because they both had needed it, needed each other. All Arthur knows is that if he were to come back, to a world without Merlin, he's certain it would have destroyed him.

Arthur stands there for a moment, unable to drag himself away from watching tranquility bathe on Merlin's features. Then he pulls himself away and begins walking towards the staircase, his hand trailing over the coarse plaster on the wall. The stairs lead him back down to the hallway, so he turns left, into the kitchen. Plants are on the windowsill and shelves, and the stone floor presses cold on his bare feet. It's strange, because no matter how unfamiliar everything is to him, Arthur can't help but feel safe somehow, as if the very air within the house is comforting him. On the wall, Arthur spots a small wooden shield with the Pendragon crest painted upon its front, the same one that used to be fixed upon the tournament board. He's just about to reach out to pull it from off the wall, when suddenly there are footsteps rushing down the stairs. Arthur turns to see Merlin in the doorway, his chest heaving and his hair a mess. Their eyes lock together, and Arthur can see the distress that is written on Merlin's face.