Like a Phoenix

2: i'll raise you like a phoenix

Just wanted to point out, since I forgot to mention before, that the name for this fic and all chapter titles is from The Phoenix by Fall Out Boy. As I wrote this story I kept finding myself singing it in my head, so I thought why not. Anyway, here's chapter two.

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It's been several months, now, since it happened.

Life went back to normal, for the most part. The pain was still there, underlying, always, everyone's constant companion through these endless days. But he's used to it now, and it didn't hinder him as it did once before.

It fueled him.

He would become a better prince. A better king. A better royal.

Arthur sat at his desk, tapping a quill against a blank sheet of paper. He was trying to write to Hunith in Ealdor. Only he wasn't sure what to say. Sorry I killed your son? Sorry I need to talk to you because I'm barely functioning without my best friend?

He supposed the original idea had been to apologize. But in the end he found himself drifting back to the hope of forgiveness. And he had no right to ask that. He knew he didn't. It's just... he'd never had a mum. He'd never had someone to tell him it was okay to mess up, or to feel sad, or to be cowardly sometimes. He'd never had a mum to love him the way only mothers can, and being in Ealdor the few times he had gone, seeing the way she looked out for her son unconditionally— he yearned for that. For someone to tell him the importance of being human, that it was okay to just be a man. Instead he had only ever known how to be a king.

"One day you will be the greatest king Albion has ever known."

Arthur dropped his head to the table. He thought back to his adventures with Merlin, all the bandit ambushes and hunting trips and quests of fate. Looking back at it now... how could he have missed it? How could he have been so ignorant? He must have known. In the back of his mind, he could feel something off, something different. He knew it the very first time he met Merlin. He'd said as much. And those times Merlin confessed to sorcery, and Arthur was so quick to call it a joke— it wasn't a joke. It was Arthur, being too afraid to ask, to get an answer, to lose his best friend. But he lost him anyway, and he died at first not knowing if he could trust Arthur, and then being certain he couldn't in those final moments.

"If you remember one thing, remember that I was loyal to my prince."

God, even at the end... his greatest supporter. It humbled Arthur as much as it empowered him.

He lifted his head and dipped his quill in ink.

***

Three months and three letters later, Hunith still hadn't responded.

Arthur didn't blame her. He wouldn't respond either. But he was desperate for a word from somewhere that felt like home. From someone that felt like Merlin.

He'd convinced himself that perhaps she wasn't feeling well. Alright, of course she didn't feel well, but perhaps she developed some kind of illness that rendered her unable to hold a quill. Maybe she didn't have anything to set a piece of paper on and write— he'd been to that house, it was quite barren. He should've had furniture made for her. Maybe Percival could deliver it. Maybe Guinevere could go with him— Hunith seemed to adore her.

No— Lancelot and Guinevere. Get them out of the castle and have a check up on Ealdor and Hunith. Brilliant.

The truth was, Gwen and Lancelot were driving him crazy. He was happy they found comfort in each other, and he loved them both like siblings... but did they have to parade their love everywhere?