It starts with a fight.

Arthur is unusually irritable tonight. He doesn't know why and he can't honestly control it. It's a growing pain inside of him, throbbing, tearing at his insides and demanding exit. He ignores it, mostly, but it seeps out of him carefully, almost unknowingly until the damage is said and done.

It starts with Merlin. Merlin is how he always is. He's late, clumsy, and too kind for his own good. But for some reason, what once brought Arthur comfort now only brings him irritation. Merlin drops the tray carrying the dishes of his evening meal, the sound of metal clattering to the floor and the sound of a plate shattering into a million pieces echo mercilessly in the vast room.

Arthur snaps.

He turns on his heel and just fires off. His words come out sharp and dangerous, dark and cruel. Things he would never say come spewing out of him like an exploding volcano, desperate for an escape from the hot coals that kindle inside of him. He can't even hear himself, but judging from the shocked and angry expression on Merlin's face, he knows what he's saying can't be any bit good.

Arthur doesn't realize it but with every harsh swipe of his words, Merlin is stepping back because he is stepping forward. Merlin finally presses himself against the back of the door, looking helpless and lost and dare he say it, afraid. But Arthur can't seem to stop the onslaught and keeps yelling and yelling until finally, Merlin snaps too.

He doesn't even register what Merlin is saying, but he does take notice of how his eyes flash gold. For sure, something was probably broken, now. But he didn't know what, and didn't care to find out. Once upon a time, he would've loved that flash of gold. He loved it when Merlin did magic. He'd known for so long but Merlin had never told him, so he never pressed. But he always loved to see it. But now it only made him feel hot in his face and stomach, even more anger building inside of him, though he didn't know why.

Arthur finally tells him to get out, he calls him a liar and a traitor and a few other names that are clearly not true, though he says them anyway. Merlin's anger disappears and it fades to hurt, but he obeys. For once in his life, he obeys the one command Arthur wishes he'd fight against.

The door closes and a huge weight bears down on his shoulders mere seconds later. He takes into account exactly what damages have been done, and he swears loudly. He doesn't care that he's still fully dressed as he swivels round, and collapses into bed, unable to think, unable to comprehend anything of what just happened.

He doesn't even remember falling asleep.

Arthur wakes in the morning alone. He's not surprised. Merlin's probably angry with him, and he has every right to be. He shifts onto his back and stares up, glancing only with his eyes to the left. The table has been thrown against the wall, one of the legs broken off. That must've been what Merlin broke with his magic. Charming.

The plate and tray are still left shattered and untouched on the floor, meaning only one thing. Merlin has not been in today. He's probably sulking in his room, and Arthur still doesn't blame him. His clothes are wrinkled and though he slept a lot, he feels like he hasn't slept any. He feels disgusting in the worst way, on the inside. He makes a mental note to apologize to Merlin later.

It's another ten or twenty minutes before he finally has the energy to pull himself out of bed. He thinks about changing, and after another few minutes of mental conflict, he does so. It's sort of sloppy and very un-king like, but he can't exactly bring himself to care about his appearance at the current moment. He steps cautiously around the shattered plate and makes his way into the hall.

Arthur is very unaware of what time it is. The sun is shining, at least, therefore it's late enough to rouse Merlin should he be sleeping. He highly doubts he is, Merlin always has trouble sleeping after fights, but he wants to be considerate anyway. He quickly makes his way to the physician's chambers, and knocks on the door gently, before entering.

Gaius is already up and gives him a skeptical look that frankly makes Arthur sick. He hesitates for but a moment before asking if Merlin is awake. Gaius replies that he hasn't seen him since he went to attend him last night, and it makes Arthur feel all the worse. As if on mutual agreement, Arthur enters and Gaius heads over to Merlin's room. What Arthur finds is the exact opposite of what he wanted.

He finds nothing.

The room is orderly and very unlike Merlin. The bed is made, the room is practically spotless, and the worst of it all is that Merlin's things aren't present. There's a small piece of paper folded on the bed, and when Arthur makes a move for it, Gaius beats him to it and opens it. Arthur forces himself to look away and not read over his shoulder, until Gaius turns to him, a very solemn expression on his face. He hands him the note.

Arthur's hands are trembling slightly, and it's foreign to him. He realizes he's scared to read it, afraid of what dark secrets lie within. He takes it tentatively, and reads.

Gaius-

He knows. I'm sorry.

Goodbye.

The handwriting is scrawly, as if Merlin's own hands were trembling as he wrote. Arthur convinces himself there are not tear stains on the paper. He swallows a huge lump in his throat and thrusts the paper back at Gaius, making for the door.

"He'll be back," he says, but he doesn't believe himself.

Gaius says nothing as Arthur retreats like a coward.

He doesn't come back.

When Arthur returned to his chambers, the messes were cleaned up.

But he knows it wasn't Merlin who did it.

Three days go by. Arthur convinces himself that he doesn't miss Merlin and it doesn't hurt when another servant comes bustling in at different hours, acting like a servant should. He doesn't miss Merlin's sharp tongue or witty remarks or pitiful attempts at friendship, because he hates those things about Merlin.

That's what he tells himself, at least. Even when he's staring longingly out the window, hoping and praying to see a stray, lanky figure reentering Camelot.

A week.

He's beginning to hate his new servant.

Two weeks pass and still no sign of Merlin.

Arthur begins to think he actually won't come back. The thought is silly but he believes it, partially. Merlin was always proclaiming how he'd protected him and was always raving about how he'll be the greatest king to ever live, and how he'll unite the land of Albion.

He misses the way Merlin's eyes lit up when he spoke about those things, how his smile was so bright on his pale face.

Gwen asks Arthur to go looking for him.

Arthur tells her that it's Merlin's choice, not his and he won't drag him back.

She doesn't talk to him after that.

Months go by.

Arthur gives up hoping.

He catches himself staring out the window more and more, but has managed fully to be able to wipe his expression void of any emotion. When he speaks, it's strictly formal and business like, and it's as though he's become a shell, an empty soul left behind.

He was once told that it takes two halves to make a whole, and Arthur's pretty sure that he let his other half slip through his fingers.

He feels like an idiot but there's no taking it back, now.

Arthur is told by Sir Gwaine that if he actually puts forth the effort, Merlin will be found.

He wonders vaguely if he's in Ealdor. That's the first place he probably went.

He sends Gwaine off to look at first light, just to see if he was there and not to try anything. Gwaine goes without protest, and almost happily, at that.

The knight comes back a few days later, telling him there is no sign.

Arthur feels a pang in his chest and he doesn't know why.

The pain gets stronger the longer it goes on.

After three weeks of excessive pain, little sleep, and little appetite, Arthur musters up the courage to go to Gaius.

Gaius looks him over without much conversation, not that Arthur was willing to talk anyway. After a bit, Gaius gives him a sleeping medicine, and Arthur asks if he can be cured.

He tells him that there's no cure of heartsick, and only time will tell.

Arthur takes his word on it.

It's only after that incident he realizes he loves him.

A month turns to months, and months eventually turned to a year.

Arthur cries silently most of the time, swearing and cursing himself and wishing that he could apologize.

He sends out search parties often.

They never find anything.

The ban on magic has long since been lifted.

Arthur's not sure what he hoped to accomplish with it. But after constant persisting and pleading and reasoning, the ban was lifted and sorcerers were now free to walk without being put to death immediately.

He was nearly sure it was an apology.

Still, Merlin never showed up and no one ever seemed to match his description when he asked.

He begins to wonder if he dreamed Merlin up, and he never actually existed.

Arthur pushes the thought away later.

One year turned to two years. Arthur misses him so much that it still hurts. He sleeps, but when he does, they're nightmares that are too painful and too real.

He wants Merlin back. He wants him back so much he can hardly function without him.

But he doesn't know how to tell him.

There's news of a powerful warlock who travels around healing those in need in the North.

Arthur forces himself not to be hopeful.

Arthur comes down with something not too long after. He's bed ridden for a few days.

It's nothing serious, but he feels like death himself.

Cold. Alone. Lost.

Gaius tells him there's nothing wrong with him, physically.

He says the pain is in his head.

Arthur can believe it.

A few days later he's up, and has thrown himself into his work.

It's nearly as unhealthy as he was before, but he does it anyway.

He ignores Lancelot and Leon's sympathetic gazes.

Gwaine later informs him that the healing warlock is in town. He apparently calls himself the 'Phantom Healer' because he never stays in one place too long. He's gone without a trace and no one ever can usually find him after he's done his work.

Arthur can't bring himself to go and seek him out.

Late at night, there's a noise in his room.

He knows it's Merlin. The sounds of his feet on the floor are unmistakable, even after two years.

He doesn't greet him.

He doesn't even stir.

It's a cycle. Arthur works, and there's gossip of the warlock that can perform miracles. It's suggested to him numerous times that he should seek the warlock out and offer him a position as the Court Sorcerer.

He's tempted, oh, so tempted.

But Arthur knows he's too much of a coward to face him.

And every night there's a noise in his room.

One night he finally forces himself to open his eyes and face him.

Arthur hears an intake of breath, but knows it's not startled. He can feel him smirking.

"Was waiting for you to stir," the voice says coolly. "You're always awake when I come."

Arthur says nothing.

"You lifted the ban on magic. Bold of you. Brave of you, I should say. Your father is turning in his grave, I'm sure."

Arthur finally turns to look at him. Merlin is standing there in all his glory, a hood pulled over his head and what appears to be his red scarf tied around his neck. He knows those blue eyes anywhere. Merlin is staring down at him and he's smiling, just faintly, a slight curve in his lips.

"Was that your way of apologizing?"

He doesn't speak.

Merlin steps closer, and Arthur subconsciously tenses. "I just...wanted you to know that...I don't hate you. I never did, and I never could. I overreacted that night. But I couldn't bring myself to go back. I thought after how angry you were, you'd kill me. I was scared."

His voice is soft, but not strong. Arthur could see now that his smile had faded and he was looking down idly, breathing slowly as if waiting for a verdict.

"I'll go. That's all I wanted to tell you."

But before Merlin has a chance to leave, Arthur is dead set on not letting him go again. Without even thinking, Arthur reaches out and grabs him around the waist, pulling him closer and sitting up at the same time.

"Stay with me," he says in a voice he doesn't even recognize as his own. It's so foreign to him, so pathetic and weak but so needing and pleading. "Stay with me," he repeats, gripping the fabric of Merlin's cloak tighter between his fingers.

Merlin is tense in his grasp but eventually, he melts into it, cautiously and guardedly wrapping his arms around him back.

"Okay," he whispers, running his fingers through Arthur's already messy hair. "Okay."

Arthur's pretty sure stray tears are falling but damn it all, he doesn't care. It is the least of his worries right now and the only thing he can feel is that Merlin is back, Merlin is in his arms.

He's not entirely sure how long they stay like that, but Arthur's words are clear, and Merlin's response is crystal.

It's all he ever hoped for, and more.

I really like this piece. It's one of my favorites that I've written. I wrote this because at the time, I had never really written through Arthur's viewpoint, and the only way I seem to be able to get to know a character is by tormenting them a little bit, but at least I gave him his happy ending after all. I wanted to do a companion piece that shows Merlin's journey after he leaves Camelot, so let me know if that sounds like something you'd want to read.

Anyway, thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!