Out of His Depth

What if there was one thing that Merlin could not protect Arthur from? One danger that Merlin never saw coming. What if the greatest threat Arthur Pendragon faced was himself?

Disclaimer (applies to this chapter and all following ones): I do not own Merlin, the characters or the settings therein! I promise you! If I did, Arthur would be less of an arse and at least once every episode there would be a scene with him topless... ;)

Duty

There are so many advantages to being a Prince. Every day he's reminded that he should be so grateful for the fortune that has visited him since birth. Every day he sees the deference people treat him with, the lowered eyes, the demands he can get away with that no-one else could, everyone's willingness to please. Every day it makes him feel sick.

There's sense that follows him as he goes about his everyday life (as everyday as it gets for a Prince anyway), a feeling that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It's the feeling of being watched. It's not so far from the ordinary, Arthur is well aware everyone gets paranoid every once in a while. But in his case, he knows it's something different. Everyone *is* watching him. They're all expecting something, but what really drives Arthur crazy is that they're all expecting something different . And although he'd die before admitting it even to himself, he knows that he can't please all of them.

His people want a fearless hero, his Knights want an infallible leader, his father wants a son who is ruthless just like him, Morgana expects humanity, the court wants a Prince who will maintain the peace... And then there's Merlin.

Merlin, who just looks at him with those unfathomable eyes that Arthur cannot read, no matter how hard he tries. That's why he feels so comfortable around the boy, he tells himself. Because his eyes make no demands, because he's always there when Arthur needs him, smiling that inane smile... Not because he's coming to look upon his manservant as a friend. It's not that at all.

It's all just a game really, he tries to lie to himself. Being a Prince is a lark! But even inside his own head the lies don't ring true. There's one word there, one word that echoes around and around his skulls, in an endless monotone that just won't let him forget... Duty, duty, duty, duty, duty. You have a duty, Arthur. Sometimes he wants to shout and shriek, rant and rave against duty. Against that whispering little voice that stirs up so many doubts...

It's his duty to obey his father and yet also to do the right thing. It's his duty to make sacrifices where necessary and yet always to put others before himself. It's his duty to try his bloody hardest every single bloody day and yet to make it look effortless. Duty, Arthur has decided, is his own personal curse. Sometimes he likes to defy duty. To make himself look an arse, to behave as if he's so obnoxious and rude and really just doesn't care what anyone else thinks.

Really Arthur knows that's just about as far from the truth as it could get. He cares more than he ever wants anyone to know, but he has to put on the act, just in case. Just in case he can't be what everyone expects him to be. Just in case he fails. He has to prepare people, make them realise that their Prince/ son/leader/master may not be as perfect as they all seem to think he is. Because as much as Arthur knows his duty, he also knows that he is not strong enough to live with so many expectations bearing down on him. With all those pairs of eyes constantly boring into the back of his head and with all those hopes... all those foolish, fanciful, desperate hopes resting on his shoulders. And while the disappointment he occasionally sees in the eyes of others scars his soul, he feels a hope swelling along with the pain.

Maybe he won't shock them all that much after all. If he can't be the Prince that Camelot needs.

The half-empty wine bottle in front of him is starting to blur and he smirks a little. Another little minor rebellion against duty. Nobody likes to see their Prince drunk. Stumbling to his feet, Arthur tried to walk through the door but instead seemed to have to attempt three times to walk through the wall before he managed it. After finally succeeding on his fourth attempt he felt his smirk fade as he entered the empty hallway. No-one was there. There were no attendants to wait on their Prince, to witness his fall from grace. No serving maids, waiting to serve. No-one. Not even Merlin, he thinks with a hint of bitterness, the alcohol he had previously consumed repressing the memories of himself ordering Merlin to take a night off. Obviously, Arthur concluded, nobody else's idea of duty was as strong as his own.

So why stay here? Why wait for someone in an empty corridor when no-one was there to wait for him? Inebriated though he was, Arthur's balance and pace were as steady and fast as ever as he headed for the nearest stairwell. When they wanted him, when there was some duty someone wanted him to perform, Arthur thought, let them find him then. For it seemed that when duty was not calling, nobody called for Arthur.

Unfortunately for the Prince, the pull of the wine on his mind was so strong that when he forced open the small side door leading out onto the courtyard, he felt not the cold lash of rain or the howling wind, dulled as his mind was, and merely marched straight through the silent and empty courtyard and out into the heart of the storm.

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Merlin couldn't sleep. He pulled his woollen blanket slightly higher over himself, hearing the rain lashing against the stone walls of the castle and felt a pang of sympathy for any guards out keeping watch from the towers tonight. Rolling over, he shook his head slightly, trying to clear the lingering traces of worry from it. Doubtless that was what was keeping him from sleep. Worrying about that damn Arthur. What was there to worry about anyway? Arthur had practically ordered him to take a night off, after working him to a frazzle for the past four days solid. And now, on his one night off, here was Merlin worrying about the very man who had worked him into such a state of near exhaustion!

His subconscious, Merlin decided, did not play fair. With a resigned sigh of defeat, Merlin kicked off his blankets. It was quite obvious that he was not going to get any sleep until he checked on the cause of his anxiety. And wouldn't it be just his luck, Merlin thought grimly, if that very cause was still awake and chose to laugh at him for the next four days for his folly.

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With his candle burning low, Merlin approached Arthur's chamber door with caution. From the moment he had sneaked out of Gauis' quarters he had been berating himself for his sheer stupidity and had at several points almost turned around and gone back to bed, but something, some feeling deeper than he could reasonably explain, had made him go on. And now, approaching Arthur's chambers and seeing the door slightly ajar, the first real pangs of worry were kicking in.

"Arthur?" he called out his friend's name softly, just in case the other boy had fallen asleep by the fire, having been too exhausted to make it to his bed (Merlin had known that to be the case on several occasions after a particular hard day's training. He had always snuffed out the fire and helped Arthur into bed, knowing that for anyone else to have seen the Prince asleep before the fire would have been highly damaging to Arthur's temperamental ego). Pushing lightly at the door Merlin felt the previous pangs of worry evolve into full-blown, painful stomach contractions. Arthur's chair was empty. Even worse was what Merlin could see sitting on the table beside the dreadfully empty chair. Merlin well knew the Prince's intolerance for wine, after all he was the one who had had to haul Arthur back to his chamber after one particularly merry night, involving Uther's decision that Arthur had reached an age at which it was acceptable for him to drink.

Picking up the ominously half-empty wine bottle, Merlin felt terror shooting through him.

"Arthur, what have you done now?!" He whispered aloud to the empty room.

End Part One