"As Cold As Any Stone" by ellijay

Summary: Gap filler for "The Darkest Hour Part 1" – starting with Merlin's collapse at the Samhain feast and ending a short while before his conversation with Gaius about what he saw there.

Author's notes: Although I've written fanfiction in other fandoms in the past, this is my first foray into writing in the world of Merlin, or at least the first one I've posted. I've had a few longer stories in the works for a while, but after seeing the first episode of series four, I was inspired to write something a bit shorter before I get back to finishing the others. That's assuming I don't get distracted by something else in the current series. If the rest of the eps are as good as this one, that might be inevitable.

This story is already completed apart from some polishing, four parts in all, so I'll be posting them Tuesday through Friday in the run-up to "The Darkest Hour Part 2" on Saturday. I hope it helps to tide some of you over until then!

Chapter 1 – "Burdens"

Midnight on Samhain, the castle bell tolling the hour, and Arthur raised his goblet in tribute to the king. Merlin had written a fine speech, there was no denying that, and had even had the decency not to look smug while Arthur was delivering it. Actually, he'd looked a bit dazed, but that was probably down to sheer fatigue. It had been a very long day, the culmination of the last few hectic days of preparations for the feast. Then Merlin had gone and given up a night of sleep just to save Arthur a bit of trouble in composing something meaningful to say to the assembled guests.

It was ridiculous, really. He was a prince, after all. He should be able to spout nonsense at a whim purely by birthright. He was more than able to give a rousing speech to his men before a battle or make eloquent statements about honor and justice, but when it came to matters of ceremony, he often found himself tongue-tied. Over the past year, though, he'd discovered that Merlin was surprisingly well-educated, probably due to living in close quarters with Gaius and his massive collection of books. He also had a knack for words, at least when he had the opportunity to work them out ahead of time. He was still a bumbling fool more often than not when asked an unexpected question.

Dozens of voices echoed back Arthur's acknowledgment of the absent king, but then a loud clanging abruptly silenced them. His eyes automatically went to the source of the disruption. Merlin. He'd dropped the pitcher he'd been holding. Not from clumsiness, though. He was standing very still, staring straight ahead but with unfocussed eyes. And then he dropped to the floor.

Arthur felt a surge of worry mixed with guilt. Perhaps a bit of embarrassment as well. It wasn't the first time in the past year Merlin had been overwhelmed by exhaustion, but never so dramatically or so publicly. As manservant to the Regent, his workload had increased considerably, but he also seemed determined to take as many responsibilities as possible from his master's overburdened shoulders, and then some. Arthur had warned him time and time again to take better care of himself, to not drive himself so hard to do things that weren't even technically his responsibility, but he rarely listened. Ears so ridiculously big, but they apparently only worked selectively.

Predictably, Lancelot was the first to leap to his feet and rush to Merlin's side. The two had some kind of bond that Arthur couldn't quite figure out, almost as if they were brothers, with Lancelot playing the role of the older, protective sibling. More often than not, when trouble was afoot, Lancelot was there, watching out for Merlin. It was something Arthur had precious little time to do these days. He supposed he should be grateful to Lancelot, and he was, truly, but it still pained him, that bit of extra distance between himself and Merlin of late. They still had their moments of strange camaraderie, but they were less frequent now than in the past.

He felt the urge to go over and see if Merlin had injured himself with his sudden descent to the floor. It had happened so quickly, one slow moment of his head tipping back and his eyes rolling upwards, and then he was down. There'd been no one and nothing to break his fall. Arthur held himself back, though. He was under more scrutiny now as Regent than ever before in his life, and it wouldn't do for him to show undue concern for something as relatively minor as a servant fainting. He no longer had the freedom to arrange his personal priorities as he felt best and to occasionally flout his father's desires in the process. Now he was the one creating policy, and a heavy set of expectations went along with it.

Gaius was there now in any event, stooping down to press his fingers to Merlin's neck, lay a hand to his forehead, pull his eyelids up and peer into his eyes. He exchanged a few muttered words with Lancelot, then the knight was hefting Merlin's unconscious weight to his shoulder and leaving the room. Gaius paused to give a slight nod to Arthur. He didn't seem overly troubled, just his usual determined self when performing his duties as court physician. He and Lancelot would see that Merlin received whatever care and attention he needed. Arthur would go to check on him later, of course, but for now he needed to stay here and quell the rumors that were undoubtedly already being born in the hushed conversations around the room. It didn't take much out of the ordinary, especially at such a large gathering as a banquet, for there to be all manner of farfetched stories circulating the next day.

Even before Gaius had entirely left the room, Arthur held up a hand for silence, the unspoken command quickly obeyed. Now that he had everyone's attention, though, he wasn't quite sure what to say. The first thought that came to mind was to make a disparaging comment about Merlin being a delicate creature who obviously needed his beauty rest, but that would be entirely too cruel. It was all well and good to taunt him when it was just the two of them or maybe a few of the knights as well. At least then Merlin could feel reasonably free to give as good as he got, but to mock him in front of the entire court, particularly when he wasn't even there, was unconscionable.

Rescue came from a completely unexpected quarter as Gwaine cleared his throat and said wryly, "You really should pay your manservant more, Sire, the way you work him until he literally falls over."

Uncertain laughter rippled around the tables and there were a few disapproving frowns at Gwaine's forthrightness, but that would probably always be the case, no matter how often the knight proved himself. The same went for the other knights who were not of noble birth. Arthur, though, had come to have a great deal of respect for Gwaine, irreverent though he was, and was more than willing to take the opportunity he'd offered.

"So will you be giving up some of your pay to make that possible, Sir Gwaine?" he asked, making sure his tone and expression were amused so that no one would mistake his words for a reprimand. He absolutely hated how careful he frequently had to be these days with his words and how he said them, but it was unfortunately necessary. Misinterpretation could be an insidious beast.

Gwaine made a humming sound and stroked his chin as if in thought, then he grinned cheekily and said, "Perhaps a token of your appreciation for his hard work would suffice, say a platter of this fine food and a flagon of this even finer wine?" He stood and gathered up the serving tray and pitcher in front of him. "In fact, I think I'll deliver it myself." He started to leave the table, then paused to add, "With your permission, of course, Sire." He bowed his head deferentially. He'd learned to play the role of a knight surprisingly well in the past year, at least at court. In the barracks and on the training fields, he was still the same impossible braggart, albeit one who could usually back up his claims.

Arthur nodded his permission, wishing he could leave as well, but that would effectively end the banquet before it was even half over. Too much preparation had gone into this event to dismiss it so quickly. Merlin wasn't the only one who had been working ridiculously long hours to ensure the evening had the proper balance of solemn honor towards those who had gone before and celebration for their contributions made in life.

"Please, enjoy your meals," he said in a raised and steady voice, a slight smile forced onto his face and his hand held open to the side in a gracious gesture. Then he settled back into his own chair, picked up his goblet and motioned for a servant to refill it.

His Uncle Agravaine leaned over the empty seat between them and said quietly, under the din of resumed chatter around the hall, "I must say, Arthur, that I do approve of your selection of knights, despite what opinion others may have about them. They bring a breath of fresh air to the court."

Arthur nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Uncle. I'm glad that others can appreciate them as I do."

"Indeed," Agravaine replied as he turned his attention back to his own plate, tucking in to generous helpings of roast meat and harvest vegetables.

Arthur, however, had lost his appetite, at least partly because of the feeling that he absolutely was the prat Merlin often accused him of being, this time for not noticing how tired his servant must've been. He'd seemed fine this morning, though, his usual chipper, irritating self. Something to address later, he supposed. The main cause of his distraction was now the vacant chair beside him. At this time last year, just before Morgana's betrayal, it had been occupied by its rightful owner. Uther had given the speech, undoubtedly his own words. Now he had few words for anyone, even his own son. Arthur had an uneasy feeling that come next Samhain, Uther Pendragon would be remembered among the departed, and he hated himself for feeling that might be a blessing.