[ His breath halts a little, mind wandering to his sister exactly as intended. He thinks of their childhood, wildly out of control and fighting good-naturedly just to best each other at every turn. Of their later years, when duty took its place to harden him and she wore him down like stone on steel to remind him of his humanity. Of here, in Asgard, where they are closer than ever by mercy of a second chance and a forgiveness that aches in Arthur's chest when he thinks on it for too long.

He thinks of the cruelty in her voice and the daggers in her eyes when she took their father's crown and sat upon his throne.

And then there's Merlin. Merlin, who is overly eager, painfully honest, too willing to sacrifice himself for - for what, Arthur couldn't say. He is not a soldier, has not been shaped for war and battle, but sometimes Arthur has to wonder if he isn't the stronger between them. His eyes linger on Merlin's face, pointedly everywhere but his eyes before he can bring himself to see the sincerity there, and then Arthur sighs light-heartedly and gets to his feet. ]

One of these days, I will understand what goes on in that head of yours.

[ He brushes the grass from his backside and grabs another smooth stone, skipping it properly and managing five bounces before it sinks on the sixth. Arms folded across his chest as he watches the ripples pan out and vanish, Arthur swallows against something unpleasant building in his throat. He keeps his back to Merlin when he speaks again. ]

I'm sorry. For teasing you. It was not my place.