"Arthur?" Gwen speaks up from the doorway, tentatively.
Leaning against the door frame, she had been watching her husband, who had evidently sat staring aimlessly outside of the window for longer than she had stood at the entrance to their chamber. Inclining his head towards the sound of her voice filtering through the room, he makes no move to rise from his chair to go to her. Stepping into the bedchamber hesitantly, she glides to his side, placing her left hand on his shoulder in a show of solidarity. Exhaling slowly, his eyes glaze over once more, intent on delving back into the wilds of his mind where she could not follow.
"Arthur, Merlin's woken up, if you wish to go see him. His wounds are deep, but Gaius is certain that he will be able to heal him," Gwen informs the King, wondering if this will bring about the reaction she had been hoping for.
"Thank you Guinevere," Arthur responds lowly, exhaustion thickly laced within his dulcet tone.
"Would you like me to have one of the servants deliver your supper?" she inquires, hoping that he will finally take a meal at all.
"I haven't the appetite for food."
Above him, this earns a vexed expression from his wife.
"Darling, you must eat something. You can't starve yourself until Merlin's health is fully restored."
"I have no intention of doing so. I'm simply not hungry at the present."
"Arthur, you've hardly slept, barely eaten, and have yet to leave this room in nearly two days. I'm worried about you," she reveals softly.
For a heartbeat or two, she anticipates that he will ignore her, as he had done to almost anyone who had ventured to speak with him in the time she had mentioned. However, turning to her with a weary smile, a look of fondness graces over the exhaustion for a brief moment. The apprehension and dread, however, still had yet to leave his eyes.
"Everything that my father taught me, was wrong, Guinevere. He ruled by instilling fear in the hearts of the inhabitants of this castle, as well as all of Albion. Instead of discerning where he failed, I blindly followed in his footsteps, like a damned fool."
"What-."
"If I had thrown away my foolish pride and granted Kara clemency, if I had listened to the voice in my head that told me what I set about to do was foolhardy, all of this could have been avoided. My friend, my very best friend, is struggling to remain alive because the idiot felt the need to save my life!" Arthur shouts, then dropping his head into his hands.
Clamping her bottom lip between her teeth, the Queen of Camelot soothingly rubs her husband's back, praying that this will calm him even just a bit. The tension beneath her fingers does the opposite, however, intensifying the longer she touches him. Removing her hand minutes later, she gazes down at the broken man in front of her, empathizing with his pain. Merlin, who had become a myriad of different roles for various people within the castle, solidifying his place there until his time in Camelot should end, holds a place in everyone's heart. His sacrifice had taken its toll on everyone who called him friend, most of all, Arthur.
"He will outlast this, you know. Much like yourself, he's far too stubborn of a man not to."
"Were he a mere mortal man, he would not have. The blade Mordred slid through him was cursed."
"Take comfort in the fact that he is not then. It will all work itself out in time."
Even as she speaks the words, the Queen hopes that it is true.
"He lied to me, for the last seven years, purely for the sake of survival. If he had meant to kill me, he would have long ago. I treated him worse than I ever should have, and still, he sacrificed his own well being so that I would live. If he did this time, what's to say he has not before? Even further, how can I begin to make up for what has been done?"
Exhaling, Gwen scans the room, disarray present all around. Rather than answering her husband's query, she begins the task of tidying up. Frustration ever rising, she discovers an outlet, while Arthur continues to think over the entire situation that they have all found themselves to be in. The rustling, much to her displeasure, does little to stir herself out of the restlessness which is fast overtaking her.
While her motions are aiding little with her nerves, the increased movement around him causes an anxious feeling within the King. Rousing himself up from the chair, Arthur paces across the length of their stone floor, making haste toward the door. Reaching for the handle, he looks back to Gwen to find her faintly smiling, which is all of the encouragement he needs to persist with his newest undertaking.
Tracing his path through the citadel, he keeps to the shadows, aiming to be engaged as little as possible on his way to visit Merlin. His departure from his bedroom, would mark the first time that anyone other than Gwen or Leon could attest to being in his presence for over two days' time. The castle had managed to run smoothly enough without him right in the thick of every happening, but the strain of bearing unexpected weight of his leave had still taken its toll. Many closest to him wondered when he would rejoin them, as his absence could be felt in every corner of the fortress.
Haggard looking, but desperate to witness Merlin with his own eyes, he holds firm to his plan. His worries, which had kept him up for nights on end since the incident, grew ever larger the longer he did not check on the newly discovered sorcerer. Distraught, he had been, in every sense of the word. Gaius had assured him that it would be best if he were not present though during Merlin's healing. He had done well, he believed, for having remained out of sight for so long. The distance, he acknowledges, as he touches his hand to the door of the medicinal chambers, had been more than he could bear any longer though.
Swinging it open slowly, he finds a half naked Merlin almost immediately, heavily leaning on a table in the middle of the room. Perspiration covering his forehead, a spoon tucked into the crook of his right hand, the man seems determined in his current task; feeding himself. At the sight of Arthur entering the room, his eyes grow wide, a panicked look entering them. The mien reminds the King of that of an animal, absolute that it had met its end. Rather than stepping forward, the blond remains firmly within the entry way, holding his hands up to show he means no harm.
"You look alive," Arthur states softly, unable to formulate a better sentence.
In truth, alive is all that could be said for Merlin. His eyes, sunken in, remain widened. Sickness, it is evident, has ravaged his body in the most anguishing ways. The normally slight man is even lankier than before, with his skin accented with a sallow tone, rather than its normal pale sheen. Although the image cuts right at his heart, none of it truly matters, because Merlin, his Merlin, is still among the living.
"You look like shit," Merlin replies, his voice feeble, but sassy as ever.
A small smile forms on Arthur's lips, despite the anxieties that continue to voice themselves in his mind.
"I haven't slept in days," he admits, laying himself bare for the other man to see.
Considering the statement, Merlin glances down at the meal in front of him, carefully utilizing the spoon to stir the contents of his bowl. Peeking back up, he finds Arthur gazing at him with such concern.
"Why's that?" he replies, taking the bait.
Steadily, Arthur asks, "May I sit?"
The idea in itself is preposterous, especially to Merlin. He knew quite well that if Arthur desired to sit, he could do so whether or not his companion wished him to. It was a privilege that came with being titled, one that the dark haired man had never even so much as glimpsed, except in the King's company. The two had long decided, albeit silently, that in a certain regard, they had found their equal. For Arthur to request a place at his table, it had suddenly become a matter of significance, as he is declaring a courtesy towards Merlin that he had otherwise never been afforded. Suspiciously, the sorcerer nods, wondering what his friend could be on about.
"You saved my life, Merlin."
"Really? I hadn't noticed," he tosses out, coughing at the end of his statement.
Ignoring the snark behind his words, Arthur looks into the deep blue eyes in earnest.
"I realize I've never made much of a habit of it before, but I need you to hear this now," he continues, after a brief pause for emphasis, "Thank you."
Were it any other person, Merlin would have responded to the words with a quick, "Welcome." However, this was not just any single person. Nay, it was Arthur Pendragon, professed prat and King of Camelot. The genuine gratitude that he received from the man could be said to be few and far between. If the blond makes it a point to express it, the sorcerer surely would not miss an opportunity to bask in it. Especially when he had wondered whether or not the King had been awaiting him to be declared fit for work, simply to light a pyre with his name designated to it.
"Finally learned those words have you? It's about time. I was beginning to wonder if you were a lost cause."
"Merlin, were you not so frail, I would have you thrown in the stocks for such impertinence."
"After I just saved your life? That's a pretty poor way to repay someone, don't you think?"
"What do you believe is a good reward then?" Arthur responds, discarding the gaiety which they had engaged in for the past minute.
Contemplating the question for a moment, Merlin affixes him with an unreadable gaze, before dropping his spoon into his bowl. Diplomatically, the sorcerer crosses his arms with great effort across the table, fastening his eyes on Arthur's sky blue irises.
"I want nothing from you, sire, if that's what you're after. The outcome of the risk I've taken is in itself a reward."
Taken aback, Arthur stares at him with eyes that bely his shock, leaving room for him to become conscious of the effort that Merlin is making simply to remain upright. Leaning forward, he rests a hand on the small of the lankier man's back, endeavoring to cease his almost immediate descent to the floor. His touch, small in size, but immense in meaning, propitiates Merlin's emotions towards him.
"Arthur, there's no need to fuss over me. I saved your life, just as any of your knights would have done. It was not the first time, and if you deign to allow me to live, it surely won't be the last. You have a particular proclivity for endangering your existence that requires almost constant watch, it seems."
"Here I thought that was you," Arthur mumbles, abiding still by his previous action.
The proximity of the King ushers in unwanted thoughts that should have been tucked away for the time being, unfurled in his mind at a later date. However, much to his chagrin, they needle him until a blush appears on his cheeks. Believing this to be a product of a fever, Arthur sweeps the room, searching for a cool cloth.
Spying one on the other end of the room, adjacent to a basin of what turns out to be cold water, he chances removing his hand in favor of retrieving the items. Returning to his side, not a moment later, Merlin rests his tired eyes on the harried blond. Before he is able to lodge a complaint against the idea, Arthur has soaked the cloth in the water, and begins pressing it against the sorcerer's forehead tenderly. Shutting his eyes, Merlin opts to enjoy the moment, rather than speak out against it.
Gaius, whom had been missing up until this point, quietly presses the door open wide to find this image before him. Surprise quickly relieves itself from his features to be replaced by fondness, for both men in the room. Arthur, whom he had known since birth, and Merlin who he had grown to love as a son, could not have appeared more at ease than they are now. That is, until his movements are noticed, and guilty expressions over take each of their visages.
"I'll be in my chamber, if either of you have need for me," he informs, hoping to exit from the private moment as quickly as possible.
Unperturbed by his entrance, the King proceeds to brush the damp cloth across Merlin's flush skin, unaware of the true origin of the colouring to begin with. The sorcerer has no intention of correcting this however, appreciating the attention that he is currently receiving. Sliding the rag over the length of his shoulders, the intimate gesture persists, blanketed under silence. Minutes tick by as Arthur carries on with the task, until he reaches the end of uncovered skin, at which he replaces the cloth in the basin, moving to sit down beside Merlin once more.
"Thank you," Merlin murmurs.
"You're welcome," comes the earnest swift reply.
Unsure of what else to say, Merlin peers down at his food, the soup having lost its heat earlier during Arthur's visit. Whilst entirely aware that Arthur has the knowledge of his magic, and still has yet to execute him, he wonders what this could mean for the future. Intrigued by the idea, he turns to find the blond steadily watching him with a mixture of curiosity and affection combined. Unnerved, he swivels his gaze away from the glimpse.
"I understand that there are details which need to be discussed. That conversation, however, is for another time. Know this though, Merlin. So long as I am alive, I promise, you need not fear me anymore. My father, rest his soul, rendered great injustices against your kind. His hatred led to the death of thousands of innocent people. I should have recognized that some time ago, but I confess that out of sheer cowardice, I did not."
Drifting into uncomfortable silence, Merlin grapples with how to respond, while Arthur presses further.
"You had every right to abhor me, to despise the very ground on which I walked. Instead, you've protected me all this time, leading me to believe that my survival had been contingent on the actions of myself or others, rather than yourself. Even now that I have been made aware of your feats, you shirk away from acknowledgement, when any other man would preen beneath it. I admire your humility, but simply put, I do not understand it."
"When your father rewarded me by giving my life over in service to you, I disliked you immensely. That was, until I glimpsed a bit of the man you would one day be. No one is perfect, certainly least of all you. But, from that discovery, I learned to live content in the knowledge that despite your various faults, you were inherently a good person. A person who would one day become the King that your father never had been. Once I acknowledged that, life around you and within this castle was not so terrible any more."
"What you have done for myself, and I would assume others as well, knowing you, is no small matter Merlin. You deserve recognition, at least."
"I appreciate the sentiment, but I did not do any of it for that purpose, Arthur."
"All the more reason for you to be rewarded. Your valor and discernment in the face of countless adversities merits recompense."
"Fine, if you are desperate to remain so obstinate on the matter, give me a few days off. After I've healed, of course."
"How about a few weeks or months, then? I hear you've been itching to visit your mother."
"Always am. That woman is one of the most important people in my life. But, Arthur, my place is at your side here in Camelot. I can only endure so much time away."
Bemused, Arthur gazes at Merlin with such endearment that Merlin has to turn away, for fear of what he would do to an unsuspecting King lest he hold his eyes any longer within his own. Untested waters the two remain in, as they sit in companionable silence now. Not much later, Merlin's stomach growls loudly, earning a groan at the reminder of his cooled soup. Squinting over at Arthur, the sorcerer makes a decision.
"Is it safe to do so while you're still on the mend?" Arthur queries, as if he had read the raven haired man's mind.
"I'm that transparent, am I?"
"Your stomach just roared, as if it hasn't been fed for days, and the soup in front of you is cold. I am quite positive that if you can conjure up a thunderstorm, then you have the ability within that bright mind of yours to heat your frigid meal."
"Astute observation, my lord," Merlin taunts.
"Well go ahead then. Don't allow my presence to stop you. It surely hasn't before."
Managing to shift so that his arms are secured onto his chair, bracing himself for the inevitable release of magic, and subsequent depletion of his energy stores, Merlin ganders down at his soup, then speaks hoarsely, "Forbearnan!"
The King had witnessed magic in practice many times before, but to be privy to Merlin's own, has become an entirely different affair altogether. Reverence overtakes him, as he spies Merlin look over at him sheepishly, after enacting his power. The emotion that envelops him, his heart ready to burst, surprises him. The golden surge that had overtaken the typically dark blue irises, which he had become so accustomed to over the course of the last seven years, had shocked him, despite being prepared for the possibility of it occurring. Swallowing, as if to clear away an invisible lump in his throat, Arthur endeavors to school his features accordingly.
"Can your body tolerate any food of greater substance?" the King queries, avoiding Merlin's curious stare.
"I haven't tried yet. Today is the first time I've been out of bed since I was brought home."
The statement brings forth in the King's mind a violent image of a mortally wounded Merlin, lain across his stallion, being rushed to this very part of the castle days before. Surrounded by the Knights, whom had outlasted the perils of the battle at Camlann, he had ridden straight to the front steps, only to haul Merlin into his arms after dismounting the horse, so that he could deliver him to Gaius personally. An unexpected tremble reverberates itself through his body, as he wills the memory to dissolve from his thoughts.
"Perhaps I should go request a meal with more to it than liquid filled with boiled vegetables. Is there anything you'd like in particular?"
"The King of Camelot, bringing food to a servant? The world really has turned upside down, hasn't it?"
"Don't be foolish, Merlin. I'll have one of the other servants bring it to us. A King does not engage in the duties of the hired help, unless all of them have perished. Even then, there are lesser subjects for such tasks," Arthur informs, entirely kidding of course, at least Merlin assumes so by the mirthful expression on his face.
"Have fun besmirching the name of your forefathers then. I'll be here, eating my soup."
A jovial laugh emits from Arthur's lips as he takes himself out of the door, pacing his steps en route to the kitchens. Cook kept food made at all times there, should he or any other royal decide that they were starving at any time throughout the day or night. Convenient, especially in occasions such as this, he thanks those who watch from above that this is so. Happiness having envelopes his countenance, he arrives there with relative ease, while behind him, Merlin puzzles over Arthur's strange antics.
Aware that the King had finally exited their chambers, Gaius re enters the main room, intent on checking the state of his apprentice. Unlike earlier in the day when he had left him for a brief time to gather a few necessary supplies that had dwindled while the young man had been in his care, color had already seeped back into the gaunt skin which troubled the court physician so. Though a bit more weary than he had observed earlier, the overall mood of the man had greatly brightened, as opposed to at the beginning of the day. Only one difference to his day than that of its predecessor is a visit from the King, which Gaius assumed could attribute to the betterment of Merlin's overall well being.
"Arthur's acting rather strangely, Gaius. I'm not sure what to make of it."
Strange indeed, the elder man smiles indulgently. Oh to be young and naive, he muses.
"Would you be the same if you had witnessed Arthur stand in front of a sword meant to cause your demise?"
Pondering the idea, chewing his celery, Merlin shudders involuntarily.
"No, I suppose not."
"Indeed. Were the situations reversed, you would be in quite a state, because he would have lost his life in your stead. We must take comfort in the fact that you were on the receiving end of that blow, rather than he."
"I think my body would disagree," Merlin groans out, pain shooting through him as if the mention of the ordeal had brought his suffering to the surface.
"Merlin," Gaius warns, his eyebrows shooting up to form the arch that made him appear far more intimidating than he had ever actually been.
"I understand, Gaius. It's just unnerving to me, that's all. I feel as if I'm in a parallel universe or something."
"Yes, well, be that as it may, you are not. Though immortal you have become, you must be aware that all of this will eventually come to pass, and Camelot will be no more one day. This is your reality, Merlin. You would do well to enjoy it," Gaius cautions, eyeing him from across the humble table, at which they had partaken in an innumerable amount of meals and discussions before.
"I will. It will just take a bit of adjustment, I suppose. I'm still astonished that I was able to do magic in front of Arthur, and he hasn't tried to set me to a stake."
"As your physician I strongly urge against the use of your magic whilst you are healing. However, that is exciting indeed. Our world may very well be transforming for the better, as the seers have foretold. Should it continue, the dissolution of the magic ban is not far off, I presume."
"Let us hope that is true," Merlin replies, mashing a mushy carrot between his teeth.
Slipping into quietude, the pair remain in their spots, comforted by the presence of one and other. The young sorcerer, who had spent the better part of his last few days holed up in his room, unable to move for the searing agony that had wracked his body if he were to try, is grateful for the shared silence in the company of another. When Arthur bursts through the door some time later, arms laden with the largest tray that Merlin had ever seen, his appreciation for the current day increases ten fold.
"I wasn't sure what you'd prefer, so I bade Cook to ration me a bit of everything which happened to be on hand. Take what you wish, and should Gaius want to, he and I can finish off the rest of it."
A wide grin stretches itself eagerly across his lips as Merlin unable to contain his cheerfulness at the sight.
"Thank you!" he gushes, reaching forward without hesitation, only to be thwarted by a stabbing pain presenting itself in his right side.
Immediately, Gaius and Arthur ascertain this by a pained expression which envelopes the dark haired man's visage. As quickly as it appears though, it elusively vanishes entirely seconds later, leaving in its wake an even more exhausted Merlin. Worry etched in his every feature, with Gaius mirroring a similar bearing adjacent to him, Arthur scrutinizes the man intensely. Undeterred by the appraisal, the warlock opts to ignore it, instead reaching for a piece of fruit, in the hopes that it will begin the process of satiating his nearly empty stomach.
For thirty minutes, Merlin indulges his stomach to his heart's content, until he is fairly certain that he has eaten enough to last him through supper of the next day.
"That was delicious. Much better than that Minestrone soup I ate before," he declares.
"You love my Minestrone!" Gaius defends jovially, reaching for a sandwich that had caught his attention.
"That I do. But, it lessens in tastiness when it's the only meal I've eaten for nearly three days."
"I see. Well, next time you need nursing back to health, see if I feed you at all boy!"
"Oh Gaius, your bark is far worse than your bite! You would never allow me to starve even if your life depended upon it."
"You better hope it never does!" his elderly mentor replies good naturedly.
Sharing a glance with Merlin, Arthur then too takes food from the half-eaten tray, intent on having his first real bit of nourishment in over a day. Gwen would be pleased, to say the least. Remembering her for the first time since he had come to check on Merlin, mentally, he makes a note to apologize to her later. Witnessing him as she had since their return could not have been easy, and still, she loved him through it despite it all. Dispersing the reminder, he hungrily chomps through the chicken in his hand, unencumbered by the light in which those around view him in.
As Gaius and Arthur ingest the left over fare, Merlin takes comfort in the presence of both, even if the pair are otherwise silent. Within minutes, all remainders of sustenance have been devoured, and leave the two sated from hunger. Leaning back in his chair, the blond enjoys the not uncommon feeling of a full belly. Gaius opts to rise from his own, citing the need to walk the grounds to help settle his stomach, which leaves Merlin and Arthur alone once more.
"I suppose I should go back to bed and rest. This day has been a tiresome one."
"I will take my leave then. Should you need anything, please, do not hesitate to send Gaius for me."
"Will do," Merlin replies, attempting to stand up for the first time since he had set down to eat his soup hours before.
Whether out of stiffness from lack of movement, or pain emanating from where the sword had severed a portion of his skin, Merlin quickly topples to the floor in a mess of limbs. A cry of indignation escapes him, which prompts Arthur to stride the length of the floor to hoist the gangly man into his arms, a feat which had fast become a regular affair. The feel of the King's arms holding him up as he carries Merlin, is not lost on the sorcerer. Taking comfort in them, he then allows himself to be placed softly on his bed by the man, the ordeal securing him another look of worry out of the blond.
"Thank you," Merlin tosses out, before a coughing fit ceases his ability to hold a conversation.
"I'll go fetch you a glass of water," Arthur mumbles, desperate for another way to help the ailing man.
With an alternative to inaction found, he marches out of the room, with the aire of a man on a mission. Not too much later, he returns, goblet of water in hand. When Merlin bellows out simply reaching for the cup, Arthur chooses to help him drink, instead of leaving him to fend on his own. Although the gesture is not lost on him, Merlin has little time to give it thought, as another wave of pain crashes through him.
From a chair beside his bed, the king wonders aloud whether or not he should fetch Gaius. Wracked with agony imploding throughout him, Merlin manages a thick, "Yes.", before he succumbs to the pain once more. Draining the goblet into his mouth before he rises, the blond sets it aside on the nightstand, in favor of searching out the court physician.
As luck would have it, being that his limbs are not what they once were, he has not made it too far. At the sight of a panicked Arthur, before the man is able to utter a word, he knows that something is not right with Merlin. With a speed that his younger companion is unaware that he even possessed, he makes haste alongside the king towards the castle once more.
At the door which leads into their chambers, Gwen's right hand rests on the knob, as if she is about to enter. Stunned by the sudden appearance of Gaius and Arthur, she quickly moves aside, realizing by their matching expressions that it must be urgent. Without so much as a secondary glance in her direction, the blonde remains hot on Gaius' heels, as the man grabs a bottle containing a concoction of sorts. One of his own making, Arthur is sure.
Swinging wide the door to Merlin's room a moment after, the duo find him seized up in pain on his bed. Popping the cork off of the mysterious carafe, he requests that the sorcerer to open his mouth, in which he plans to pour the substance directly down his throat. Through a series of grunts and odd noises, Gaius accomplishes what he set out to do, then recorking it within his hands. Assessing that nothing more can be done, the man turns about and ushers Arthur out of the room, which the former complies with begrudgingly.
Shutting the door in his wake, the physician places the bottle on a shelf at random, then throwing himself uncouthly into a chair below him. Gwen, who had remained in the main chamber, is seated at the table at which they had taken their meal earlier in the evening. Examining her husband from afar, she can spy the agitation in his demeanor, amongst other emotions. Unable to sit, he has opted to pace about the room, his misgivings slowly getting the better of him. In spite of the circumstances, an idea blossoms in her mind, warming her whole body at the thought. Perhaps now Arthur would admit to what he had quelled behind a show of indifference and regality.
"What did you give him, Gaius?" Arthur demands, breaking through the silence that had wound its way through them briefly.
"I administered a brew of my own design, one that he made more potent with his magic. It is merely water infused with Valerian, which is a natural sedative. It will calm him into sleep, where his body can continue to heal."
"Guinevere assured me earlier that you had sworn to her that he will survive this. From what I've been privy to, he seems to only have healed by a fraction. Are you absolutely certain that he will recover?"
"In the Crystal Caves, immortality was bequeathed upon him, Sire. Though he suffers now, eventually the dark magic will vacate his body. Presently, we are subject to a time frame which we are wholly uncertain of, because the origin from whence it came."
"I see. If there's nothing more I can do here, I believe I shall return when he is not so incapacitated," Arthur states, coupled with an expression marked with trepidation to follow.
"I will send word tomorrow if his condition has improved," Gaius assures the couple.
To the physician Arthur mumbles a brief, "Thank you." Then to Gwen, "Coming?"
Without stalling to receive an answer, the blonde stalks out of the room, intent on being anywhere but there. A brief, consoling smile towards Gaius is all that the Queen affords him before she scurries off after her distressed husband.