Disclaimer: Merlin is not mine.
Arthur was sick.
Merlin wasn't sure how he felt about the whole situation. On one hand, his greatest friend was ill and uncomfortable and of course Merlin felt bad for him. On the other hand, his master was bedridden and distinctly lacking in general chores for him to complete, so in a way, Merlin was having a bit of a holiday.
Not that he'd had many chances to.
He didn't say that to Arthur. Arthur had been confined and locked into his chambers for nearly three days, forbidden all visitors once Gaius had diagnosed him. Merlin couldn't recall what exactly Arthur's problem was, but it was apparently extremely unpleasant and extremely hard to do anything but wait out and extremely contagious. As Arthur was the only one ill and seemed to have brought the infection back with him from a journey that he and Merlin had recently taken through the lands that had once been Cendred's to treat with the new king, Gaius had immediately quarantined Arthur until his illness subsided. He'd also very seriously threatened to quarantine Merlin as well, but when the young man showed no symptoms, the threats had stopped and Merlin had begun to enjoy his free time.
Of course, he still had to deal with an irritable Arthur a few times each day, although for only a few moments. It had fallen to Merlin to make the meal deliveries, which generally consisted of the guards opening the door just widely enough for a plate to be slid through to the waiting king. Merlin supposed that he could have tried a bit harder to be kind to Arthur, but Arthur had been awfully short with Merlin lately and, as his life wasn't truly in any danger, Merlin felt little guilt for his limited dealings with the king.
Then Gaius gave what he clearly thought to be good news to Merlin, and Merlin's guilt disappeared. A rather unpleasant job had befallen him and, as unpleasant jobs seemed to always do, it could not be handled by anyone other than him. He had to concede that this wasn't Arthur's fault. But he didn't have to like it and he reserved the right to be as surly and unpleasant as he so chose.
Still, he had found long ago that he much preferred liking things to resenting them, so when Merlin elbowed his way past the guards and entered Arthur's chambers to find the king sitting in his bed with his arms crossed over his chest, Excalibur on his lap, Arthur looking so very much like a pouting child sent to his room and permitted only one toy, Merlin found himself laughing.
But not for long. He couldn't. Arthur just looked so pathetic. From the way that he raised his eyes to Merlin and gave a halfhearted haughty nod of acknowledgment, Merlin had the impression that Arthur did not know what exactly he looked like. His hair was matted to his head with sweat and his skin was so red that Merlin wanted to just douse the entire bed with cool water. But so help him, Arthur would maintain his dignity. He would sit up straight and clutch his sword and probably begin to give orders as soon as his throat opened enough for him to be able to yell. Merlin was almost surprised that he hadn't put on his crown to compensate for the regality lost by his condition. He was glad that Arthur hadn't; he might have started laughing again.
Arthur didn't look like he'd be likely to ever laugh again. Merlin had seen Arthur glare and he had seen Arthur sick, but never had he seen a sick Arthur glaring at him like this. There was a steely hardness to his pupils, almost unnoticeable when contrasted with the redness of the rest of his eyes. He was so sick…
So, Merlin did what he did best whenever he strode unbidden into Arthur's chambers to find Arthur grouchy and still abed. It usually annoyed Arthur to no end, but Merlin supposed that perhaps the return to routine might be somewhat comforting. It had probably stung that Arthur's wife wasn't even allowed to see him. So Merlin did as he always had when he'd woken the irritable prince, then king. He was cheerful.
"Hullo, Arthur!" he said brightly. "How are you feeling today?"
Arthur didn't answer. He just looked at Merlin, and Merlin had the feeling that there would have been some incredulity to the glare if it would not have taken Arthur so much energy to conjure up two emotions at once.
Merlin was undaunted. He'd seen worse. "Don't look at me like that, sire, I come bearing gifts. News. Conversation. Humanity. I bring tidings from your council that are more or less verbatim. I'll warn you now that I may paraphrase a bit, depending on the subject. I also bring kisses from your wife, which I will not be giving by proxy. I bring good wishes and arm punches—I'm not making that up, I swear—from the knights that I will most willingly deliver by proxy if you so desire. I bring my cheerful company to—do not throw that at me, Arthur, Gaius says you're not to strain yourself—my cheerful company to help pass the time and, best of all, lots and lots of draughts from your friendly court physician."
Merlin paused for breath, and Arthur seized his opportunity, looking mildly interested from his sickbed, which Merlin took to equal wild enthusiasm on a healthy day.
"Why are you allowed in here?" asked Arthur, looked as though he was both determined to be cranky while also starving for company.
"Luck, in a way," said Merlin, kicking the door all of the way shut behind him. The weighted block that kept it closed fell into place. "You know how you got sick after we rode through Cendred's former lands?"
"Yes, Merlin. I do recall."
"Well," Merlin continued, ignoring Arthur's tone. "As you might recall, I grew up in Cendred's lands."
"Get to the point, Merlin," Arthur grouched.
"Well, you're touchy today. The point, Arthur, is that I had this mystery illness of yours when I was a child and, according to Gaius, I can't get it again."
Arthur shifted in his bed, sitting up a bit straighter. His right hand still clenched tightly around the hilt of Excalibur. "So now I'm stuck with having you in indefinite quarantine with me?"
"Oh, no," said Merlin cheerfully. "I can come and go as I please. You're the only one stuck in quarantine."
He'd expected a reaction from Arthur. An eye-roll. An instruction to shut up. A banishment from the room. A banishment from the castle. A banishment from the kingdom. Maybe Arthur was more lonesome than Merlin had guessed. Or maybe it was something else. Arthur was looking at him so strangely…
"What are these draughts that you've brought? Please tell me that they knock me out."
"I don't think so," replied Merlin, dropping several bottles down onto Arthur's desk and holding each up to the light. "This one is for nausea—I know that you havent got that yet, but Gaius says that you probably will. Sorry. This one's for the fever—you should probably take the whole bottle, because let me tell you, you look terrib—you look feverish. And this one is for the headache. Gaius wasn't sure if you'd still have a headache, but I thought I'd bring it anyway. Have you got a headache?"
"Yes," said Arthur grimly. Merlin stared at him for a moment. Why did every word that Arthur said today seemed to be imbibed with so much gravity? A headache wasn't that serious. From all of the blows that Arthur had taken to the head over the years, he probably had headaches all the time.
"Good thing I brought it, then," said Merlin, moving on. Arthur could be unpredictable when sick. "Looks like you'll be stuck drinking potions for the next half hour, though. Gaius says that you're not to drink them all in a row. Although, what have you been doing, anyway? Reading?" Merlin cast his eyes around for a book.
"Guinevere confiscated all of my books, back before they shut me in," Arthur said flatly. "She didn't want me to strain my eyes."
"She didn't want you to strain your eyes, so she took away your only source of entertainment and left you alone with your sword?" asked Merlin, almost smiling as he opened the little bottles to breathe. "Always the optimist, our Guinevere. What have you been doing, then?"
"Thinking."
"That explains the headache," Merlin muttered. "Thinking about what?"
Arthur looked at him with those same narrowed eyes. "You."
"That really explains the headache," said Merlin conversationally, although a chill ran down his spine. He couldn't say why, but he felt suddenly…edgy.
"Would you like to know what I was thinking about when I was thinking about you?" asked Arthur casually, and Merlin looked him in the eye.
All at once and in an instant, Merlin found that he very much did not want to know what Arthur had been thinking about him. He wanted to be in the very back of the very back of Arthur's mind. The edginess was building in him, and he felt blood rushing to his face. Flustered and hoping that Arthur hadn't noticed the sudden flush, he picked up a bottle at random. "You know, now that I think about it, I think that this one will knock you out. And maybe I'll go ahead and sneak you a few books so that you can do something other than think for a while."
He glanced at the bottle. It was a draught for skin irritation, he saw, although he didn't particularly care one way or the other. He'd figured that he'd just enchant Arthur to fall asleep as he drank, and who was to say that falling under sleeping enchantments wasn't an itchy experience? He might well have been doing Arthur a kindness.
Arthur didn't so much as look at Merlin's bottle of fake knock-out potion. "Because, Merlin, I think that you would be very interested in what I was thinking about you," Arthur said, his voice very even.
"Strangely, Arthur, I'm not. Maybe I'm coming down with something. I'll just go see Gaius and have him—"
"I have a question, Merlin," Arthur interrupted, and Merlin's heart began to beat faster. Whether with dread or excitement, he could not have said. Arthur continued. "You need to think very carefully before you answer."
It was a combination of dread and excitement, Merlin decided vaguely. Sort of an...anticipatory disquiet. It was making him slightly nauseas. Maybe he ought to drink some of Arthur's potion.
Or maybe he should answer Arthur before he began inexplicably chugging Arthur's medication.
"Okay," he said cautiously.
Arthur smiled, looking very calm. "Is there something that I should know?"
It was only through nearly a decade's worth of lying that Merlin kept himself from reacting to the question.
"Like what?" he asked, hoping that he sounded curious.
"Use your imagination," suggested Arthur. "You'll come up with something."
"Not that I can think of," Merlin answered innocently.
Arthur shook his head, and suddenly his smile didn't look so much like a smile anymore. More of a…grimace.
"This is your one chance, Merlin. Your one chance for the truth. Now, tell me: is there something about you that I should know?"
Merlin shivered and looked Arthur square in the eye, unsure. Was Arthur bluffing? Or was this perhaps something completely different? He wracked his brain. Was there something that he'd done recently that he wouldn't want Arthur to know about that was independent of his magic? He didn't think so. Plus, Merlin realized with a jolt, even if he had gone on a vase-breaking rampage or laundry-ruining spree, Arthur wouldn't know about it. He'd been locked in his chambers, and what little communication that he'd had with the outside world had been soothing words and assurances that he would soon be well. No one would have troubled Arthur with anything.
And Merlin had heard these words before. Arthur never asked Merlin if there was something that he ought to know if he didn't already know it. He was giving Merlin the chance to tell the truth and suffer less for it. Although, if Arthur had gone and figured out what Merlin hoped that he hadn't gone and figured out, he would probably be in for far worse than being assigned some extra polishing.
Maybe he didn't know, Merlin thought. Arthur had had years of coincidences and turns of luck and mysterious goings-on that had all revolved around Merlin; why should he connect the dots now? His brain was addled by fever. Maybe, Merlin thought with a sudden burst of inspiration, maybe Arthur wouldn't even remember this once he was well again. He was so sick…surely he wouldn't have figured it out now.
Although it was probably the first time in the years since they had known one another that Arthur had been both indefinitely infirm and also conscious. He was usually dying of something or other when these things happened. Awake, Arthur had a lot of time on his hands, and if all that he had to do all day was think…could he have finally deciphered what lay behind the coincidences and realized the unlikelihood of all of that luck and demystified the goings-on? Arthur was much cleverer than most people gave him credit for, Merlin knew. Just because he was a king who preferred to rule with his heart did not mean that he did not have a head on his shoulders.
Maybe he knew…
Merlin shook his head, aware that Arthur was still waiting for a response. Even if he did know, even if…what good would it do for Merlin to confess now? If Arthur did know and Merlin lied about it now, what would it matter? They'd be in for a hell of an argument either way. And if Arthur didn't know and he took Merlin's playing dumb for Merlin just being dumb as he often did…no, no good would come of him being honest about this now. There had been so many far more ideal opportunities in the past for him to have confessed, and none of them had involved Arthur in his nightclothes, head aching and body burning with fever. There would be a better time, Merlin told himself, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that reminded him that he'd told himself the very same thing on countless previous occasions, that he was digging himself in deeper every time that he lied about this and it would all be that much worse when it all finally came out…
This wasn't the right time.
"No, Arthur," said Merlin blandly. "I don't think so."
"Okay," said Arthur, shrugging and so suddenly nonchalant that Merlin didn't believe it. "I just had to make sure. And Merlin?"
"Yes?"
Arthur took a deep breath, as though steeling himself to do something that he very much had not wanted to do. For a moment, he looked dreadfully sad. "Before you bring me my draughts, could you lock the door? I don't want anyone else coming in and getting themselves sick."
Merlin did as Arthur asked, slightly bewildered at the request. And that it had been a request rather than an order. Arthur had plenty of bursts of chivalry, but he knew that everyone had been warned to stay out. Knowledge of how sick Arthur had spread quickly throughout the castle; no one wanted to risk catching and spreading whatever it was. Even Guinevere had admitted that it would be best for the room to remain closed, save for food and medicine deliveries. No one but the immune Merlin would be entering, and he was already inside. He sighed, sliding the heavy bolt into place. What did it matter? If Arthur wanted the door locked, the door would be locked. Even if Merlin hadn't been Arthur's servant and Arthur had not been king, Arthur was looking so miserable that he couldn't have helped but to comply with Arthur's request. It wasn't as though it would do anyone any harm.
Door duly locked, Merlin turned back to gather the bottles of medicine for his friend.
And Arthur attacked.
He was faster than Merlin could have believed. Sick as he was, Merlin had imagined Arthur have difficulty walking, let alone leaping out of his bed with his sword in hand to apparently skewer his servant.
Arthur stabbed at him, and Merlin yelled. Despite his familiarity with the chambers, he found himself stumbling over a stool as he hastily backed up. This, he had not expected. Arthur had threatened him with death plenty of times, and Merlin had been hit more than once by a flung object, but unless it was a blunted tourney sword during a training session and Merlin had at least been given a helmet, Arthur had never actually wielded a sword against him.
And certainly not when he was defenseless.
"Arthur, what the hell are you doing?" Merlin shouted, more angry than scared. Arthur had more control over his blade than any other man that Merlin had ever seen, and surely Arthur didn't actually want to cause him any real harm.
Although running away still seemed like a good plan.
Arthur took another wide stab at him, not bothering to rush about. Merlin's clumsy rushing was helping Arthur more than it was hindering.
"Arthur, stop," Merlin ordered, his voice shaking. He wondered if the fever had truly addled the king's mind. Arthur wouldn't be attacking him. Merlin had done a great deal of stupid things to Arthur over the years, and Arthur had never resorted to anything like this.
"Defend yourself," said Arthur shortly, slashing at him so surely that Merlin had to duck to avoid bisection.
"What?" Merlin was all but shrieking. He could hear the highness of the pitch of his voice. He would have even been embarrassed if he had not been so busy trying not to get stabbed in the belly by his master and friend.
"Defend yourself," Arthur repeated pointedly, kicking the stool over which Merlin had stumbled in the direction of Merlin's head. Merlin ducked and jumped onto the bed, scurrying over it to the other side, keeping it between himself and Arthur.
"How?" demanded Merlin, breathing hard. None of this made any sense. "What is wrong with you? I haven't anything to do any defending. You have a sword. A sword that I led you to, no less. Just…stop. I haven't got anything to defend myself."
Arthur gave a self-mocking smile for a moment. "I think that you do." He picked a pillow up off of the bed and hurled it at Merlin. To the surprise of them both, Merlin caught it. Annoyed, Merlin hurled it back at Arthur, who parried the pillow with his sword. A cloud of feathers shot up into the air over their heads, and Merlin found himself wondering how ridiculous this scene would look to anyone who would walk in.
But no one would be walking in, Merlin realized, feeling a stab of ill-timed pride for Arthur. Arthur had made him lock the door beforehand. Arthur had thought this out.
"Defend youself," said Arthur again, striding with so much unlikely speed around the bed. Taken aback once more at the sick king's stamina, Merlin found himself clambering back across the bed, tossing a pillow in Arthur's general direction as he did.
"Stop trying to kill me!" Merlin bellowed, real fear beginning to mingle with the anger, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He wasn't afraid of Arthur's sword. Not really. He could stop him. But that wasn't the point. The point had come to him, very clearly and very suddenly. The point was that Arthur wanted him to stop him. Arthur knew, and in true Arthur fashion, decided that if Merlin wasn't going to admit it, Arthur was just going to chase him around with a sword until he gave himself away.
It had served him well in the past.
And maybe he was a little bit afraid of Arthur's sword. Arthur may have appeared to have completely control of himself, but he was sick, Merlin reminded himself. All of this was happening because he'd been bedridden. Merlin might just be in some real danger.
Which just made him angrier. This was so unnecessary. "Stop it!"
"Make me," said Arthur absently, following as Merlin danced away from him.
"I can't," Merlin insisted, making his way toward the door and hoping that Arthur wouldn't notice.
"You can," said Arthur firmly.
"How?" Merlin demanded, nearly to the doorway. He just needed to keep talking. "Even if I had a sword, I don't think that it would help very much. I'd be more likely to stab me than you with it."
Arthur laughed thickly, and for a moment, Merlin thought that he saw the grip on his sword slacken a bit. "Don't play dumb, Merlin."
"Why not?" asked Merlin, backing slowly up. He just needed to raise the latch and then twist the block and then the door would open and he could leave and let Arthur calm down on his own. They could deal with all of this later. "I'm good at playing dumb."
"Evidently," said Arthur, more calmly. Then, in a single fluid motion, he hurled Excalibur at Merlin's head.
Merlin, to his eternal shame, responded by closing his eyes and wincing. After a moment, upon realizing that he was not in fact dead, he reopened his eyes and looked for the sword.
He did not have to look far. Arthur had hurled his magnificent sword at the door, the blade lodging itself into the wooden block that needed to be moved to open the door. He had effectively locked them both in. In what Merlin knew to be a futile move, he wrapped his hands around the hilt and yanked.
The sword didn't move, and Merlin decided that he would wonder whether that said more about Arthur's strength or Merlin's when he was in something of a less desperate situation. The sword toss had unnerved him. Arthur was ill, and if his aim had been off just a little bit, Merlin would have an extra hole in his head.
The sword did manage to prove helpful, however, for the sound of it driving deeply into the wood had apparently alerted the guards outside the door that Arthur and Merlin had not just been shouting at each other. He distantly wondered if he should be offended that no one had been particularly concerned at their shouted conversation, but he was too busy being grateful at the sound of a knight's voice that he didn't bother being annoyed.
"What's going on in there?"
Merlin considered his options for a moment, watching with a groan as Arthur procured another sword from somewhere. Did he just have them hidden all over his chambers? Merlin cleaned these chambers! Well, Merlin straightened these chambers. Arthur was apparently skilled in all areas of swordplay, including…hiding them.
But that wasn't the point. He had to answer the knight. He wished that he could tell through the wood which of them was on the other side. Merlin wondered…he could end this all and tell the truth about why Arthur was attacking him, about what Arthur was trying to provoke in him. It could be over and open and, no matter what happened, everyone could know.
Or he could just tell them that Arthur was attacking him in a fever fit and leave out the whole why portion of the story.
"Arthur's trying to kill me!" Merlin yelled at the door, keeping his eyes on Arthur.
He heard laughter through the thick wood. He would have rolled his eyes if he did not need both of them to figure out which direction he should turn to avoid the king. "I'm serious!"
The laughter lessened a bit, although there were still a few guffaws, which Merlin took to mean that at least one of the knights and guards on the other side was a friend. If only Guinevere would come, she would believe him, surely…
Merlin bit his lip. Picking up one of Arthur's discarded boots that neither of them had bothered to put away when he'd last removed them, he threw it as hard as he could into the looking glass. The mirror shattered, the sound of breaking glass echoing throughout the room, and the frame fell backward onto the floor with a crash.
There were no laughs.
"Arthur," yelled Merlin, annoyed. "Is trying to kill me."
Well, maybe he wasn't trying to actually kill Merlin. But Merlin had the feeling that the threat of immediate death would hasten the knights' breaking open of the door.
"Open the door," one of them yelled helpfully.
Merlin gritted his teeth. "I thought of that. He put a sword through it."
"What?"
Merlin glanced at Arthur, who was just watching Merlin speaking to the men outside. Why wasn't he attacking? Stabbing? Slashing? Or doing the nice thing and apologizing?
"He put a sword through the block thing on the door and attached it to the wall somehow and—look, I don't know how he did it. He's very fast at throwing swords. But I can't get the sword out and I can't get the door open and Arthur is going to kill me if you don't—ah!"
"Merlin! Merlin! Are you alright?"
Ah. There was Gwen. He began to feel a bit guilty. He'd just added the scream at the end to try to convey the urgency of the matter and get the men to hack down the door before they realized that they were breaking into the king's chambers to rescue a wailing servant. If Gwen was there, or Gwaine or another of the friendly knights, they would have broken him out regardless…but the urgency was real. Arthur trying to stab Merlin was rapidly becoming only one of two serious problems. Not only was he apparently determined to keep attacking at Merlin until one of them collapsed, but he looked like he was already on the verge of collapse.
Merlin had seen this before, in a griffin. The griffin had been able to charge and rampage and wreak destruction for a brief period of time, but then…well, he thought that it would probably be a good idea to get Arthur to settle himself. He had no doubt that Arthur didn't truly intend to do him any lasting damage, but the state of Arthur's body wasn't necessarily on the same page.
There was a sound of pounding at the door, and Merlin saw the sharp end of an axe begin to chip at the wood around his eye level. It was probably time for him to move.
Just as well. Arthur was approaching him again, striding in a measured pace. He spun the sword in the air in the move that he liked to use to intimidate opponents—as if Merlin required intimidating as he faced Arthur Pendragon in a swordfight in which he himself was swordless—and said, "Defend yourself."
Merlin sighed, and it began again.
The axe chopped at the door. Woodchips began to fall to the floor of Arthur's chambers.
Arthur, apparently so determined to catch Merlin in the act that he didn't care that his knights were breaking down his door, advanced on Merlin, swinging his sword in slashes and stabs that would have been far more frightening if Merlin hadn't been able to tell that Arthur was keeping the blows deliberately wide.
Merlin jumped back out of Arthur's reach.
The axe chopped at the door. A hole appeared, and Merlin saw what looked like Gwaine's eye. The owner of the eye gave a shout and the axe went back to work. There was more yelling, Guinevere's rising higher above the others as she beseeched both of her men in the chambers to stop fighting.
Arthur swung his sword again.
Merlin backed away.
It was happening so quickly…
Then, as Merlin was backing away, there was an almighty crack as the door splintered and a few of the knights kicked what was more or less a hole in Arthur's door. Their swords were drawn and their faces conflicted, as though they had just realized what they had done.
Merlin, in what was possibly the dumbest move that he had made in recent months, looked. As could be expected, he backed into something on the floor and found himself falling backward. He hid the ground and skidded on his back over the wood chipped floor. He was pushing himself up on his elbows and registering that he'd tripped over that damn stool again—why did Arthur even have a stool?—when the king appeared over him, his face suddenly frightened, desperately reckless. Pleading.
Pleading.
"Defend yourself," Arthur said one last time, and he began to swing down his sword.
Finally, Merlin snapped. Or did he give in?
For an instant, time slowed, and Merlin raised a hand, inches away from Arthur's sword. Not bothering to choose a spell and risk doing too much damage, Merlin's mind gave a weak pulse.
Arthur flew back immediately and landed hard, skidding backward with so much force that he did not stop until he bumped into the wall behind him. His eyes were as wide as saucers as he looked at his friend, and Merlin realized. Arthur had known, but he hadn't truly believed.
Well, Merlin mused wryly, he sure would now.
The clamor of the knights fighting to shove through the opening in the broken door, all manly shouts and grunts and the clangs of armor clashing together as they strove to be the first one in, was gone.
Guinevere's cries had died away.
There was silence.
"Take your draughts," said Merlin, standing up and brushing himself up as he looked at Arthur. "You'll never get better if you don't take it easy."
Arthur just sat there.
Merlin went to the hole in the door, wanting to be out of that room as soon as possible, away from the people that he loved.
No one stopped him, moving out of his way as he brushed past them. He thought that he could hear the whispers beginning behind him as he strode away.
Aimlessly, Merlin walked. He walked and walked and walked and walked, a single and strangely calm thought running in his head over and over again.
Arthur knew that he had magic. They all knew.
Arthur knew that he had magic. They all knew.
Arthur knew that he had magic. They all knew.
Merlin stopped walking and looked around, wondering where he had wandered. When he placed himself, he laughed aloud. He was in the passage down to where Kilgarrah had been imprisoned. He hadn't recognized it at first; no one bothered to light any torches down here now that there was nothing but an empty cavern to guard. Suddenly tired, he closed his eyes and leant against the cold stone of the corridor.
Arthur knew that he had magic. They all knew.
They all knew.
Merlin opened his eyes and exhaled.
"Well," he said to no one in particular. "At least that's done."
.
.
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Thank you for reading! I wasn't sure about this one, but I thought I'd go for it anyway.
Thank you to everyone for the reviews! They are seriously more motivating than just about anything else, so I always appreciate them a ton.