Chapter 3 – "Scars"

Merlin slept so soundly and so deeply that when a voice calling his name awoke him, he found it took quite a bit of effort to open his eyes. He finally managed, but his thoughts seemed to be equally uncooperative. He noticed several things that were odd but couldn't quite grasp an immediate explanation for them. He wasn't wearing a shirt, his arm hurt and judging from the light shining around the edges of the shutter covering the window, it was well past dawn. Also, Gaius was standing by his bed with a patient and expectant expression on his face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Merlin muttered, the lingering haziness of sleep pitching his voice lower than usual.

"Just waiting for your brain to catch up with reality," Gaius replied. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

Unfortunately, Merlin's mind was now doing a quite adequate job of reassembling the events of the previous day. He had the urge to pull the blanket up over his head and try to wish it all away, but that was ridiculous and childish and selfish. At least he'd had a good, and apparently long, night's sleep and now might possibly be able to face the day without feeling as if the earth was going to open up and swallow him whole. Not that he wouldn't deserve it. And possibly welcome it.

"Reality's not such a pleasant thing today," he said in a rough voice.

"No, it's not," Gaius replied, the half-smile fading from his face and the light in his eyes dimming. Of course he'd be missing Morgana as well. He'd known her for a long time, cared for and protected her, both from Uther and from herself. "Still, it's what we have, and we shouldn't squander it," he added with forced cheer.

Merlin nodded slightly because he knew Gaius was right. Wallowing in sorrow and regrets never solved anything and could easily progress to hindering nigh on everything. He had duties to attend to and a destiny to serve, no matter what sacrifices it demanded. "I know," he said, so many layers underpinning those two simple words, to a depth that was sometimes difficult to fathom, much less embrace. He drew in a long breath and blew it out slowly, suddenly feeling more weary than he had a right to be, especially considering the amount of rest he'd had. He didn't even recall having any dreams, which was probably fortunate because they undoubtedly would've been unpleasant.

"I've brought up some hot water so you can wash up," Gaius said, then he eyed Merlin for a moment before adding with a very serious expression on his face, "You look as if you've been ridden hard and put away wet."

Merlin frowned in confusion. The reasoning part of his brain was apparently not fully awake yet because his comprehension got stuck at "wash up" and refused to process the rest of what Gaius had said. "I've been what?" he asked, trying and failing to translate the strange comment into something that made sense. An unhelpful image formed in his mind of running back and forth on the training field carrying a heavy target while Arthur threw various projectiles at him, and then having a bucket of water dumped over his head in thanks for the effort.

"Like a horse, Merlin," Gaius said impatiently, as if his meaning should have been obvious.

Merlin blinked for a moment, then groaned as understanding dawned. A ridiculously pleased smile spread over Gaius's face, and Merlin threw his uninjured arm over his eyes to escape. "Honestly, Gaius, that's just awful." He had a feeling, though, that Gaius's smile had less to do with his own cleverness and more to do with satisfaction at distracting his ward from darker thoughts. It was a lifeline back to the fringes of normalcy, and Merlin grabbed at it gratefully. He peeked out from under his arm and said with a hint of amused accusation, "You made that up, didn't you?"

Gaius just gave him a wry smile, then shifted back to practicality as he said, "Leave your shirt off after you've washed. I want to take a look at your arm."

"Here, look," he said as he lifted his left arm a bit and then let it flop back onto the bed. He suppressed a wince at the twinge of pain the movement caused because he didn't want to ruin the moment of levity. "It's still attached. What more do you want?"

"Merlin," Gaius drawled in an admonishing tone.

Merlin huffed and glared at Gaius with a look of feigned indignation. "Honestly, between you and Arthur, I'm beginning to think my name is synonymous with 'stop messing about'. I'm fairly certain that's not what my mother had in mind."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that. She's told me quite a few stories about your childhood mischief," Gaius said as he crossed his arms over his chest, although there was definitely a playful gleam in his eyes. "Maybe I should share some of them with Arthur. Or Gwen. I'm sure she'd enjoy hearing about what a delightful young scamp you were."

"You wouldn't," Merlin said slowly, looking at Gaius intently, but the only answer he got was an eyebrow lifted slightly higher than it already was. There were things he'd done when he was younger, usually at the instigation of Will, that he wouldn't care to have recounted to Arthur, because that would give him entirely too much fodder for teasing. As for Gwen... Well, the thought of her knowing what he'd gotten up to as a child was too embarrassing to be considered.

"Fine," he grumbled. "I'm getting up." He sat up slowly and noticed that his neck seemed to be unusually stiff, probably from sleeping in one position all night. He tilted his head from side to side until his neck cracked several times, then sighed in relief at the release of tension.

Gaius grimaced. "You're really too young for your joints to be making popping noises like that," he said with a vaguely pained look on his face. He'd probably had far too much experience of such things himself. He certainly complained enough on cold winter mornings or on days when the weather was changing.

"Tell that to Arthur," Merlin replied as he massaged the knot that had formed in the muscle between his neck and shoulder on the left side. "I'm sure it's his fault."

Gaius snorted and shook his head, a faint glint of humor in his eyes. Then his expression turned serious as he said, "Speaking of Arthur, you'd better get moving. There was a council meeting called this morning, but it's due to end soon. I imagine he'll be looking for you after that."

"I'm sure he will be," Merlin muttered distractedly as he tossed the blanket to the side and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. A feeling of unease settled in his stomach as he wondered what was transpiring in the meeting and what it would mean for himself and Arthur. As doggedly persistent as Uther was in hunting down any hint of magic in his kingdom, it wasn't difficult to imagine the extremes he would resort to in order to find Morgana and make sure Morgause paid for assaulting Camelot and abducting his ward. The castle had presumably already been searched, the lower town would be next, then the nearer villages and the outlying villages and everything else in between. He doubted Uther would even stop at the borders of Camelot itself.

"I'll go and get your breakfast ready," Gaius said as reached up and opened the shutter, causing Merlin to blink a bit as his eyes adjusted to the light. Then Gaius left the room, pulling the door nearly closed behind him. He left a slight space between door and jamb, probably so he could listen and make sure there were splashing noises and not the sounds of someone settling back into bed.

Merlin made a grumbling noise of exasperation. It wasn't as if he crawled back under the covers very often, and even then, not for long, just a few moments to collect his thoughts and mentally prepare himself for the day ahead. Lazing about in bed was a luxury he hadn't been allowed in Ealdor. He'd been raised to the ingrained peasant's habit of getting on with what needed to be done, no matter what. Rain or snow or brutal, beating sun, the animals had to be tended. Illness or injury might strike, but tilling and planting, hoeing and harvesting still had to be done. A baby was born, the mother strapped it to her chest in a sling and went back to milking cows or spinning wool as soon as she was able. Someone died, you buried the man or woman or child, mourned briefly, then took the grief along with you as you went back to mending fences or repairing whatever damage the passage of time or the latest storm had done to your home or barn.

It was that kind of persistence in the face of hardship that he needed to draw upon now. Yesterday was gone. He couldn't wish it back or alter what had passed. The future would tend to itself and apparently had its own designs upon him that were largely out of his control. Today was all he had, and pragmatism lived in the here and now.

He stood up and stretched his injured arm out to the side, bending it at the elbow, rolling his shoulder and flexing his fingers. There wasn't as much pain in the wound as the day before, although all the joints on that side were a bit stiff. Really, it was ridiculous he was still hurting at all. He hadn't even noticed the wound until Arthur had pointed it out, and it had scarcely bothered him up until he'd tried to pick up the sword in the corridor outside the council chambers.

He glanced back at his bed to check the weapon was well-hidden. He could only see it if he bent over a bit and looked directly under the bed, and even then it looked like a bunch of dirty laundry. Gaius wasn't in the habit of picking up after him, made a point of not doing so in fact, so the sword was probably as safe as it could be at the moment. If the dragon got tetchy about being made to wait for his freedom, that was just too bad. It wasn't as if he could take a jaunt down to the cave in the middle of the day with a suspicious bundle clutched in his arms. Well, he probably could manage it, but he doubted he'd have the opportunity anytime soon. He was unfortunately well-acquainted with the aftermath of disaster in Camelot and knew there would be plenty of work to be done. It was highly unlikely he'd be excused from it again, despite his injured arm.

He looked over at the table under the window and noticed that Gaius had already set out everything he could possibly need for washing up. He realized he had to have been very deeply asleep not to have been awakened by all the coming and going that must've been required to prepare and deliver all of it. There was a steaming pot of hot water, a pitcher of cold, a basin, a flannel and soap, a cloth for drying, and a bucket on the floor for dirty water. It seemed he was meant to have a really thorough wash. He gave himself an experimental sniff and decided he needed it.

He was somewhat hampered by not being able to move his left arm in certain ways without intermittent twinges and by attempting to keep the bandage as dry as possible, but he managed the task in a reasonable amount of time. He'd done his laundry just prior to the trip to Idirsholas and so was able to round up an entirely fresh set of clothing. It didn't take him long to dress since he needed to leave his shirt, spare jacket and neckerchief off until Gaius had poked and prodded his arm. He draped the extra items of clothing over his arm, then stood still for a moment to allow the morning sunlight to warm his aching shoulders. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so clean head to toe, apart from his boots, which were still dusty from the long ride to and from Idirsholas. He was also hard pressed to recall the last time he'd felt so well-rested. The two didn't often happen at the same time.

Gaius called out to him that his breakfast was getting cold, so he went down into the main room to find his guardian sitting at the table that served as his desk. He was poring over a book, which wasn't unusual in and of itself, but there were several other books piled haphazardly around him as well, some open, some closed, some with pieces of parchment stuck in them. Merlin could've sworn the table had been mostly clear the previous day.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" he asked Gaius with a bit of concern as he laid his shirt, jacket and neckerchief near the edge of the table they used for dining and seated himself on the stool pulled up next to it. There was a bowl of porridge, some bread and cheese and a cup of tea waiting for him.

"What?" Gaius said, but kept his eyes on his book. That single word seemed to be an automatic response whenever someone attempted to interrupt his reading. Merlin had long ago figured out that it really meant something more like 'wait just a minute' because repeating a request before Gaius looked up only meant you'd have to say it again once you'd gotten his attention properly.

Gaius finished the page and sat up straight, then peered at Merlin over the top of his eyeglasses for a moment before he said, "Ah. You look much better. Other than your hair sticking up in all directions. Did you misplace your comb again?"

Merlin reached up and smoothed his hair down with his hand. "No. I just forgot to use it." He added a bit of finger combing, which seemed to satisfy Gaius since he nodded before he got up from his chair. He walked towards the dining table, pausing along the way to retrieve a clean bandage from a basket on the floor and a jar of ointment from the work table.

"That's not the same stuff you used yesterday, is it?" Merlin asked, eyeing the medication in Gaius's hand suspiciously.

Gaius didn't reply with words. He simply paused long enough to treat Merlin to a passable impersonation of Arthur's "idiot" look, which was more than sufficient to convey his meaning. Merlin supposed he deserved it. He knew there were various concoctions that could be used to prevent infection and promote healing in wounds, so of course Gaius wouldn't resort to the same one that had nearly had him falling onto the floor in a dazed heap just the previous day.

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly. "That was a stupid question."

Gaius harrumphed as he put the items he'd gathered onto the dining table. He pulled another stool over and positioned it perpendicular to Merlin's left side, then sat down. "Go ahead and eat while I check your arm," he said as he proceeded to pick the knot out of the bandage. "There's been an increase in the number of people going back and forth outside the door in the last few minutes. I think the council meeting has ended."

Gaius's assumption proved to be correct. He'd just gotten the bandage off, and Merlin had only managed to eat a few bites of the porridge and a small amount of bread and cheese, when the door opened and Arthur walked in.

"Have a nice lie-in, Merlin?" the prince asked teasingly as he sauntered across the room and smoothly settled himself onto the stool on the opposite side of the table. Merlin didn't have a chance to respond immediately because his mouth was full of bread, which gave Arthur the opportunity to lean to the side and get a look at his arm.

He seemed to consider the wound for a moment, a slight frown on his face that might've been some form of concern, but then he sat back and a smirk slipped easily into place. "Just as I suspected," he said in a rather self-satisfied manner. "Looks like you managed to run into a sword. Well done, Merlin. That's going to leave a nice scar." He almost sounded cheerful at that last bit.

Merlin paused in his chewing, frowning at Arthur's evident pleasure that he was going to be marked for life. He was momentarily distracted by Gaius gently wiping the remainder of the previous day's ointment away from the wound and beginning to apply the new medication. He finished chewing and swallowed as he looked at the injury with a more critical eye than he previously had done. It probably would leave a conspicuous scar, and he wouldn't be able to spell it away because Arthur knew about it and would likely notice its absence if he ever had occasion to see his bare arm again.

He glanced back at Arthur, who gave him a wide grin and said, "You should be pleased. It'll be a respectable scar. Or are you worried about your lily-white skin being marred?"

Merlin gave Arthur his own special glare that correlated to the "idiot" one, but meant "prat" instead. "Respectable scars? Is that some sort of thick-headed knight thing?" he asked in a lightly derisive tone of voice.

A look of annoyance flitted briefly over Arthur's features but was quickly replaced by a mocking one. "Not that I would expect you to understand such things, Merlin," he said with the expected condescending emphasis on the name, "since it would take a miracle of epic proportions for you to ever become a knight, but yes, men who are trained fighters do have a certain measure of respect for wounds received in battle, as opposed to, say, injuries gotten by clumsy, bumbling servants tripping down stairs, dropping things on their own feet, walking into walls, that sort of thing."

Merlin glared in response to the insinuation that he was just such a servant, but at the same time he couldn't deny he'd done every one of the things Arthur had mentioned, and then some. Arthur grinned smugly, probably quite pleased with himself for landing a very tidy indirect insult. Merlin ignored him and went back to eating his breakfast. For some reason, Arthur's taunting was even more irksome this morning than it usually was. It was probably best he didn't respond any further because he might say something that would land him in the stocks.

After a short pause, Arthur added, "I'm also told that women find certain kinds of scars attractive."

"What?" Merlin spluttered, nearly spitting out the spoonful of porridge he'd just put in his mouth. He recovered and quickly swallowed, then dropped the spoon back into the bowl. "That's ridiculous," he said, narrowing his eyes and peering intently at Arthur. He very well might be hoping Merlin would show his scar to some woman, hoping to impress her, and be laughed at or treated as some kind of seriously disturbed person instead.

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. "Ask Gaius if you don't believe me."

Merlin turned and looked at the physician, who was now in the process of winding a fresh bandage around his arm. "I have, on occasion," he said slowly, continuing his task as he spoke, "had ladies come to me in confidence to confirm whether the stories certain knights have told them about their scars are true. The more ghastly the tale, the more impressed they seem to be."

"Oh. That's ... interesting," Merlin said, completely dumbfounded. He watched Gaius tie off the ends of the bandage as he turned this new bit of knowledge over in his mind. He supposed it made sense if a woman was attracted to the rough, tough, save-the-word types, as Gwen had once phrased it. He doubted she'd be impressed by evidence of a past wound, though. She'd probably just be sad it had ever happened.

He looked down at the table and nudged the bowl of porridge away from him. He'd suddenly lost his appetite. Thinking of a sorrowful Gwen had put a painful knot in his stomach. He wondered if he would ever have the courage to tell her what he'd done to Morgana or even if he should. Gwen would probably forgive him. Of course she would. She might even try to make him feel better, which was precisely why he couldn't tell her. Forgiveness was one thing he couldn't accept right now.

"What's the matter, Merlin? Did I put you off your feed by talking about girls?" Arthur asked in an unpleasantly biting tone. So often he forgot that Merlin wasn't a knight and didn't respond to such extremes of ridicule in the bizarre way that he'd seen some of Arthur's men react, as if they were somehow more worthy for receiving direct attention, no matter how negative, or had been granted a level of acceptance through jesting and jeering. "I'm only trying to be helpful, you know. You'll probably need every advantage you can get if you ever want to succeed in attracting a woman."

Whatever Arthur's intention had been, his words had an effect that probably would've utterly confounded him, and surprised and shocked even Merlin. Several intense images rushed abruptly through his mind, memories set off by talk of scars and women and doubt that he could ever love or be loved.

Freya, cowering in fear in the bounty hunter's cage. His anger that anyone could be treated so callously. The spells he'd cast to release her. Her downcast eyes and reluctance to believe she was worth anyone's trouble to save, much less deserving of kindness and love. Candlelight, a craving for strawberries, a single rose and the soft warmth of her lips as he kissed her. Hope and dreams torn apart by the anguish of the truth.

He could easily imagine the hatred and loathing that must've been in Arthur's eyes when he'd mortally wounded her, uncaring of who she was or what she might've meant to anyone else. He'd probably been blinded by the threat of magic and had unthinkingly struck out against it. She'd been nothing more to him than an enemy of Camelot, and he'd killed her, coldly and without remorse.

Bitter, scalding emotions swirled through Merlin as his hand turned into a trembling fist on the tabletop. Several heated and less than rational thoughts spun through his mind. Throwing the bowl of porridge in Arthur's face because he was too damn smug for his own good. Yelling several insults that were far more caustic and exceedingly more rude than "prat" because Arthur paid no heed to what others might be feeling. Grabbing the unnecessary fork that Gaius had laid on the table next to his spoon and finding a purpose for it by jabbing it into Arthur's hand because he had murdered Freya and gotten nothing but praise for it.

He could feel his skin flushing with the heat of his rage, but then Gaius laid a firm hand on his arm, right over the wound. The resultant sharp pain and ensuing deep ache did what Gaius probably intended them to do. Merlin gasped, and the wild intensity of emotions was swiftly driven away, leaving behind a cold and painful hollowness that nearly made him physically shiver. He'd never felt this kind of pure and burning hatred towards Arthur for what had happened to Freya. He'd rationalized it away, excused the prince for doing what needed to be done to defend the people of Camelot.

He drew in a shaky breath and deliberately relaxed his fingers, spreading them out flat on the rough wood of the tabletop. Gaius had warned him that something like this might happen eventually, that anger was actually a good thing because it meant he was working through his grief. He hadn't expected it to happen so suddenly, though, or at such a seemingly odd time and place. Maybe it was the anguish of yet another loss that had brought the tumult caused by Freya's demise to the fore once again. Only a few days ago, Morgana had been beautiful and smiling instead of gasping and struggling to cling to life.

It took several long moments for the disturbingly bright images to fade completely from his mind and for his breathing and heartbeat to settle. He vaguely realized he should probably say something to explain his near outburst. Arthur was strangely silent. Surely he must've had noticed the signs of an abrupt surge of anger. That was one emotion to which he was finely attuned, due to the fact that it could signal an impending attack. Merlin shuddered at the thought that he actually had nearly assaulted Arthur and probably wouldn't have stopped with the fork if he'd given in to the impulse.

He looked hesitantly up at the prince. All traces of taunting and smugness were gone, replaced by confusion and wariness. Apparently he'd sensed that he'd tripped over something painful and raw and potentially volatile. Merlin doubted he had any clue of what it might be and was probably shying away from trying to figure it out.

Both of them were saved from having to say anything to directly diffuse the situation, or more likely to find a way to avoid it entirely, by a knock at the door. Merlin looked over anxiously, worried that in the inconvenient way these sorts of things often played out, it might just be the one person who could possibly make the situation more awkward – Gwen. He might not be able to resist the urge to crawl under the table if it was her. His hand snaked across the table to grab his shirt, and he pulled it over and held it in front of his chest.

The door opened immediately, though, no pause to wait for a response from within the room, which usually meant a noble or a knight was there. It turned out to be Sir Leon, looking for Arthur. "Sire," he said with a deferential nod of his head. "If I might have a word with you?"

"Of course," Arthur said, but he turned back to Merlin before he got up and said quietly, "Finish your breakfast. You probably won't have time to eat again before this evening. There's a lot to be done." There was one last flicker of uneasy curiosity in his expression, then he seemed to dismiss it, either to be brought up again later, probably at the most inopportune moment possible, or forgotten entirely. Merlin fervently hoped it was the latter.