AN: Keep watching my Icon for the fanart for each chapter as it comes out. If you want to see the bigger unedited/uncropped versions then check out my AO3 account since the illustrations are posted there within the story, or you can see all 13 illustrations on my deviantart account under the name texasislandr

Once again, thank you to the wonderful, the amazing EchoRose480 who is the awesome beta for this story. Without her I might not have gotten through some pretty horrible writers blocks. You rock! *hugs* P. S. Go check out her amazing stories too.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, if I did Arthur would still be alive, and the golden age of Albion would be upon us. Also, everything would be happy with rainbows, and flowers, and sunshine, and bunnies. No tragedy that leaves you feeling that your soul has just been sucked out and stomped on like BBC did *glares*

Chapter 3 - Return to Solid Ground

It takes Gwaine a shocked moment to pull his eyes away from Merlin's pallid face and look up at the men that are staggering through the water towards him.

He can see the looks of barely concealed hope on their individual faces, but when his eyes meet theirs he knows it's his devastated expression that sends looks of equal horror through the group.

"Is he alive?" Lancelot ventures first. Gwaine shakes his head, "I don't know," he confesses, his fingers fumbling over his friend's jaw, struggling to find any signs of life, "I don't…."

Lancelot reaches him and helps lift Merlin higher out of the water. "Dear God," he curses at the sight of his friend's mangled body. The older knight leans his face in, and gently presses his ear to Merlin's chest straining to hear a rhythmic beating. There's a tense pause of anticipation before he exclaims in relief, "He's alive!"

Arthur is upon them in moments, as are the others, and the area is quickly filled with anxious and demanding inquiries. When Arthur reaches out to touch his manservant, Gwaine quickly knocks the hand back with a growl, "Don't touch him!" he hisses dangerously, "Don't you dare touch him."

"You can't…"

"Both of you shut up!" Lancelot scolds. "There isn't time for your petty squabbles. Merlin's heart is beating, but just barely. If he is to remain with us in the land of the living, then we need to get him somewhere where he can be treated properly." It comes as no surprise when both men have the decency to look ashamed. Lancelot shifts his hold and receives a rough gurgling noise in response, followed by a gagging up of water from Merlin's colorless lips. The boy's face contorts into obvious agony, and for a brief moment the men behold a flicker of familiar blue irises. "Merlin?" Arthur beckons, but a deep groan is all that answers him, before the fluttering movements cease, and Merlin's pained expression eases.

"He's alive, just unconscious," Lancelot assures, seeing the damaged chest of his friend rise and fall with continued wispy breaths.

"I don't mean to interrupt, but has everyone forgotten that there is something that hunts us beneath these waters? We don't know when it might return, or if there may be others," Sir Lorvel announces, already astride his horse again. Gwaine glares at him, but the others only offer reluctant, to accent the trauma of the situation) nods of agreement.

As if ordered, Leon and Elyan take initiative and quickly begin retrieving the slightly dispersed horses. It comes as a relief to both men when the animals seem to have visibly calmed since the beast's abrupt disappearance.

"We need to get Merlin onto a mount," Lancelot states factually.

"How about it, Percy, will you help me get him on my horse?" Gwaine asks, his casual words belying his grave concern, as he shifts the slight burden within his and Lancelot's arms.

When Percival muscles forward, Arthur lets himself get pushed aside. He watches guiltily as the large man gently takes Merlin's smaller frame and hefts it into his strong arms.

Arthur feels spent; he doesn't quite know how to deal with all that has just happened. When approached, he numbly takes the reins of his horse from Elyan before mounting stiffly. Despite his overwhelming sense of remorse, he can't look away from the scene unfolding before him. He watches Percival as he and Lancelot situate Merlin in front of Gwaine, who seems all too eager to take hold of the younger man once more. At the sight Arthur can't help but feel the slight burn of jealously slithering through his chest. In fact, he's almost overwhelmed by the deep seated need to be the one to carry the devastation he has caused. However, when his mouth moves to protest, it's his ever present shame that keeps him from giving the order.

When all the men are mounted, Leon brings his horse alongside the prince's, a rolled parchment clutched tightly in his hands, "We need to find dry land and fresh water, and according to our maps we're much closer to the northern end of this swamp than if we simply tried to double back," he comments, "Besides, heading south for Camelot would be a fool's errand. Merlin wouldn't make the three day journey even if we tried."

Arthur looked over at Leon and nodded grimly. "What of the nearest populations?"

"As far as I can tell, the town of Welshire would be the nearest and most likely to have some sort of physician available. If we can get Merlin there, Grensweld is half a day's ride away. We would still be able to obey the instructions of the king and defeat the beast that has been plaguing the northern villages."

Arthur processes the information and swallows thickly, "Alright then," he agrees, turning his torso around to look back at his men, "We are to ride north to Welshire. I want everyone to remain close, and keep your eyes open for any disturbances in the water. As we proceed, remain as quiet as possible. It might have been our voices that attracted the creature to us in the first place."

There is a round of 'ayes', and 'yes sires' before Arthur takes a moment to look one last time at Merlin's dark head nestled against Gwaine's shoulder, "Is he-?" Gwaine holds up a silencing hand and interrupts, his voice cool and firm, "You just focus on guiding our walking buffet line out of this God forsaken place, and leave Merlin to me."

Arthur narrows his eyes disapprovingly at the knight, and the older man has the audacity to give a daring defiant, purposeful look of his own. With a hiss of breath through his teeth, Arthur turns away and urges his horse to trudge forward through the waters. He doesn't have time for this—Merlin doesn't have time.

It seemed like the dense marshes would never end, but they soon found themselves wading past fewer trees. And despite the lateness of the day, their surroundings were brighter now that the thick canopy of vegetation above them was no longer there to block the illuminating rays.

As an expanse of solid ground slowly drifted into view, the heavy silence that had been hanging over the group of men quickly dissipated into relieved sighs and matching exclamations. To Arthur, the grassy plain that drew nearer was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld. There lay his redemption.

Lancelot handed his reins to Elyan, who was tying the mounts to some nearby trees, before crossing the developing camp to where Percival was now laying Merlin down onto a carefully constructed pallet.

"Somebody bring me a waterskin and some clean cloths," Gwaine requests as he kneels next to Merlin and carefully begins peeling the tattered remnants of the younger man's jacket and tunic away from his torso. When the seeping, torn flesh reveals itself he can't help but curse, which is then followed by a collective gasp of horror as several others choose to brave curious looks at the unnerving sight, as well.

"I need a knife," he informs the spectators, while trying to remove some of the more solid fragments. There's a brief moment before the knight looks up to see Arthur dropping to his knees across from him and silently begins using his dagger to cut the ruined garments away. Gwaine opens his mouth to protest, but Lancelot eyes him warningly, causing the words that had risen to his lips to remain unspoken. With a huff of agitation, he simply holds, and carefully maneuvers Merlin's body as they finish removing the sodden fabric.

The skin of the servant's abdomen is a mass of puncture marks and jagged torn flesh, blood still pumping out of the mess of traumatized skin.

A piercing whistle of appraisal sounds and everyone looks up to see Sir Lorvel towering above them, "You're wasting your time, with no physician and wounds like that; the boy's as good as dead."

Several of the men suck in abashed breaths while Gwaine chooses to lunge angrily. It takes the older knight by surprise to find that it's Arthur who has jumped up and is now holding his arms back this time. Gwaine's eyes flash furiously at the nerve, but Arthur simply stares back, neither fazed, nor intimidated. The prince looks Gwaine firmly in the eye and he can see the order to back down, despite the lack of words.

"Sir Lorvel," Arthur announces, clearly agitated, "We are in need of a fire. As the circumstance leaves us without a servant to do so, I require you to go gather the wood we need."

Lorvel looks briefly indignant, but says nothing as he turns away and strides towards the nearby trees.

"Bloody arse," Gwaine mutters, visibly relaxing, allowing Arthur to quickly release his grip on the older man's arm. Without a word to one another, the men return their attention to where it was supposed to be, though Lancelot was already assisting Percival in cleaning Merlin's wounds with fresh water from their skins.

"What can be done for him?" Elyan asks, eyeing the injuries.

"I don't know," Lancelot admits.

Percival watches the concerned looks passing over the other men's faces, and with a resigned sigh, he returns his gaze back to Merlin, "My father was a simple physician in my village," he announces shyly, "Though he passed when I was young, I still remember a few things that he taught me. This in no way makes me a healer, but I'll do what I can to help."

"What do you need?" Arthur asks, renewed hope ghosting through his voice.

"A needle and thread if there's any. I could also use wine or honey, and any herbs that might be of some help."

"I have some thread in my pack, a needle too," Elyan reveals, "Guinevere always packs them for me in case I need to repair anything. It may not be quite what you're looking for, but it should work," he explains while moving to retrieve the items.

"And I," Gwaine announces, "have the good stuff" in a flurry of movement Gwaine hands over a small skin of potent liquid.

"I can't believe you brought that," Arthur sputters, "Drinking is strictly forbidden on missions such as this."

"Stuff it, Princess, and be glad I did."

Arthur eyes him with a pseudo air of exasperation, but silently he praises the man for is fondness of alcohol.

"I'm afraid that's all we have, except this small pouch of willow bark in Merlin's pack," Lancelot comments, "We can use it for the pain if he should awaken."

"When," Gwaine corrects fiercely, causing Lancelot to look at him with stifled confusion, "You said if, I'm saying when-when he awakens."

Lancelot's eyes widen briefly, before his expression sweeps over into understanding and he accedes, "Yes, of course. When."

The men fail to quell their fascination as Percival's large calloused hands move gently over Merlin's torso and manage to intricately sow the jagged wounds together with a precision that none thought the big man capable of.

It takes hours and by the time Percival stops to pull away he's been working by firelight for a good while. He quietly wipes the blood from his hands, and then blinks the ache from his eyes with a sigh.

"Now what?" Gwaine questions from beside him.

"Now we wait," he answers, pulling himself to his feet, while stretching the tension from his shoulders. Percival lets his eyes glance over at the other knight before motioning towards the empty water skins that lay discarded nearby, "We need water," he says seriously, "There's little left for our consumption and that alone is a problem, but without more, we cannot wash and treat the wounds properly. As it stands it is likely that infection will set in."

"Then I'll ride come first light to the nearest water source," Arthur's voice announces from behind them.

"Then, if you'll let me, I will join you sire," Percival offers, turning to face the prince.

"As will I," Lancelot asserts.

Arthur nods in concurrence, "It's settled then. The three of us will ride out tomorrow, all the rest of you can stay and guard the camp. Until then, however, we will need to ration what little water we have left; we'll have to drink sparingly."

Arthur stood for a moment, watching as the rest of the men set about their various tasks, his eyes wandered aimlessly until falling on the prone figure a few meters away. Every time he caught sight of the familiar pale skin, a lump would form in his throat as he barely resisted the intense pull that beckoned him to venture closer. He bravely takes one step forward before he tears his eyes away wretchedly and stalks over to the other side of the fire. With a frustrated groan Arthur sits down, his eyes sliding over to Merlin once more. This time, the servant was but a silhouette against the light of the dancing flames. While observing, the young royal feels a small pang of envy rear up as Gwaine positions himself next to Merlin and quietly initiates a one-sided conversation with the unresponsive boy. 'I'll fix this,' Arthur vows to his servant silently, 'I swear.'

~~~~~~~~MERLIN~~~~~~~~

AN: Ok, so I totally hate the illustration in this chapter *gag* it just wouldn't cooperate with me and turned out kinda wonky *sigh* oh well :P