Author's Note- So sorry for the long wait between updates! I'm doing my best, but it's finals season, and that takes precedence, as you may imagine.
Many thanks to everyone who has favorited, followed, and especially reviewed! I'm new to the world of writing fan fiction, and it's a huge encouragement to me. Please keep it coming and let me know how I'm doing, I only want to improve! Thanks for reading!
Merlin was huddled just below the surface of himself, held fast by the thick tar of unconsciousness. He was bone weary, unable even to think, to remember what had happened. He could feel the world moving around him, moving him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. For now, he would stay here, underneath himself, resting.
He could hear voices around him, unrecognizable at first, then Leon, Arthur, Gwaine. There were hands touching him, not unkindly. All he could see was the foggy gray nothingness surrounding him for miles, and he thought maybe there should be something else, but he couldn't remember if there ever had been, or if it had always been like this.
He went along this way, listening, the sounds growing sharper around him but still unable to move. He could feel himself set into a cart and felt someone crawl in next to him, and then it was quiet, save for the sounds of what he now remembered to be Arthur and his men moving around him.
There was a hard thud, and Merlin felt himself bounce a bit in the cart, and the pain from his head hitting the wood was enough to jolt him, shake him from the thick. Now he remembered. He had seen Arthur die, seen his friends die, and he had used magic. Stronger than he'd thought he was capable of, stronger even than he knew was possible. He had opened the doors to the next world and allowed this one to draw his friends back out. But the world demanded a ransom, and he had been pulled under, nearly pulled through. But he was here now.
Someone moved him; gently, with care and rough, calloused hands. Not Arthur, nor Percival, but other than that, Merlin couldn't tell. He was back in himself now, no longer hiding or huddling. He was cold, as he'd never been before, down to his bones, as though his body couldn't quite bring itself to circulate his blood just yet. He grimaced as he felt the ache, deeper than the cold. The only explanation he could think of was the magic, the way the earth had taken hold of him and used him until he nearly was no more.
He managed to force his eyes open, but they wouldn't cooperate, wouldn't focus. He could see the green of the trees above him, and blue sky. Dark, shaggy hair to his right. Gwaine. Merlin saw more clearly now with something to look at, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him. Gwaine was fine, Arthur was fine. Everyone was all right, and he was alive.
Then the news that Arthur had seen him do magic, that he knew the secret Merlin had worked so hard to keep, struck him like a ton of bricks. Everything he had done, his very destiny itself, was now for naught.
Tears welled up in his eyes, and although Gwaine reached down to comfort him, Merlin had never felt so lost, so very alone, in his life.
Merlin could think of nothing in these moments but the life he'd had, the people he cared for. He wanted to live, to see Gaius, Gwen, his mother, anyone again. Perhaps he would; perhaps Arthur would keep him in the dungeons for some time before burning him, but he knew he would be burned.
At last, unconsciousness took him again, and he welcomed it as it welcomed him.
They reached Camelot just before dusk, having hardly stopped for more than a moment, to feed the horses or drink a bit of water. The entire campaign, regardless of whether they had witnessed the event, now knew that Merlin, Arthur's personal servant, had used magic. And not just any magic, but the most powerful magic anyone had seen. The king was quiet on his mount, speaking no more than necessary to get them where they were going safely.
As his men disbursed, Arthur waited behind, nodding to Leon and Percival. This was a matter that needed to be dealt with privately. They met Gwaine, who looked stiff and surly.
"Did he wake at all?" Arthur asked. Merlin was still limp and pale, laying unmoving in the cart. Gwaine paused.
"For a moment, sire, but not long enough for me to alert you." He figured a small white lie wouldn't hurt; after all, Merlin had only woken the one time, and hadn't done anything but ask whether the men were all right. Arthur said nothing in response, but moved to pull Merlin from where he lay. Percival helped him, soon had Merlin over his shoulder, and looked to Arthur.
It took a long moment. Arthur hadn't actually decided whether he would be taking Merlin to Gaius' chambers, or to the dungeons, but now he had to make a decision.
"Bring him down to the dungeons. He may not be awake now, but he could be dangers when he regains consciousness."
If he noticed the discomfort of his men, he said nothing, only led the way. When they reached the entrance, he looked to Leon.
"Go and fetch Gaius, tell him that he must do everything in his power to ensure Merlin's full recovery. It is a matter of the safety of your king." Arthur looked at Merlin, slung over Percival's shoulder. "Tell him nothing else. I will explain, if need be."
With that, they made their way into the dark halls of the dungeons. Arthur selected an open cell near the entrance. They lay Merlin down onto the wooden bench, and Arthur bent to examine him. He hadn't looked as closely as he should have before, but it seemed to him that Merlin's breathing was stronger now. His skin was still cool to the touch, but not as deathly cold as it had been. This comforted Arthur; he didn't want Merlin to suffer. If, in the end, he found he did need to execute his manservant, it would be in as humane a way as possible.
They sat in silence for long minutes, Arthur unable to take his eyes off of Merlin's still form. He was silent on the outside, and tearing apart on the inside. He wanted Merlin awake, so he could question him, find out how he could hide such a thing as sorcery from him for so long. Another part of him wanted Merlin to stay asleep, to stay out of Arthur's grasp, and leave him alone with the devastation and betrayal. After all, could there truly be any answer, any excuse for such a thing? For now, Arthur would not know the answer. King or not, he would simply have to sit and wait.