Disclaimer: Merlin is not mine.

Guinevere yelled for a while.

Arthur wasn't surprised. She hadn't been sleeping anymore than Arthur had since they had made the decision to call Merlin home, she was spending a great deal of time in the physician's chambers, watching Gaius waste away as his pseudo-son was presumably in transit, facing the same unspoken pressures and questions by everyone even slightly concerned about the advancement of the royal geneaology, and she had not been informed of Merlin's return by either of the men who should have made it a priority to make sure that she knew. This was just the feather that broke the griffin's back.

Which really was Merlin's fault, Arthur thought absently as he tried to look both very repentant and very interested as Guinevere threw scathing remark after scathing remark in his—his!—direction. After all, if Merlin hadn't decided to come crashing into the castle, probably making as much noise as was physically possible, and walked into a room filled with people who had not been expecting his return and loved a good day of gossip, he and Arthur could have taken a calm little jaunt up to her chambers to make sure that she was privy to their mature discussion of the causes for Merlin's return.

Mature discussion…

Maybe it was best that she hadn't been there for the first few minutes.

Arthur decided that he might not make that argument until she was calmer. Or on her deathbed in eighty or ninety years and probably with other things on her mind and would be likely to overlook this indiscretion. Or he'd already be dead and wouldn't have to deal with it at all. That would be a lucky break!

Arthur shook his head, wanting to rid himself of any thoughts of Guinevere's inevitable death. It seemed to be a well-timed shake of the head, for Guinevere seemed to interpret it as a head shake of ultimate apology. Taking a deep breath, presumably to compensate for the way in which she had taken advantage of every iota of air in her lungs so as to yell at him uninterrupted for as long as possible, she asked sternly, "And what do you have to say for yourself?"

Arthur took it as a good sign that she sounded as though she had exhausted herself with the initial rant. It would hopefully lessen the scolding that he would get when she found out that he hadn't spoken to Merlin about any of the more important issues at hand.

So Arthur answered, very simply and truthfully, "I'm sorry."

Realizing himself that this sounded awfully inadequate for such a serious subject, he hastily followed it with a few details, if only to show that he had been listening. Or knew her well enough to know what he was in trouble for without having to listen.

"I'm sorry that neither I nor Merlin came to see you immediately after he came in. You deserved to know. Merlin and I know that."

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Merlin glaring at him and knew why. Arthur had specifically mentioned Merlin twice in the latter half of his apology in the rather obvious hope that the queen would remember that the king was not the only one at fault for her ignorance of the situation as it had unfolded.

And it worked.

And it took almost all of Arthur's discipline as a warrior not to punch his fist in the air in victory.

And it took surprisingly little mental effort to convince himself that that would have been a natural and not at all childish reaction to throwing another man who—if not exactly a bosom friend at the moment—was at the least not an enemy in front of the metaphorical horses to be trampled by the hooves of his wife's anger.

Now that was a metaphor. If the situation hadn't been so tense, Arthur would have shared it with the others in the room. It was certainly worth another punch in the air. And they thought his grasp on language was unsophisticated!

But at that moment, he didn't care too much about his language. It was Guinevere's, as she was surer to hurl it at Merlin, that Arthur was interested in. He'd gotten his tongue-lashing. Now it was Merlin's turn. It would be nice to see Merlin yelled at. Not only did he deserve it just as much as Arthur in this particular instance, but Arthur would feel like less of a spoiled grudge-holder by not being the only one to fly off the handle at seeing him again. Yes, it would be nice to see Merlin yelled at by Guinevere. As she turned to face him, Arthur was pleased to see Merlin instinctively back a few steps away. At least he would be prepared. This would be vicious, and Arthur was thrilled.

So it was with extreme disappointment that he saw Guinevere's angry countenance melt into something far too close to welcome for the single instant that her face was clearly visible before she ran forward, tripping slightly on the long hem of her gown, and all but fell into him, hugging him as though he would crumble away and disappear unless she held him together.

Well, wasn't that just the sweetest damn thing to have ever happened in the history of ever.

This was so unfair.

After a few moments, in which Merlin had to steady himself so as to avoid falling from the momentum of her hug, absorb it, and then enjoy it with as much detachment as possible, Merlin looked over Guinevere's shoulder and smiled with a sort of friendly triumph on his face at Arthur, who scowled. He didn't see that there was any real reason for Merlin to be so smug about it. If Arthur had been missing for six months, he probably would have gotten a hug too! Absence tended to make the heart abnormally fond when the absent party was presumably off dying a horrible death in squalor somewhere. To Guinevere, at least.

But then Guinevere began to cry and all of the satisfaction drained from Merlin's face, which grew softer and more tender than most people had ever seen it, and Arthur felt his own face soften as well. It was one thing to know that Guinevere and Merlin had been such good friends, to understand that she had been the one slipping him most of his contraband comforts during his stint in prison, to remember that they had been close with one another long before Arthur had had much more than an inkling of vague affection for either of them. Yes, it was easy to remember the facts of their relationship.

Seeing it was a whole other issue. It was just like Merlin's magic. Perhaps this was a whole other type of magic. There was such unadulterated pain and sadness and happiness and relief audible in Guinevere's distinctly unqueenly sobs that Merlin's mask fell almost immediately. They were just…glad to see each other. Merlin closed his eyes.

So it was in a rare moment of self-awareness and propriety that Arthur turned away and gave them their moment with as much privacy as could be afforded in their current situation.

Unfortunately, it seemed that they required more than just that one moment that Arthur was able to so selflessly give up to their reunion. But what was he going to do? Interrupt them? Merlin could blast him into a million pieces if he wanted to and Guinevere could…well, Arthur didn't like to think what Guinevere could do to him if she wanted to. He'd rather face the blasting into a million pieces.

So they were uninterrupted as Guinevere cried onto Merlin's chest for such a long time that Arthur both began to grow bored and to wonder if Merlin had brought a spare neckerchief with him on the dragon, because Guinevere was certainly making a mess of the one that he was wearing.

Finally, they separated. Guinevere backed a few steps away from Merlin, but kept a tight grip on his shirt with both hands, as though she was afraid that he would run away and out of their lives again unless she held onto him with all the strength she could muster. Or perhaps she just needed someone to help her stay on her feet. But, red eyes and runny nose and blotchy face, she looked beautiful in her exhausted relief.

When Merlin looked up again at Arthur over Guinevere's head, Arthur saw that Guinevere's were not the only red eyes in the room. Arthur swore under his breath. There was no way that he could make fun of Merlin for crying when his own wife had probably just wept out the majority of her bodily fluids in front of him.

And perhaps there was another reason why Arthur could not bring himself to tease Merlin for the emotional release that he had just witnessed with so very much suppressed impropriety. Perhaps there was another reason…

But that didn't matter. Not now.

Merlin nodded at Arthur, perhaps reading in the king's expression that these past twenty minutes or so since his return had not been a portion of time allotted for tearful and unexpected greetings. Perhaps he sensed that his various welcomes had merely been a prelude to an explanation as to his summons back to court. Merlin had always had something of an annoying ability to read Arthur's face. And mood.

Which nonetheless never seemed to stop Merlin from being aggravating. Good mood, bad mood, impatient mood…Merlin was always ready to annoy him in some fashion.

Although Arthur supposed he ought to commend the young man for his consistency.

But this was not the time for commendations. Certainly not to Merlin. Plans for fortification and renovations aside, the destruction—even if only partial—of his council chambers was never an event that Arthur would be willing to discuss with any compliments toward the destructor.

Also, there were maybe more important things to talk about.

More important, but far less appealing.

But the important topic unfortunately had a time limit, so Arthur supposed that he should focus on that one rather than casting about for smaller areas of conversation. He could do that. He could broach this subject with Merlin. He was king! Arthur could do anything.

"So…the eastern coast. Good weather over there?"

Ease into the subject. Transition. That was the way to do it. What kind of man would sloppily bring up a completely random topic like Gaius' looming mortality? Just a nice gradual slide in that general direction would do just fine. It was the polite thing to do.

Guinevere seemed less impressed. As did Merlin, who, acting as Arthur's shadow for nearly seven years, knew damn well when the king was hedging. When his wife turned around and raised an eyebrow in suspicion tinged with more than a little bit of judgment, it was almost eerie how similar her expression was to Merlin's.

Merlin's back for half an hour and already they were teaming up against him!

Guinevere half turned all the way around, as though prepared to storm back over to Arthur, but stopped to look back up into Merlin's face. Arthur could see the wrinkles around her fists on the fabric of Merlin's shirt becoming more and more pronounced, and he knew that she did not want to let go. So Merlin raised a hand to her cheek, looked into her eyes, and smiled at her with the sort of unadulterated friendship that Arthur always turned away from. From what Arthur could see of their profiles, Guinevere closed her eyes for a moment before looking deeply back into Merlin's. She then took a deep breath, let go of Merlin's shirt and smoothed out the wrinkles with an endearingly maternal air, and turned to face her husband with a look of strange calm upon her face.

Damn Merlin and his sorcerous ways!

Or his understanding of the intricacies and importance of expression of friendship. That was another possibility.

But no less frustrating. It always bothered Arthur when Merlin had such a firm grasp on a skill with which he struggled, whether it was magic or basic reasoning skills or emotional openness. For all of the years of training with the best minds and hands available in the kingdom that should have left Arthur as the most well-rounded man in Camelot, he had learned over the past decade or so that there were some qualities that just could not be taught. And why did they have to be such important qualities?

Or, at the very least, useful qualities. Judging by the look on Guinevere's face as she walked purposefully back to Arthur, she had a useful phrase or two up her sleeve, and Arthur mentally winced, a comfortingly familiar feeling in his brain.

"Arthur." Her voice certainly was firm.

"Guinevere." It was only after her eyes, still red and puffy, regained their steely glint that Arthur supposed that adopting his lofty King Voice was not the best choice in this scenario. Judging from the laugh that he heard coming from Merlin's direction—he dared not break his gaze from Guinevere's and look—Merlin agreed.

"Arthur, shouldn't you be behaving a little more sympathetically right now?"

Guinevere's expression, Arthur suddenly realized, was not angry. It was…urgent. Significant. Almost pleading, a look that he so very rarely saw on her face. Arthur couldn't see why. He'd been plenty sympathetic and comparatively effusive in his apologies to her, and his inquiry about the weather on the eastern coast hadn't exactly been an insult that had cut to the bone. Why the hell should he be sympathetic to anyone just now? He'd been yelled at and mocked and dust from the ceiling was beginning to trickle down into his hair. Hell, why should he be amenable? Guinevere had basically given up on trying to improve his manners by this point in their marriage, so why was she lecturing him now? Banishment and recalling aside, she had to understand that Arthur would never exactly be putting on his helmet of politeness every time he spoke to Merlin. Why should he treat him any differently now, when it seemed as though nothing had changed?

And then Arthur realized, and he felt very ashamed. "Guinevere, there's something that may not have occurred to you."

Seeming to pick up on the traces of self-loathing in his voice, Guinevere's face softened. "What do you mean?"

Arthur took a deep breath. This was not going to go over well with any of the three of them. He was ashamed, Guinevere would be angry, Merlin's heart would break into so many pieces that the framework of the council room would seem downright stable…this was not going to go well.

But it had to come out.

"Guinevere, Merlin does not exactly know why he was called back."

Over the queen's shoulder, Arthur saw Merlin's face twist from an expression of amused curiosity to one of startled alarm. The deep unhappiness and blood rushing to Arthur's face had not gone unnoticed, and Merlin began to stride silently toward them. Arthur gave an involuntary shudder. This was terrible, this telling, this story that would mean that Arthur had to face it as well as Merlin, this moment of truth that would be so awful in so many ways…

Guinevere's face contained no trace of dread, however, and Arthur knew why. She would much rather be mad at him than have to aim the words that no one wanted to speak at Merlin. So he understood her anger, more exaggerated than would be typical.

"You didn't tell him why you were calling him back?"

Arthur felt himself began to rile and hoped that she could understand as well. He felt this as deeply as she did, and there was no one in the five kingdoms who would argue for Arthur's emotional stability. "I was waiting for you so that we could do it together!"

"You're a liar, Arthur Pendragon! You just didn't want to do it yourself! I wrote the damn letter and you couldn't break the damn news?"

She was swearing. That was not a good sign. She rarely swore.

Then a thought occurred to Arthur, and he almost smiled in grim satisfaction as he went on the offensive. "You didn't tell him in the letter why he was coming back?"

She put her hands on her hips. Merlin appeared, ghost-like, behind her, but Arthur did not look at him. "I didn't want him to kill himself riding back! What use would he be if he broke his neck or killed his horse by riding her to death?"

Merlin gave a sort of twitch in the background, and Arthur knew in the back of his mind that Guinevere's question of "what use he would be?" had not gone unnoticed.

Which, for some bizarre reason, just served to infuriate Arthur all the more.

"What the hell did you tell him? Did you send him an invitation to the tallest flower competition that you're so eager to hold?"

Guinevere, for the first time, averted her eyes. "Just that there was a pressing situation and that we could use his help as soon as possible. Which was true!"

Arthur, despite himself, was aghast. And they said that he knew how to hedge around a topic!

"Guinevere!"

Her voice began to grow high-pitched in defensiveness, a trait that she claimed that she had picked up from him. "He would have ridden himself half to death getting here if he knew. At least half to death! How would that have helped?"

But Arthur's voice was low and terrible. Perhaps if he shouted more and more loudly he wouldn't have to hear to voice in his head telling him that delaying would just make it all the worse…"It's not Merlin who we should be worrying about dying here, Guinevere!"

Merlin gave another twitch, and this time, he spoke. His voice was quiet, but so firm and absolute that the yelling stopped immediately. It was such an unnerving situation…so much authority in every syllable from Merlin…

"What's going on? Someone needs to tell me. Now."

There was a pause in which both king and queen looked uncertainly at the banished former servant. And Arthur took the coward's route and directed himself once more at his wife, knowing what he was doing and hating himself for it.

"He needed to be here. He needs to be here!"

Guinevere was apparently more than happy to follow Arthur's train of thought. Why did this have to be Merlin, of all people?

"He is here!"

Arthur shook his head vehemently. "But he deserved to know why! This wasn't our choice to make, Guinevere!"

"Am I going to have to light the room on fire?" Merlin muttered tiredly, but seemed resigned to letting them hash this out before telling him what it concerned.

Guinevere continued as though she hadn't heard him. Maybe she hadn't. Maybe her breath was pounding as deafeningly in her ears as Arthur's was. "No, it wasn't our choice! It's never been our choice! But we made it our responsibility the moment that we decided to ignore Gaius' wishes and bring him home. It is on our shoulders, Arthur, yours and mine."

Arthur took a pause to gather his thoughts to figure out how to answer her.

An instant later, he wished that he hadn't.

Merlin took advantage of the opportunity to bring himself firmly into the conversation. His determination to let them have it out seemed to have vanished the moment that they had referred to Gaius with such desperation.

"Gaius?"

This time, all of the firmness and steadiness and assured authority were completely absent from Merlin's voice. He sounded…young.

And at that moment, Arthur regained his courage and his strength and his resolve. What was that that Merlin had called them, all those months ago? Two sides of the same coin? Well, if Merlin beginning to doubt and fear and show such dread in his eyes, Arthur could find his strength again. Balance. That's what was important. If one was weak, the other must be strong. If one lacked, the other had to share. If one was wounded, the other shared a shoulder. If one was on the verge of losing something so very dear to his heart, the other had to be willing to take up the responsibility of filling that void. Hadnt that been what happened when Uther had died? One half cannot hate one that makes it whole…had Merlin said that too? Or was it one of those things that Arthur had always known somewhere in the back of his resistant mind but never put into words until he'd taken the time to think about it? Did it matter? It was true.

Balance.

Extremes.

One half could not hate that which made it whole.

It takes two halves to make a whole.

It takes strength and weakness and fear and bravery and uncertainty and conviction and irrationality and logic and caution and recklessness and love and loathing and everything opposite and identical…it takes balance. And Arthur knew it.

So Arthur, his heart swelling in his chest and his backbone straightening and his eyes raising to meet Merlin's, which were bright with fear of what he was asking of Gaius, and he opened his mouth to give an answer that no one wanted to be true but everyone needed to be said.

Arthur took a deep breath and said three words, and even he heard the sympathy and bizarrely uncharacteristic softness in his voice.

"He's sick, Merlin."

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Sorry for the super long delay! Real life intruded. Anyway, I said last time that I had split a chapter into two parts because I started rambling on the first. Well, I did it again. The planned chapter was still going long, so it's going to be in three parts now. Old habits die hard when it comes to fanfiction, I guess, but it just felt good to be writing again.

Part 3 of the chapter should come much more quickly. I already have most of the dialogue written, I just have to fill in the blanks, so to speak.

Reviews are always appreciated!