There was a loaded silence after Merlin's declaration, then Gwaine rushed into the breach, springing to his feet then crouching in one swift action beside Merlin. "Merlin, you're talking nonsense, you have a fever." The knight pressed the palm of his hand against Merlin's temple as his hard stare around the campfire dared anyone to accept his challenge. "Ignore him, he's delirious. He's not well."
The druids were also on their feet now, and so were Leon and Percival. Gwaine seemed ready to draw his sword, and only Arthur hadn't seemed to react, Leon and Percival's uncertainty turning to confusion.
Leon looked from Merlin, to Arthur, to the druid, then to Merlin again. "Merlin, you said … what did you say? Arthoo … Arthoosa?"
"Stand down." Arthur's mouth was grim, his tone firm. This wasn't happening, not now. "That's an order. Leon, Percival, Gwaine, sit back down."
He waited impatiently and when they obeyed, a half dozen quick strides took him around the campfire to Merlin who was still lying half prone against the log. Arthur took a deep breath, forcing down his anger. He ignored Gwaine's bristling, hunkering down to repeat the knight's actions and laying his own hand against Merlin's forehead.
There was a tight silence before Arthur exploded. "Damn it to hell, Merlin. You shouldn't have come with us!"
"Sire?" Leon questioned.
Arthur spun around, yanking Merlin's backpack closer to the fire into the light, and unbuckling its straps. "Gwaine's right, he's burning up," he said tersely, and if Arthur hadn't already suspected that Gwaine knew something, then the obvious lessening of the knight's tension at his statement excusing Merlin's claim only confirmed Arthur's suspicions. Arthur gritted his teeth and rummaged through the pack with sharp, jerky movements, losing patience quickly when he couldn't find what he was looking for and upending Merlin's pack over the damp ground.
"Arthur …?"
It was voiced softly, but Arthur didn't want to look at his manservant. He was angry, and he wanted his anger to be justifiable for simple reasons: that Merlin was jeopardising their mission because hewas clearly ill, he was burning up and hence talking nonsense.
Yet Arthur was fully aware that a large part of the repressed fury that had simmered in his gut since the world had changed scant days ago was because no matter what, he still cared about the sorcerer half lying on the ground in front of him. And caring about a sorcerer was never something he thought he'd ever do: magic was at best vaguely distasteful and unpleasant, but at worst an evil hiding in the shadows. It wasn't, and it shouldn't, be Merlin. Yet it was.
"Arthur?"
Merlin might not be the man he thought he knew, but in his persistence at least he was ever constant. Arthur turned, meeting his manservant's gaze in brief acknowledgement. Merlin's eyes were slightly unfocussed, fever-bright, and he'd extracted one arm from his nest of blankets, and was scratching his fingers against the back of his head.
Arthur forced himself to glance away, busying himself sorting through the mess of small satchels and containers on the ground. "You're sick, you idiot," he said shortly. "We need to get your temperature down and get you back to Gaius."
Arthur found what he was searching for, a small pouch which he knew was powdered willow bark. He looked up, and found Gwaine. "Here." He thrust the pouch into the knight's hand. "Mix a dose as a tea."
"King Arthur?" There was movement at Arthur's side and he spared a glance at the druids: both had shifted closer without him noticing, and Iseldir crouched down beside Merlin, clearly worried. "King Arthur, he's bleeding."
And he was: Arthur didn't know how he'd missed it before. Merlin's hand had dropped back to his side and the tips of his fingers were smeared with crimson blood.
The druid crouched down beside them both. "Emr, uh, Merlin." He placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "You're bleeding, Merlin."
Merlin's gaze returned to the ground. "Yes," he said. "I know."
Iseldir shot a glance Arthur's way before returning his attention to Merlin. "Can I help you?"
Merlin shook his head slightly, wincing at the movement. "I tried. Nothing works."
Was this an obscure reference to magic? A shiver ran down Arthur's spine, and as if sensing Arthur's discomfort the druid shifted uneasily before he said, "Will you let me see? Turn towards the fire, to the light." Iseldir turned him carefully, his fingers working deftly to remove the bandage. He shook his head. "You've been spelled, Merlin," he said, shooting another troubled glance at Arthur, and the younger druid peered around to frown at the wound too.
Lorien breathed quietly, dismayed, "Is it a gescendp spell, father? I've never seen one like that, but the shimmer is there. See it?" His fingers traced a thin, glossy line of silver across Merlin's head. "It's a dull grey until it catches the light. It has to be."
Before Iseldir could respond, Merlin answered calmly, "Yes, Gaius thought so too."
Arthur asked before Gwaine could voice the same question, "And what the hell is that?"
Iseldir began to replace the bandage. "It's a spell of illusion, of confusion."
Gwaine asked, "And what exactly does it mean?" He crouched beside Merlin, handing him the willow bark tea.
The druid's eyes flicked across to the knight before he continued his calm winding of the bandage. "It means he may be confused."
Gwaine snorted his disgust at that answer. "Helpful, thanks. He'll recover soon, won't he? Are you all right, Merlin?"
"I'm okay. Just a bit, well. You know." He shifted, swapping the steaming mug of willow bark from one hand to the other.
"We don't though, Merlin," Percival said. "Tell us."
Merlin hesitated. "All right, then." He said, slowly, "I can't remember events, or situations properly, it comes and goes. I think back to last week, last month, longer, and it's there, but it's not all there, and I don't know what I'm missing. And I feel uneasy when you call me Merlin, because it seems … it seems not quite right."
He added calmly, "But I remember everything about the prophecies ... my, uh." His expression slipped into confusion for just a moment, and he stumbled to a halt. "But, um, the spell will fade, won't it Iseldir? I'll remember everything again, eventually."
Iseldir was grave. "I cannot say, Merlin. It's not a spell that's meant to be cast into the blood." He shared a significant look with his son then his gaze switched to Arthur. "King Arthur, if Merlin is agreeable, I seek your permission to take him back to our healer. Your knight," and he nodded his head at Leon, "may recall our healing prowess. Merlin can stay with us for a few days and when he recovers, we'll escort him back to the boundaries of Camelot."
"No." Arthur's refusal was automatic. Even if Merlin was … what he was … the idea of entrusting his care to druids was not something Arthur was comfortable with. And the threat of Morgana's army was too near. "Our physician has already examined him. We're returning to Camelot at first light. He'll travel with us."
"Arthur." Merlin struggled to stand, pushing himself up on the log with one hand while he held the mug in the other.
Arthur grabbed hold of him as he swayed. "Merlin, you idiot. Sit back down. Drink the willow bark."
Merlin resisted. "I don't need a healer, or a physician." But the pinched discomfort on his face was obvious in the glow from the fire, and he didn't seem to be aware that he was allowing Arthur to support most of his weight. He swayed again, his head ducked as he turned away, and it was only because Arthur bent down to sling one of Merlin's arms across his shoulder that he noticed his manservant's eyes flicker momentarily to gold as he murmured something indistinct.
Arthur's heart jumped, and then beat frantically in his chest, his grip tightened involuntarily around Merlin and he couldn't stop the quickly stifled hiss of escaping breath.
Merlin seemed to find his feet again, and Arthur went cold all over. And then Gwaine was there, and Arthur allowed himself to surrender his grip.
"Merlin, sit." By the faint note of alarm in Gwaine's tone, Arthur knew the knight suspected something, but after a hurried glance at the druids and the other knights Arthur was sure no one else had seen.
Gwaine said with forced cheer, "It's a miracle you haven't spilled the tea. Come on, drink, now."
Sitting on the log, Merlin raised his head and Arthur was sure he wasn't imagining the sharp lines of pain had eased to a degree on Merlin's face. Obediently, Merlin took an experimental sip, then made a face. "The dosage is too strong, Gwaine. I can take some, but it thins the blood and with this," he touched his head lightly, "the tea needs to be weak. Otherwise it may bleed too much again."
Arthur hardly heard their interaction as he tried to swallow down his shock. Merlin had used magic again. And so subtly and with such quick ease too, as if it was something he did every day. Arthur shivered, staring without seeing into the deepening shadows of the surrounding forest, into the night. A king cannot turn a blind eye forever. There'd never be a pyre, he'd known that straight away, but could he ever be comfortable with this? Could he ever accept it? His thoughts were in turmoil and he didn't know their end.
"Sire?" Leon's tone indicated it wasn't the first time he'd voiced Arthur's name, and Arthur came back to the present. He couldn't do this, not now, not with Morgana out there.
"Be ready to leave at first light."
But Arthur's command almost went unheard as another cowled figure burst without warning from the trees.
"Iseldir, My Lord, I apologise for the intrusion but please, you must come at once!" This druid was just a young boy, Arthur realised immediately. The child was holding his side, and he gasped for breath, panting. "Please, hurry, our camp is under attack. Come now, there's a dragon!"
