A/N: First of all, can I just say that I spent the second half of "The Hollow Queen" with my eyes bugging out of my head? Gahh! Props to Colin-as a fellow actor, I know some actions feel absolutely ridiculous when you're doing them, even when they turn out great onscreen. Sometimes I watch more as a performer than a fan...:sheepish grin::
That being said, here we are wrapping things up! I'm glad I let is sit a few days before checking it over again; let's me be much less writing-conscious. Maybe it'll teach me to better trust at least some flash impulses (note to self, this does not include those that occur while shopping)! Thanks for reading ^-^
Pain. Waves of penetrating, all-consuming pain. He felt like he was losing his mind to it. It wormed around inside him and fed until surely there must be nothing left. Then still it went on. His whole being convulsed with it.
Merlin knew the voices floating outside the pain, though he couldn't place them. If only he could break through this suffocating entrapment. He remembered something about trouble, Arthur being in trouble. The prince! He had to find the prince. Someone wanted information out of him. Secrets—ones they were willing to hurt for. That they had hurt for. An image of Arthur beaten and bloody flashed in his mind. No, he had to save him!
The source of the pain stopped, though he hardly noticed it for the resounding echoes it left behind. He had no sense of his surroundings, or even his own body. Nothing but pain. But there was an absence…some kind of void that only his spirit could detect. Magic. Whoever had been nearby with magic, they were now gone.
Muted shuffling reached his ears. Someone else, not magical, coming very close. On instinct, Merlin reached out to the nearest object of any substance. The newcomer tripped over it and fell against the wall. Merlin let another tall, hard, something fall across the person's head for good measure.
A cell door swam across his vision, or maybe it was just his imagination. He mumbled the spell for unlocking it. Between the effort for magic and the ever-present pain, he almost lost consciousness. One of the familiar voices from earlier spoke again, however, keeping him anchored. Strong, friendly hands gripped him. His weight stopped pulling at his shoulders so awkwardly.
Arthur… It seems one of them found the other after all.
"Leave me, Arthur…" Merlin rasped. He was surprised the words were actually audible.
"Sorry, can't do that." Definitely Arthur. Merlin had never been so relieved to hear the prince speak, even if his voice carried its own strain. They started an ungainly journey…somewhere.
More images of Arthur bloody, Arthur in pain, surfaced through his muddled senses. "You're badly hurt…I'll just slow you down…" No sense jeopardizing the future king's chances of getting to safety. He, Merlin, was expendable in the end…
"I'm not leaving you behind. You certainly didn't leave me, although I ordered you to."
"Well, there's sort of a duty to one's master that frowns upon that," Merlin quipped, vaguely sensing an upturn in his tacky lips. And an overpowering coppery taste. Close to his ear, Arthur chuckled as well.
"And why would I get rid of such a model servant? Shut up and come on."
This was all becoming too much. Why couldn't he just float away in the pain and not bother anymore? Why were they in this position, again? Everything felt so heavy…if only he could convince his body to stop moving and lie down…
"Oh, no you don't. I need you to stay with me, Merlin, you hear? Stay awake! I can't drag both of us back to Camelot like this."
Merlin didn't have the energy left to respond one way or the other. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, step after step after agonizing step. Such movement rekindled the pain deep inside him, so that it threatened to become his whole world once more. Only Arthur's occasional grunts and wry comments about 'nobles carrying their own servants' kept him from drifting away in his head.
At some point, the air turned drier, cooler, less stuffy. He really couldn't care less. This was just like the pain, waiting for it all to blur into nothingness, unable to affect it in the slightest. A light, pleasant rustling sound filled in the edges around his little world. Maybe this more peaceful change could carry him to oblivion.
Suddenly a quiet clamor of voices drowned out the rustling. He thought he heard Gwen…no, she shouldn't be here. His awareness rocked this way and that as hands—though not rough—guided his strangely detached body around a world he couldn't see. He was lifted, and then a burst of new pain and bucking surroundings finally pushed him over the edge of the looming darkness.
Things couldn't be more different the next he knew. The pain, while still present, was more of a dull, reverberating background. He was at last lying down, cocooned between a firm surface and a soft, warm covering. Someone situated his head on an object he could hardly guess. Knuckles gently rubbed into his chest.
"Merlin? You're safe now. We're well inside Camelot's lands. It would help us a great deal if you had some of this," said another familiar voice. One that he hadn't expected to hear.
Something solid touched his glue-like lips. It produced cool, refreshing liquid, which Merlin was glad of. He took enough to clear his mouth of the awful sticky-dryness. Now if he could just go back to being disconnected from everything, forever…
Again his entire world changed by the time he returned to the surface. A swirling cacophony of fragrances took the place of fresh, open air. But they reassured him somehow. He was bundled up in almost stifling warmth, and the pain had settled down into more of a fading ache. It no longer reached every corner of his being. And somewhere just beyond his immediate awareness, something stirred.
Merlin opened his eyes. He was staring at the ceiling of his own room in Camelot, swathed in bedclothes and blankets. Soft morning sunlight filtered in the window. His door was not quite closed, letting in the sounds of movement on the other side. He found getting to his feet wasn't too difficult.
A sandy haired, barrel-chested figure stood near the cot in the main chamber. Bandages covered his entire otherwise bare torso. A few lingering marks strayed out from under the fabric. The left hand was bound flat to a piece of wood.
"I see you're still in one piece," Merlin croaked.
Arthur spun on his heel, immediately suppressing a wince. The lingering shadows of sickness…and something else…hung around his eyes. "Merlin! And here I thought you were going to play Sleeping Beauty until we all went grey. You should see the state my chambers are in. That's the thanks I get for dragging you out of captivity, I suppose." But his grin betrayed honest relief all the same.
"You caught me," shrugged Merlin. He accepted the cup of water Arthur proffered. "To tell you the truth, playing possum gets rather boring. Much more fun taking the mickey out of you."
"Is that so? We'll see who's taking it out of whom soon enough."
Though his voice joked, Arthur's light-hearted attitude didn't seem to reach all of him. Merlin sensed a tension he'd never seen in the prince before—dare he say it, a fear? But he had seen it in other people. People who had been caged, attacked, left to feel utterly vulnerable by forces they couldn't control. As a young and largely successful campaigner, Arthur Pendragon had never—to Merlin's knowledge, anyway—been in such a position.
His thoughts were interrupted by Gaius' entrance. The old physician did a short double-take when he realized Merlin was standing there, sock-footed and wrapped in a blanket.
"Merlin! I didn't expect you to be out of bed. You've been unconscious for days," he blustered.
"Morgause laid me out pretty well, yeah. Seems to have finally worn off," replied Merlin.
Arthur stared at him for a moment. "So you remember what happened?"
"Yeah, now that I'm not mad with pure agony. Camelot was too far to go back for help on foot, and we'd snuck into Fyrien before…sorry I botched that up, by the way."
Arthur mugged his famous 'oh really, Merlin' face.
"Anyway, we couldn't give her what she wanted, no matter the cost. I was willing to follow you to the end," Merlin assured the prince.
"Well, you can rest easy on that," said Gaius. "Arthur says neither of you gave up anything. The kingdom is grateful, whether they know it or not. Now, we'd best get to your treatment, Sire. Your father won't want you to be late for council."
The court physician carefully took a pair of shears to the bandages covering Arthur's torso. When they fell away, Merlin involuntarily sat on the nearest bench. The prince's entire back was a lacework of mottled stripes and shiny burns. A few looked to have been slowed in healing by infection, hence his peaked appearance. Most of the bruises were receding, but they highlighted the pink scars with yellow and green tints. He sat still while Gaius gently washed, then applied ointment to the vast area. Fresh bandages followed.
"And the tonic, to keep the infection in retreat," finished their old friend, picking up a vial. Arthur drank obediently.
"I…I-I-I should have gotten there sooner…" Merlin whispered.
"By rights, you shouldn't have been there at all," Arthur called over his shoulder. "Cenred intended this all along, and you heard Morgause admit she was going to have us killed. Conflict is never neat or pretty. Blaming yourself won't help anything." He wiggled stiffly into his shirt. "Gaius, could I have a little something for the pain? It's much better than before, but it still keeps me from focusing."
The physician nodded, and disappeared into his stores.
"It's haunting you, isn't it?" Merlin whispered. Try as Arthur might to look the stoic prince, his anxiety bled through as his wounds once had. He nodded reluctantly when Merlin refused to look away.
"I still see it—still feel it—in my dreams. I think of how it could have gone, if Cenred's taunts had been true. Maybe he's right. How can I lead if I feel like this?"
"I think it reminds you you're human. You now understand the pain felt by so many people…and you're in a position to do something about it." Merlin wasn't sure where this speech was coming from, only that Arthur's demeanor seemed to warrant it. "People respond to others who have been where they are. It's a sort of automatic kinship. What sets leaders apart is they let such experiences affect them for the better."
Arthur looked ever so slightly doubtful. "And that just makes the nightmares go away."
"Not necessarily, at least at first, anyway. But it lessens their power over you."
"And you know this because…?"
"I have enough of my own experiences that I'd like to forget."
They let a beat of silence hang between them. In that pause, Gaius chose to reemerge, showing no indication if he had heard any of the exchange. He only handed another vial to Arthur, who nodded his thanks.
"I'm needed at court. It's good to see you doing better, Merlin…and…thanks."
Merlin smiled at this rare show of the true man destined to be king. "Thank you, Sire."
"Just don't go making a habit of needing saving, alright?" The prince left smiling as well. Merlin shook his head. And some things would never change. He wouldn't have them any other way, either.
