Chapter Seven

Gaius wasn't completely used to being woken at all hours, but occasionally it happened, and when it did he tried his hardest not to be too put out. Usually someone was in dire need of his medical expertise, and you couldn't really be angry at a man with grievous wounds.

The young man who had just been brought into his chambers by the King of Camelot was certainly in need of his help. He had five very deep, long cuts on his chest, numerous scratches, and had lost a lot of blood. Really it was a miracle he was alive; if Arthur had found him an hour later there would have been very little Gaius could have done to save him.

As it was he heated a poultice of honey and agrimony, and threaded the finest sinew through his sharpest needle. He spared a glance for the pale-faced Arthur sitting on a stool before he turned to the task of stitching up his patient. It was odd that he'd insisted on staying, but then he had brought in the strange young man, no doubt he felt a responsibility to him.

Arthur watched with disquiet as the practiced hands stitched flesh as though it were cloth. It was a gruesome sight for someone more used to causing wounds, and his eyes kept slipping to the young man's face. Certainly all the features from the mysterious man of his dreams were there - black hair, thin face, large ears. But Arthur was equally certain that he had never seen this man before. Hopefully, once he woke up, he could provide an answer. Preferably one in which magic did not feature.


When Merlin opened his eyes it was late afternoon. He lay silently for a while, staring up at a very familiar ceiling. Then he shifted slightly and realised he was in a fair amount of pain. A low groan escaped him and his fingers tentatively prodded his midriff.

'Ah, you're awake,' said an equally familiar voice, and Merlin's eyes flew over to the visage of Gaius. 'And in some pain no doubt. Here, drink this.'

Merlin swallowed the potent concoction without taking his teary eyes off a countenance he thought he'd never see again.

'There now. You'll be feeling back to normal in no time.' Gaius took the cup and sat down in a chair beside Merlin's bed. For a moment Merlin felt as though everything was normal again, that he was about to be upbraided for doing something foolish wherein he saved Arthur's life again. Then the moment was broken as Gaius asked, 'What's your name, my boy?'

Merlin made a noise somewhere between laugh, choke, and sob, but managed to say, 'Merlin.'

'Well, Merlin, those are some very nasty wounds you have. How exactly did you come by them?'

Merlin stared blankly, wondering what he could possibly say. I was attacked by a ferocious monster while saving Arthur's life. How did I kill it? Oh, with magic. He hadn't planned for this; not just the lying injured in his old room bit, but the coming back to Camelot part. It would be impossible to explain how he knew his way around the place, how he knew the people, their foibles and natures. And it would be beyond painful to look into every pair of eyes and see no memory of the jokes, the laughs, the danger shared. No, he had not planned for this in the slightest.

So instead he fell back on the skills he'd used with Arthur to answer Gaius's question, blurting out the first half-formed answer that came to mind. 'A bear!'

'A bear?' Gaius queried, raising an eyebrow.

'A great big bear,' Merlin nodded, 'Came out of nowhere.'

'How did you escape?'

'I, er, played dead,' Merlin said, hoping that he was right and bears left you alone if you did play dead.

'In that case you are very lucky to be alive, Merlin.' Gaius smiled and patted the young man on the shoulder. 'Get some rest. I'll have some food brought up in a little while.'

'Thank you,' said Merlin, feeling the faint stirrings of hunger now that the pain was dulled.

Later that day Merlin had the one visitor he had really hoped to avoid. He had figured that he'd have to stay in Camelot for a couple of days while his wounds healed, and was in the process of hardening his heart to the prospect of seeing Gwen or the knights again. Then Arthur walked in and the bottom fell out of his plans. There was no way for him to deny the pain this meeting caused.

Arthur stood staring at him for a while, as if analysing every inch of him. Then he came and sat in the chair Gaius had used and said, 'Merlin.'

Merlin's heart leapt, hope flooding through him, explanations clamoring in his mind. They were two sides of the same coin, it was destiny, he'd been unconscious when the spell occurred. Merlin couldn't help it, he'd wished for this every moment of the last few months. And now-

'That is your name isn't it?' Arthur went on, oblivious to the destruction of hopes his words caused.

Merlin nodded weakly.

'And it was you in the forest.'

'What?' Merlin's head jerked up from examining his hands, eyes wide.

'In the forest, with the magical monster. It ran towards you,' Arthur said, using his you're-being-an-idiot voice.

And Merlin felt slightly ridiculous, because he had longed to hear that tone again. He was also mildly annoyed; of all the times for Arthur to spot him doing magic it had to be after he'd lost all memory of Merlin. Typical Arthur.

'That's how you got those wounds,' Arthur went on, gesturing at the man's bandaged midriff.

'Shh,' hissed Merlin, waving his hands and grunting as he leaned to see if Gaius was listening. Arthur threw him a questioning glance and Merlin explained, 'I told him it was a bear.'

'A bear?' Arthur said, 'Why?'

Merlin just gave him a look. He hadn't used it in some time, and it hurt to know that he still had to, that in some ways Arthur hadn't changed at all. It was, of course, his Arthur-you're-missing-the-obvious look. In this instance the warrior was missing the fact that Gaius was the Court Physician in Camelot and mentioning magical monsters would probably have got Merlin a one way trip to a nice damp dungeon.

'Oh,' said Arthur, scratching his head.

Merlin managed to smother a smile at the familiar gesture, the endearingly embarrassed expression, but he couldn't stop himself muttering, 'Prat.'

Arthur drew himself up and commanded, 'What did you call me? Did you just call me a prat?'

'Me? No. Would I dare to call the King of Camelot a prat?' Merlin shook his head firmly, his lips pressed tight to keep the laughter in.

Arthur glowered, annoyed by his confusion and the reality of Merlin. He wasn't supposed to exist; he'd spent an entire day establishing that he didn't exist. Yet there he sat, bandaged and calling Arthur a prat. It all felt familiar and entirely new. Arthur made to walk out the door, then remembered and asked absently, 'You didn't have anything to do with that thing did you?'

'No,' said Merlin solemnly.

'Right. I'm going to-' Arthur hesitated.

'-go do kingly things.' Merlin completed.

Arthur stared at him, searching for any sign of mockery. Finding none he grunted, nodded, and walked out.

Merlin collapsed slightly in his bed, tears springing to his eyes now that Arthur was gone. It had been so easy to fall back into the old behaviour patterns, to act like nothing had changed. Because in a way nothing had. Arthur was still Arthur, if a bit more short tempered and confused by all accounts - more like he'd been when Merlin had first met him. And Merlin was still Merlin; though he knew he'd changed somewhat from his time in the forest.

Maybe he could come back, be Arthur's manservant again, laugh with his friends, call Arthur names. Nothing had to change. Then Merlin remembered the look in Arthur's eyes when he'd first entered the room and the picture he was creating collapsed. Arthur hadn't recognised him, hadn't known any of what they'd been through together, didn't know what sort of man he was. Bitterly Merlin turned to face the wall and thought: Arthur didn't know what he was missing.