In Which There Are Reunions and Passings:
The sun rose slowly over the clouds, casting a weak winter light that hoarded warmth, giving the earth only the meagre heat it thought to spare. As always, John rose with it, taking care not to wake his wife; this was the first night the baby had slept through, and she was exhausted, her pillow covering a face that showed strain even in sleep. James, his eldest and only boy was already awake, itching for his first real day in the fields, his mop of curly brown hair practically shaking with the force of his energy. With the years taxes gathered in and the nearby roads now benefitting from a regular patrol, things were improving, and his eldest was raring to go, wolfing down his meal in seconds.
Frost still coated the wooden fence that separated the house from the fields, and it burned John's hand as he leapt lightly over it. The wind was chill, something bitter carried on it like the stench of carrion, and he tried not to breathe too deeply as he turned, hefting James up by his ribs and settling him the other side.
But something was wrong.
"Father?" The boy asked, his normally rosy skin strangely pale. Where seconds ago had been a bonny, healthy twelve year old, cheeks red as apples against the cold, now stood a wraith; skin like snow and just as warm to the touch.
"Father, I don't feel well..." The words came out slurred as he slumped forward onto his father's chest, limp as a rag doll. When John picked him up, his breath came in shallow pants, and when black ichor began to ooze down his face, leaking from both ears, that was when his father began to run.
"Your majesty, you have matters to attend to!" Agravaine said for what seemed like the eightieth time, running his hands through his already unkempt hair. Arthur ignored him as he had the last seventy nine times, nodding to the men at arms who had brought in the latest physician, regal even in his worry. The last one left and the next one walked in; how many had it been, nine, ten, twenty? But all of them said the same; there was nothing that would help, nothing to be done. Gaius was old, tired, and heartbroken, and there wasn't a cure for any of them. All they could do was wait for the end.
The knights who stood watch over the physician's chamber moved to let him pass, and he strode down the hall like an angel of death, face dark enough to send servants scattering left and right. When he reached the door to his rooms, he threw it open before slamming it shut with unnecessary force, snarling at his manservant to get out as he threw himself down by the fireplace.
His control over the king was slipping, he brooded, eyes hooded in the semi-dark. It had been for months; it was only because Morgana was so distracted that she hadn't begun to question him, why he was so tense, why Arthur continued to grow in power. It was a bizarre paradox, he thought with black humour, because he found himself thanking Emrys for evading her, hoping the person he most wanted gone would live long enough to continue to draw her interest, at least till Arthur could be brought back under control.
Linking his fingers, he tried to think, uncaring that his nephew, who sat not a floor above him, was thinking very different, but no less unpleasant thoughts.
His skin was so cold, Arthur thought, as the latest doctor bent over the physicians still form, eyes scanning critically. Cold and thin; how had he never noticed just how thin Gaius' skin was? Like paper stretched over bone, ready to tear any second at the slightest pressure...
The doctor straightened, and it was obvious from his expression that his conclusion was the same as all the others, even before he voiced it. Arthur fought to keep his own face polite as he thanked him, but he didn't watch as the man left the room, eyes raking his friend's prone form for something, anything, to prove he would pull through.
There was movement somewhere in his peripheral vision, voices raised in surprise and a cheer that was unfitting, given the circumstances. Then there was a hushing sound, murmurs of apology, and a grey cloaked figure sat down opposite him, taking Gaius' other hand. Gwaine's familiar voice rolled around the room, even hushed as it was, and something about it must have penetrated the fog, because Arthur frowned as he looked up, blinking rapidly.
A pair of brilliant sapphires looked back at him, so familiar and sure that for a moment the king went numb, unable to do anything but stare, anything but sit motionless and try to process exactly what his brain was telling him.
It was Merlin. His eyes could see him but it wasn't registering; Merlin his confidant, Merlin his friend, taller and straighter than he remembered, but Merlin nonetheless, pale and comforting as ever. Almost absently he began to pick out the details; his hair was longer now, almost brushing his shoulders, and he'd gained some muscle tone; not nearly enough to be mistaken for a man of action, but enough that he didn't look quite so spindly anymore. His eyes seemed bluer than ever in his pale face, great glittering orbs that glowed with...something. Something he couldn't name. He didn't want to name it, Arthur thought as he stared, but was distracted by the curious tattoo encircling one wrist, black strands inked so cleverly it was impossible to follow one without becoming dizzy. His friend's lips were quirked in a half smile, and he seemed more...settled was probably the word; Merlin had always been so edgy, almost nervous but not quite, as if always on the verge of jumping out of his skin when spoken to. The nervousness was still there, but it was much less pronounced; he was calmer now, cloaked in a serenity that surrounded him like mist, and Arthur found himself wondering just what he'd been doing in the years he'd been away.
As for Merlin, he wasn't feeling nearly as peaceful as he seemed, his eyes devouring the King's face just as intently as his own was being consumed. The knights watching found themselves fighting a sense of vague unease; the scene had suddenly become somehow intimate, as if they were intruding on something they were not meant to see. They just kept staring at each other on and on in a moment that should have been uncomfortable, awkward even. As the second stretched each knight who watched attempted to shrug it off, but each caved before it, whatever it was, murmuring polite excuses and leaving the room. Gwaine was last, and he looked back before closing the door behind him; still, neither of them had spoken, and Merlin's hand was half raised, as if to reach for something.
When the door closed, the snap echoed and both men jumped, flushes infusing their cheeks with colour. Each looked away, suddenly almost shy of locking stares again, and Merlin bit his lower lip in a move that almost had Arthur smiling.
The silence stretched again, awkward this time, but surprisingly it was Merlin who broke the silence first, pushing back his chair with a scrape that seemed strangely loud. Suddenly all business, he turned to Arthur, and when he spoke, it was as if he had never been away.
"How long has he been like this?" He asked, eyes never leaving his patients face.
It took a moment for the king to reply, but when he did, he was proud of how even his voice was. How cool. "No more than two days. He collapsed in the council chambers and we carried him here."
Merlin nodded. "Has anything been done since? Any attempts to wake him?"
"Nothing."
This time Merlin did not respond, his fingers and eyes moving deftly over his almost-father's prone form. Where had Merlin been? Studying medicine apparently; Arthur had watched Gaius for years and the court physician himself could not have done it better, mentally noting every symptom and comparing it to some list in his head.
When he was finished, his eyes were hidden, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
"What can we do?" He said, and it was the king who asked, back in control after nearly two days in the shadows.
When Merlin looked up, there was despair clear on his face. "We can wake him up, and say our goodbyes." He said, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.
A/N; Together at last! Sorry if the plots been a bit slow recently; I've been laying the foundations and things should pick up from here on in.
As a side note- I am sorry for what I'm doing to poor Gaius, I wouldn't do it if I had any choice in the matter - is it odd that I don't have much control over what's happening? This story just seems to go the way it wants...
Ah well, as always- please, tell me your thoughts! The most important question in my multi-chapter fics- is the writing consistent? The characters, the pacing, the quality of writing- is it all constant?
