His head throbbing with an unimaginable pain, Arthur slowly returned to consciousness. A heavy pain pressed against the back of his eyes and he struggled to pry them open. When he did, he could see nothing but blurred hues of grey and blue. He struggled to bring his arms underneath himself and eventually climbed into a sitting position.
Atop shaking arms, Arthur blinked heavily to clear his vision, meeting the foreboding display of crystals embedded in the walls around him on all sides. With a sudden pang of fear, he turned his head and met a terrifying sight; Merlin, quivering from head to toe, slumped up against a large stone and ghostly eyes transfixed on one of the many vibrant crystals.
"Merlin!" Arthur croaked, finding his voice raspy and rough. "Merlin!" he called again, but Merlin did not answer. He was in a daze, trapped by the crystal's hypnotic temptation.
Arthur rolled onto his side, causing his head to pound with pain and the world to spin around him. He powered through and crawled to Merlin, chainmail scraping against the rough cave floor. When he was in reach, he grabbed Merlin's foot and tugged on it to try and get his attention but only serving in causing Merlin to slide down into a more lax looking slump. Unnerved by the lack or reaction, Arthur scrambled forwards, snatching Merlin's shoulder and tearing his gaze away from the crystal whilst pulling him back into an upright position.
Merlin gasped in an awful, petrified gulp of air and his eyes began to dart around the room. His breathing quickened to short, shallow, spastic winces, chest heaving up and down in a frantic motion. He clung to Arthur, digging his fingers into the meat of his arm as he clawed at him in fright, all the while not noticing that his friend was shouting his name.
"Merlin! Merlin . . ." Arthur desperately tried to soothe over the sound of Merlin's fitful breathing and occasional dry sobs. In a helpless attempt to stop Merlin's fretting, Arthur pulled him close and covered his eyes, holding the back of his head to his chest. He hushed his panicking friend and said, "Merlin, don't look at them. You don't have to look at them."
Eventually calming slightly, Merlin lessened his struggles and his grip before turning into Arthur and putting at hand on his shoulder. Arthur struggled to keep his hand positioned above Merlin's eyes as his face was revealed to him, strained in a pain beyond the body.
"What did you see?" Arthur asked in a hush, rubbing his thumb across Merlin's brow.
Merlin shook his head. "No," he whispered.
"Alright," Arthur complied softly, and he brought his other hand around to hold Merlin's far shoulder. "Alright," he said again, assuring Merlin that he was safe with him as the boy unwillingly fell asleep.
When Merlin stilled, Arthur slowly removed his hands from his eyes to confirm that he was sleeping. When he was met with nothing but the blank lids and a furrowed brow, he sighed and lowered Merlin onto his back. Then, he carefully removed Merlin's neckerchief and tied it about Merlin's head, effectively putting up a barrier between him and the prophecy inducing jewels around them.
For the first time in ages, Arthur could feel something. He was being moved and he could feel the cold touch of hands around him. Suddenly there was a blast of clean, fresh air tickling his skin and filling his lungs. And he felt safer somehow.
When Merlin finally came to, it was with a sharp breath that brought Arthur out of a daze. The king looked down at the warlock from where he sat beside him, and waited for him to rouse. Merlin seemed confused as he turned his head to the side and found that he could see nothing. He sniffed and brought a curios hand to his eye, finding the blindfold.
"Arthur?" he whispered as he sat up, tugging at the cloth about his brow. Arthur was quick to take his hands away.
"No, Merlin," Arthur instructed, "keep it on. Don't look at the crystals."
Merlin winced as he seemed to remember where he was and he appeared to collapse a bit inwardly. He took a few deep breaths in the tense silence before he turned to Arthur. "You were injured," he recalled. "You're head . . ."
"I'm fine," Arthur insisted, but it was forced.
"Let me see," Merlin said, trying to crawl to him. He reached out his hand and, sighing with reluctance, Arthur guided Merlin to the wound.
Merlin and Arthur both winced as his hand found the delicate flesh on the back of Arthur's head. Merlin fingered Arthur's hair, trying to get a blind feel for the injury. He sighed and said, "It's probably concussed . . . I'll have to take a look at it."
"No," Arthur refused, no lenience present in his voice. He spun around, grabbed Merlin's hands, and swung them away from the cloth around his head. "No, Merlin."
"Arthur," Merlin groaned. ". . . Fine, but let me treat it." Arthur complied and tore a strip of cloth from his jerkin for Merlin to use. With his hands as his eyes, Merlin took the cloth and struggled to his feet. He staggered away from Arthur, still shaking nervously.
"Where are you going?" Arthur asked, cautiously sitting up straighter.
Merlin shushed him. "Hear that?" he asked, pausing and turning his head as if he were listening to something.
Arthur paused and listened, but all he could hear was their ragged breathing. "No," he said.
"Here," Merlin said, climbing over a few of the fallen rocks and stumbling atop a large mound. Bits of rocks and pebbles rolled to the ground, clacking against the larger stones. "Listen," he said, pressing his ear up against the rock wall. "There's water." He pulled his head away from the rocks and felt around for a weak spot in the debris. "There's a river west of here. The collapse must have shifted its route. Now it's running right above us." As he finished explaining, he tugged a rock loose and, instantly, a small trail of water began to trickle out of the created crevice.
Arthur looked on, warily impressed with Merlin's senses, as he wet the rag with the cool river water that seeped through the wall. He brought the wet cloth back to Arthur and dabbed at his wound, cleaning it the best he could without his sight.
Arthur sat and waited silently as Merlin treated him, studying the boy as he worked; the way his arms and hands shook, the way he seemed to make himself as small as possible, the way his breath would hitch slightly every so often. He finished cleaning the gash in Arthur's head and let out a shuddering breath, sitting back against the cave wall feeling utterly helpless.
"We need to get out," Merlin huffed in a rough, exhausted voice.
"And how do you suppose we do that?" Arthur asked.
"We'll have to move some of the stones and we can—"
"Merlin," Arthur sighed. "The rocks won't budge. I tried moving them when you were out—and even if we could we'd have to tunnel through for god knows how long before we actually got out. There's no way that we can move these rocks from the inside."
"No," Merlin refused, shaking his head. "No, there has to be another way. We need to get out. Morgana will no doubt be weakened by the spell but it won't be long before she regains her strength and attacks Camelot."
"Use your magic to dig us out then!" Arthur rasped.
Merlin sighed, "I can't. Morgana's spell prevents me from using any magic against the cave. That's why it will have drained her. The stones have to be moved by hand."
"Unless we somehow dig upward, I don't see how we can possibly get ourselves out," Arthur breathed, slouching in defeat. "And, like you said, there's a river above us!"
Merlin bit his lip and bowed his head, brow furrowed. "No," he said again, clenching his fists. "No, I can't stay in here. I can't, Arthur." A shiver ran up Merlin's spine as he felt the pull of the crystals around him. He put a hand to his head to try and clear his mind, but it was no use. The cave was as powerful as he was and it had an advantage; it couldn't feel like he could.
"I know," Arthur growled in frustration throwing his hand in the air, "but there's not much we can do." He paused and thought for a moment, then said, "The knights! They'll come looking for us!"
"In four days!" Merlin exclaimed. "And it'll take them weeks to dig through this mess, even with a thousand men!" He let out an exasperated breath and let his head rest against the wall.
"The crystals," Arthur said after a moment of lull, "what where they showing you?"
"Nothing," Merlin spat, letting his fears get the better of him. "I mean, no. No, I won't . . . Please, just don't make me." His voice cracked and he turned his face away from Arthur, pressing his cheek into the rocky surface beside him. His face scrunched up in desperation as he breathed against the cool stones.
All Arthur could hear was muffled noises, undistinguishable from the hollow sound of his own breathing. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but a blur of strange, unfamiliar colors. He blinked, very slowly, a few times and he began to see more clearly. He could hear the urgent voices of his knights, trying to call out to him, speak to him but he could not understand. Leon and Gwaine stood above him, trying to get him to rouse, but he slowly drifted away again, just as he noticed the blue sky behind them.
"Merlin!" Arthur shouted as he woke, spotting Merlin. He staggered forwards and grabbed him by the shoulders, throwing him away from the crystals and onto his back, where he skidded against the hard ground. He began to panic, groping at the ground, unable to get a hold on anything. "Merlin, stop!" he yelled, pinning the boy down and kneeling on his arms. He scrambled for his neckerchief, which had fallen loose around his neck, and pulled it back up, over his eyes.
When Merlin finally calmed, Arthur collapsed onto his side, struggling for breath. It'd felt like days had passed since they were trapped within the cave, but neither of them could tell how many with no visual of the sun whatsoever. Arthur suspected that they'd been there a little over a week and Merlin kept taking off his blindfold whenever the crystals' call was too strong. He fought it the best he could but there weren't many things to distract him. He always seemed haunted by whatever he saw and rarely spoke to Arthur, unless it was to advise him in things regarding his injury.
"You're exhausted," Merlin said from beside him, both of them staring at the roof of the cave.
Arthur scoffed. "Tackling you to the ground isn't as easy as it seems," he said, trying to lighten the mood of their helpless situation.
"You're hungry," Merlin said, tilting his face towards his king.
Arthur laughed again. "Wow, Merlin. You're so intelligent when it comes to these sorts of things."
"I'm serious," Merlin snarled, sitting up. "You need food."
"We both need food," Arthur commented, sitting up as well, fighting against the stinging pain in his stomach.
"No," Merlin denied. "We don't know how long we'll be in here. If we find food, you're eating all of it. I'm expendable, remember?"
"No," Arthur countered, shaking his head. "No, Merlin. I'm not putting you through that."
Merlin shook his head. "You can't stop me, Arthur. It's my job to keep you safe and, if starving myself will give you more to eat and longer to live, then that is what must be done."
"Fine," Arthur huffed, "then I refuse to eat unless you do."
Merlin sighed and lied back down, resting his hands over his stomach to try and dim the pain. "You cannot die," he said, before falling asleep.
"Arthur?" The voice of Leon rang out. "Sire, are you alright?"
Arthur groaned and his eyes fluttered open, greeting him with the blurry image of his noble knight. He opened his mouth to answer but found that he'd forgotten how to talk. He couldn't seem to get the words to form in his head and he couldn't quite understand what Leon's words meant in the first place.
"We need to get him to Gaius," said someone out of sight. "We must keep moving. He won't stay conscious for long anyway."
"Here," Merlin said.
Arthur looked up from where he was staring into space to find a slab of meat held out a little too close to his face and a blindfolded Merlin behind it with his head bowed. The meat was cooked, no doubt in the magical fire that Merlin had created, setting ablaze strips of his jacket that he'd sacrificed for their warmth.
"What is that?" Arthur asked, not knowing how Merlin could have possible come across any sort of meat.
"It's rat," Merlin blurted.
Arthur eyed the flesh before him and said, "No . . . That's far too big to be rat."
"Well that's what it is," Merlin urged, pushing the meat closer to him. "Arthur, you can barely hold yourself up. You need to eat soon or you'll waste away."
"So will you," Arthur pointed out.
"But I'll come back," Merlin argued. "You won't."
"I'm not eating until you do first," Arthur insisted.
"No," Merlin protested. "Just eat it, please."
Merlin sounded strangely desperate and his voice shook even more than it had been recently. Arthur eyed him strangely, and then looked back at the oversized slab of meat before him. "Not until you tell me what it really is," he demanded.
Merlin tilted his head away and took a deep, shuddering breath. "It's rat," he ground out.
"No," Arthur denied, grasping Merlin's wrist in his hand, "it's not. Merlin, what is it?" He unintentionally let his voice grow aggressive and he studied the flesh even closer. Then he looked to Merlin, noticing for the first time that he was clutching his left arm to his stomach. "Merlin?" Arthur asked, eyeing his friend with dread, causing his heart to clench. He feared what Merlin's answer would be.
"It's . . . rat . . ." Merlin replied, but his voice was barely present, cut off by a choke that caught in his throat. He bit his lip and bowed his head again.
Arthur took a steady breath before launching forward with what little strength he had and taking a hold of Merlin's hidden arm.
"No!" Merlin yelled, trying to pull it out of his grasp, scrambling onto the ground and failing to kick Arthur away.
Eventually, the larger of the two was able to tear Merlin's arm away from his body and hold it out in the glow of the crystals. He stopped, eyes wide and entirely horrified by what he saw, despite him already having suspected it. There was a large amount of Merlin's flesh missing from his arm, exposed to the bone and bleeding profusely. Arthur looked down at the slab of roasted meat in Merlin's other hand and gapped at his servant's selflessness.
"Why?" Arthur asked, though he could guess the answer.
"You need to eat," Merlin said weakly. He let his head fall against the ground, not having the strength to sit back up.
Arthur swallowed back the tears that threatened to fall and set Merlin's bloody, mutilated arm by his side. The boy's eyes, sunken in his skull, were half closed as he held the meat out again in a trembling hand. "Please," he whispered.
Arthur nodded. "Okay," he croaked, "okay," and he took the meat from Merlin and he held it in his hand. Then, he watched hopelessly as Merlin bled and died for him. He sat back with a thump and looked at the flesh before him with disgust. He didn't think he could do it; eat a part of someone, a human being, his friend no less. He gulped as he stared it down. Merlin had looked so desperate to take care of him and he had sacrificed his own survival to replenish him. He was so pale and so still beside him, reduced to skin and bone. It was Merlin's sacrifice that he held in his hand and he would die before he let it go to waste. He had to eat, he had to live because Merlin needed him to. It was the only thing he wanted.
This time, Arthur woke with a gasp and the only word he could think to speak was the name of his friend. "Merlin!" he called out in a raspy voice, hoarse with disuse. "Merlin! Merlin! Where is he?"
Someone shushed him and he was pressed down into an array of pillows. He thought he heard Gaius's voice, telling him that it didn't matter, that Merlin didn't matter right now, that Arthur needed rest. How could he not matter? He needed to know if he was alright. He needed to see his face again. He needed to stay awake.
He drifted in and out of consciousness as Merlin grew weaker. Each time the lad resurrected, it took him longer to recuperate, sleeping for days before he force fed Arthur again. Arthur questioned him on the placement of his cuttings, wondering why the boy did not dissect a meatier part of himself. However, he did not want the answer. He merely needed to say something. Their time in the caves was dominated by silence, both of them suffering immensely; Arthur by the traumatizing act of being forced to eat his friend's flesh and Merlin being haunted by the visions he refused to talk about. So, Arthur lost the will to think before he spoke and said anything and everything that came to mind, having an unquenchable need for normality as they were trapped for weeks on end. When Arthur let the words unwittingly fly loose from his mouth, Merlin's answer was grim. He claimed that it was quicker. If he were to butcher from his thighs or his stomach, he would die much slower, feel more pain. With the meat of his wrists, he bled quickly, the numb taking hold almost instantly it seemed.
Arthur would often try to tackle Merlin, stop him from making such sacrifices as he did, but he was weak. Though Merlin managed to keep him fed, the time between each meal grew longer and the king would often regurgitate all that he ate, both from the malnourishment and the gory aspect of it all. So, he always failed in preventing Merlin from cutting himself up like a piece of game.
He couldn't be sure how long they'd been trapped anymore, but it felt like an eternity. On the rare occasions that Merlin spoke, it was with a pessimistic remorse that Arthur couldn't bear, talking of Morgana's inevitable attack that most likely had already passed, the doubt that the knights would ever even find them if they hadn't already been taken as the witch's captives, and the strange things he unwillingly muttered to himself immediately after being torn away from another vision.
Arthur tried to contradict Merlin's depressive thoughts by insisting that his knights were strong, brave, and good hearted, with no doubt in his mind that they would eventually find them. He assured Merlin that Guinevere was a magnificent queen and that she would not give in so easily to any of Morgana's efforts. As for the visions, he could do naught but hope that Merlin would not give in to their supposed inevitability.
Merlin had stopped wearing the blindfold. There was no point to it anymore, the influence of the crystals becoming so strong that he had to suffer through one or two visions a day and could only rest from them once the cave deemed him worthy enough. He averted his eyes, always staring at the cave floor when he wasn't tending to Arthur, the fire, or the water. They had run out of Merlin's jacket to burn and resolved to using both of their boots, with as much preservation as possible. They often sat on their feet to keep them warm, using the fire to warm their hands and their faces . . . and to cook.
The image of Merlin's cold, dead face haunted Arthur each time he was made to eat a regenerated part of him, and it lingered in the back of his mind like a ghost when he wasn't. But now, as Merlin aroused from yet another martyr's death, he feared the look on his face would not fade. Merlin didn't get up this time. He just opened his eyes, barely conscious, and stared blankly ahead. He was limp on the cold, uneven ground, his gaze vaguely in Arthur's direction, lashes fluttering from time to time in the heat of the fire that was quickly fading. He wanted to give Arthur more food, to ensure that he survived, but he could not move. He had to concentrate with ever part of his mind just to stay breathing. He wished he could tell Arthur to take the food for himself but he both could not speak and knew that Arthur could never bring himself to harm Merlin, not now.
So, Arthur lied starving and Merlin lied starved, and they both waited for the inevitable end to their suffering. Whether it be by a magnificent rescue or by a gradual dissipation from life, they did not care. They just wanted it all to end.
Gradually coming to his senses, Arthur found the ceiling of Gaius's chambers greeting him once again, the memories of what had happened to him and Merlin, whirling around in his mind. He had so many questions but did not bother to ask them. He did not care whether he got answers at this point. He would accept them if and when they'd come. The only one he had a burning desire to know was, What happened to Merlin?
He blinked a few times, gaining a better sense of consciousness than he had had in a very long time. He deemed sitting up not being worth the effort and instead turned his head to the side where he knew Merlin's cot would be.
"Merlin . . ." he sighed, voice broken and barely present. It was the first time he'd seen his friend in the light for so long and he felt nauseous as the sight of it. He was pale, a different pale than his usually glow. His skin seemed almost grey, having lost all color to it whatsoever. His cheeks were sullen and his eyes were sunk into his skull. The clothes he wore clung to him and draped loosely around his bones that stuck out in malnourishment. His chest was all but still, breath painfully slow and shallow, making him appear dead.
"Arthur?" came a hesitant voice from his other side. It was Gwen, but he did not turn his head. Instead, he took a deep, shuddering breath, unable to tear his gaze away from his suffering friend.
Gwen rounded the bed and squatted down between their cots, concern lines etched into her face. "Arthur, are you alright?" she asked hopefully. "Do you need water? I can get Gaius if you . . ." she trailed off, realizing that her husband's woeful gaze was looking past her at the invalid man beyond.
Gaius bustled in then, spreading freshly gathered herbs on the table.
"Gaius!" Gwen called, standing up. "Arthur's woken."
The physician was wide eyed as he hobbled over to inspect the damage. The poor man's heart ached for the crestfallen king, looking out at Merlin with a foreign sort of longing. Gaius took Arthur's head in his hand and turned him away from the prone figure lying beside him.
"Arthur," Gaius prompted and the king's eyes slowly began to wander away from his effete friend. "I need you to sit up for me."
Arthur's eyes flickered back to Merlin for a moment before he allowed Gaius to ease him into a sitting position. He slumped forward, back hunched over, too exhausted to put any massive effort into keeping himself upright. Gaius doctored him as an anxious Gwen stood by.
"I've treated your head injury and it seems that Merlin had you almost completely rid of your concussion a while back. As for the malnourishment, well, it's a wonder you're not as bad off as Merlin is."
Arthur stiffened at that and, again, his eyes landed on Merlin, all but dead, dreadful looking Merlin. Gaius paused in his work, grinding herbs in a mortar, and bit his tongue. Then, he quickly stood and finished his potions by adding the ground plants to a mixture of elixirs. He brought to Arthur and bid him to drink.
"This will help with the pains," Gaius informed, as he aided Arthur in slipping the potion down his throat.
"I need you to eat something," Gaius said as he brought back a bowl of the thinnest broth Arthur had ever seen.
Arthur swallowed, looked to Merlin's heavily blanketed body and shook his head. "No," he wheezed. "No, I can't."
Gaius and Gwen shared confused and concerned looks before the physician insisted that he eat. As much as Arthur didn't want to, the moment the hot, steamy food struck his tongue, he gulped it down eagerly, grateful to lessen the aching in his stomach.
"Slow down, Arthur," Gaius warned. "You must take your time or you'll be sick and we'll have a whole other problem to deal with."
Arthur obliged and lessened his intake before being offered a warm tea that soothed his throat immensely. After a long silence from the king as Gwen went on and on about how worried she was and how the knights had been so eager to find him, Arthur looked away from her and said, "What about Merlin?"
Gaius gave Gwen a hesitant look before he reluctantly advised her to leave them alone for a few moments. She obliged and Arthur was left with a sullen physician.
"Why hasn't woken yet?" Arthur asked once Gwen had left.
"Arthur," Gaius sighed. "Even he has his limits. His magic may be able to rejuvenate him but, Arthur, he died too much too often."
Arthur's eyes widened and he looked to Gaius. "You know?"
Gaius let out a long breath through his nose and nodded. "Yes. There was no other explanation as to how he survived the . . . the lynching. After all, I've had my suspicions for some time. I only hoped that Merlin would never find out. When he woke from the poison of the mortaeus flower, I thought it might have been a miracle. But then it happened again and again until it was certain to be anything but luck keeping him alive. Then, when he found out his Druid name, I thought it almost undeniable for, Emrys, it translates to Immortal One."
"So what's happened to him," Arthur asked desperately. "Why hasn't woken?"
Gaius frowned and looked sorrowfully at his surrogate son. "Merlin died repetitively whilst you two were trapped away. It is my fear that, after dying far too many times in far too little time, Merlin's magic may be struggling under the strain. Have no doubt that he will make a recovery. I only fear it will be a long and dreadful one."
"His arm," Arthur murmured to himself as he recalled the traumatic things his servant did for him.
"His arm will take the longest to heal, yes," Gaius commented.
Arthur looked up at the man, tears pushing at the back of his eyes. "Merlin he-he fed me—it was—"
"I know," Gaius assured, patting Arthur on the back like only a doctor as fatherly as he could.
"I want him to wake up," Arthur said helplessly. "I want him to know how sorry I am."
"I'm afraid that won't happen for another day, at least. And even when he does, he's lost most of his muscle mass Arthur, he won't be able to move for some time."
Arthur bowed his head, not in acceptance, but in understanding.
When Merlin finally did wake, he was unresponsive. He opened his eyes but that was all that he seemed able to do. There was no way to tell if he was in pain or not, there being an utter absence of expression on his face. However, Gaius was able to massage some food down his throat and he seemed conscious enough to instinctively swallow. But he didn't acknowledge anyone. He just stayed like that for quite a while.
On his third day of waking, he began to blink more, a good sign according to Gaius, and his eyes actually seemed to look around. He was still limp as a ragdoll but he was recovering as far as anyone could tell. He looked at Arthur most of the time, expression blank. Arthur didn't know what to make of it but he was glad his friend could see him, know he was there.
All Arthur could think about was Merlin and he hated it. As much as he needed to know how Merlin was doing, his thoughts always seemed to stray off into memories of what had been done in the cave. He often refused to eat and Gaius scolded him for it for he was still weak himself.
On the fourth day, just after dawn, Merlin groaned a barely audible noise that spoke nothing but discomfort. Gaius was quick to give him a pain reliever but sadness took over his features as he regained the ability to express. However, the pain in his eyes would disappear only when his gaze met Arthur's. The sorrow and the fear would be masked by a loving triumph that he'd kept his king alive and they were safe within Camelot.
After only a week, Merlin could move again, but his stomach still ached and his throat was too damaged to speak from all the disuse and abuse it had suffered. His left arm was in a sling and he shook a bit as he walked, but Gaius bid it be far past time that they should be allowed to return to their own chambers.
Another two days passed full of recovery on both ends. Arthur was all but completely healed and Merlin seemed to be stabilizing. They sat, eating a lunch brought by Gwen, who left soon after, claiming she had a council meeting to attend to in Arthur's absence, which he apologized for. Merlin swallowed down his broth, prescribed by Gaius, and Arthur sat adjacent to him, staring down at his meal.
"You're not eating," were the first words Merlin uttered since he'd been retrieved from the cave.
Arthur looked up at him in surprise before frowning down at his food. "I'm not hungry."
"Yes you are," Merlin countered in a raspy voice that could barely be heard.
Arthur scoffed. "And how would you know?"
"I can take them away, if you want," Merlin offered.
"What?" Arthur asked, confused.
"I can remove the time spent in the cave from your memory," Merlin clarified, "make you forget what happened, what I did."
Arthur looked over at Merlin, slightly shocked. He considered it, he did, and he hated himself for it. Whenever he even thought of eating, Merlin's weak state flashed across his memory, reminding him of the sacrifice he made. They had been trapped for a little over a month and he hadn't eaten a thing, cutting himself open in order to see that Arthur was given food and even trying to hide his own macabre devotion to spare Arthur the trauma. And here he was again, willing to take it all away from Arthur as if it never happened. And Arthur wished that it had never happened and he wanted the memories to go away but he couldn't just do that! Not to Merlin.
"No!" he refused suddenly, looking at Merlin as if he were a mad man, which he probably was. "No, I can't do that to you. You've given an otherworldly sacrifice. I'm not just going to let you take the knowledge of your loss away from me. You've gone too far unrecognized in the past and I will not allow you to go unappreciated for a second longer. I can't let you free me from my burden and let you carry all the weight on your own, not anymore."
"Arthur," Merlin breathed, sounding as though he was going to protest, but Arthur was having none of it.
"Dammit Merlin!" he growled. "You're such a selfless, self-sacrificing, fool! You're immortal and you still managed to get yourself killed! Won't you ever just think for yourself, for once? Give yourself some credit, realize that you deserve to have your heroic deeds remembered, no matter how heavy it may weigh on the other person's shoulders because it would be nothing compared to the weight you carry!"
Arthur sat back down, realizing that he had, at some point, gotten to his feet in frustration. And sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was an unbearably long silence as both their minds reeled with all that had happened to them.
Finally, thinking he knew what Arthur wanted, Merlin spoke. "Are you feeling alright Arthur because I think I just heard you say that I was a hero?"
Arthur laughed humorlessly but slowly let true glee slink back into his heart. "No, Merlin, you're the one hearing things."
"Of course," Merlin scoffed before taking down another gulp of steamy broth.
"Of course," Arthur echoed, taking a bite of his own food.
"Arthur, you know she would have acted by now!" Merlin insisted, sitting at the table whilst Arthur paced the room. "We were out of the picture for a month and she did nothing! Why? It was the perfect opportunity to attack Camelot, so why has she been dormant?"
"I don't know!" Arthur huffed, throwing his hand in the air as he walked anxiously. "There must be some sort of explanation. Didn't you say that she was weakened by the spell?"
Merlin shook his head. "Her fatigue would have only lasted a few days. There's no reason she couldn't have commanded an attack."
Arthur paused and looked down at Merlin, biting his lip. He crossed his arms as he thought. A week and a half had passed and things had relatively returned to normal, besides Merlin's left arm still being limp as a doll's and the strange moments when he would go silent and appear distant.
"Perhaps she wanted to get rid of Gwen first, before she ambushed Camelot," Arthur suggested, resuming his pacing.
Merlin shook his head again. "She would have taken our absence as an opportunity to attack Gwen, no doubt. It just doesn't make sense. She . . . Oh."
"What?" Arthur asked.
"Mordred," Merlin said grimly. "She still has Mordred and Kara. She must have another plan."
Even Arthur's eyes widened at this revelation. Despite his hope for the falsity of the prophecies, Mordred at the hands of Morgana could not bode well.
Merlin sighed and chewed on his lower lip. "The prophecies are coming true Arthur," he said, sounding so woeful Arthur wanted to smack him.
"Then we'll just have to go rescue him," Arthur suggested quickly.
"It has been over a month Arthur! Mordred is already lost! There is no way to get him back now!" Merlin cried. "If we see him, we have to kill him."
Arthur took a seat beside Merlin and took a large, wary intake of breath. "You're right," he admitted, remorse written across his face. "We can't take the risk. Albion could be a stake."