Chapter Nine.
A bonfire was being set up in the field. Arthur watched from the lounge as three Eleazar employees ripped up cardboard boxes and tossed them onto the kindling. He looked up at the threatening, overcast sky, doubting the planned festivities for the night were going to happen. The cardboard would be too soggy, and the wood would be too damp to produce anything other than gray smoke.
Still, nurses hung up fliers announcing the fire would be lit at eight-thirty and there would be coffee and tea, followed by a safety reminder in small print, "In case of fire emergency, please congregate in the canteen."
In addition to the fliers, staff went around to the patients handing out masks. Arthur glowered down at the one he was given, and it glared right back with its empty eye sockets. It was the most ghoulish thing he'd ever seen, and he didn't know how he felt about watching all the other patients sit around the flickering flames while wearing them. Halloween had been a few days ago; it was best to leave the fancy dress to the previous week.
"Boo!" someone shouted, taking him by surprise. He jumped slightly at the woman who was towering over him. She was wearing a Guy Fawkes mask on her face. However, Arthur recognized her, and his thumping heart settled.
"Very funny," he droned as Beatrice lifted up her mask to reveal her gleeful smile.
"You coming tonight?" she asked him hopefully.
He shrugged dispassionately.
"No, you must!" she nearly shrieked. She flung herself on the couch cushion next to him and gave his shoulder a shake. "I'll be there. It'll be fun!"
"I don't know if anyone will go," he told her, scanning the lounge up and down. Hardly any patients milled about it anymore. Most of them were confined to their beds. "Is anyone well enough to stand out in the freezing cold at night?"
"That's what the tea's for," she quipped, giving him a nudge. "Warm you up."
He rolled his eyes and looked back down at the pale mask in his hands.
"Oh, say you'll come! Just for a bit. Pleaseeeeee."
"Fine!" he promised, if only to make her stop whining. "You're in a good mood today."
"Well, I've got reason to be," she told him with a smirk that only confused him. "I found out something last week."
She wriggled her eyebrows at him and kept smiling, like she expected him to guess. He shook his head to encourage her to go on.
"I'm in remission!"
Arthur's jaw dropped. From what he remembered, remission was a good thing. A great thing, in fact. "You're kidding?"
"No!" She was vibrating with happiness. "It's just like my mum, can you believe it? Good old Eleazar. I told you so!"
Arthur beamed at her. He was happy to know she'd be all right; that, after this was all over, Beatrice could go home to her family and job and live her life in full. He was just about to congratulate her when the loud screech of tires pierced him. Both of them looked out the window, where five flatbeds were roaring south down the dirt path.
"What the hell's going on?" he thought aloud.
"Don't know," Beatrice answered anyway. "Maybe another riot?"
He tore his eyes from the window to look at her. "Riot?"
"On the prison side," she told him. "They've been acting out—twice now. They've been attacking guards and doctors, trying to break out, everything."
Arthur shook his head, astounded. "I haven't heard this."
He had to find a way to reach the prisoners. He'd been so focused on Wilt recently that he'd been distracted from his escape plan. It seemed his army had started the fight without them; now, all they needed was a leader.
"What would you do without me keeping you in the loop, Arthur Pennington?" Beatrice laughed. She flicked her mask to bring it back down to her face and jumped up from the couch. "I'd best see you tonight. I've got a present for you."
He quirked his brow. "What is it?"
"You'll see," she sang mysteriously, and she trotted off.
The hole under the fence was just big enough for Arthur to fit through. Admittedly, it would be a tight squeeze, but he didn't have the time or the patience to account for comfort. Black filth lined his fingernails from clawing at the dirt, and the bottom wires of the chain links scratched his back and tore his sweatshirt, but the air was somehow fresher on the other side of the fence. His clothes were caked with dirt and his skin felt gritty, but it was paired with the mental sense of accomplishment. He was free. He wondered if this was how Andy Dufresne felt.
Casting his handiwork a self-satisfied smile, he turned around and started away from the fence towards the hills. He'd be able to get a better vantage point of the prison from above, and any sporadically placed CCTV cameras wouldn't be able to catch him from the distance.
About a kilometer from the base, giant boulders jutted out from the earth, and Arthur chose the largest of them to climb. The rock was bitingly cold, making his fingers freeze numbly as he dug them into the grooves. Once or twice, he lost his footing and scraped his skin, but soon he rolled onto the very top of the boulder and laid there long enough to catch his breath. As his heart pumped in his ears, he blinked up at the gray sky. The winds beating over the hills whipped at his cheeks and make them chapped and rosy. His shoulders ached with tension.
He forced himself to his feet. From the boulder, he could see the entirety of the Eleazar base like it was made for dolls—some edgy new Barbie Dream World. The main portion of the base looked calm and quiet but, although he couldn't hear any shouts carried on the wind, he could tell more was going on in the prison camp.
If he squinted, he could see more patrols had been set up along the south gate. There was another checkpoint on the western wall, where large flatbed vehicles were positioned. Arthur thought he heard dogs.
A thick trail of smoke spiraled up from one of the builds, mixing with the dark clouds above. At first, he considered a fire had been started in the riots, but the smoke was too concentrated. It looked like it was coming from a chimney.
The reminder of heat made him realize how frigid he was. He rubbed his hands together and blew hot air into them.
Deciding to get a view of the other side of the base, he slowly started climbing down the boulder. On the way, his fingers slipped out of a groove and he lost his grip in a moment of a panic. He fell the rest of a way, which was only a few feet. It wouldn't have hurt if he hadn't landed on something flat and hard. It nearly knocked the wind out of him. Whatever it was caused a dull thud and echo.
Grunting at the pain in his spine, he sat up and glared at the ground beneath him, expecting to find a rock. What he saw instead was a thin layer of dirt over a steel plank. He blinked at it a few times, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him, before pushing away some of the earth. The metal glinted as it reflected the light on the clouds.
There was a handle on the trapdoor, and Arthur didn't hesitate to pull it up. The leftover dirt sprinkled downward into the darkness underneath. There was a ladder propped up against the wall of dirt and rock. Arthur squinted into the pit as he tried to see how far down the ladder went. The sun wasn't bright enough to reveal what was inside.
He looked around to make sure no one was near, as finding a trapdoor in the earth was bound to make one feel like they were being watched. There was no one present. Readying himself for anything, he stepped onto the top rung of the ladder and lowered himself down.
As it turned out, it wasn't a far descent. The ceiling of the bunker, which was somehow carved in the rock beneath the earth, was just a few inches from the topsoil. Arthur jumped down the last few rungs and stepped further into the room.
It wasn't massive, but it was decent sized. There were two long workbenches against either wall, one of which was piled high with yellowing books and one scattered with loose papers, glass vials, candles with dripping wax suspended in time, and a few cracked beakers. There was also a cot pushed up against the back wall. It reminded Arthur a little bit of Gaius' chambers.
His footsteps echoed as he moved further into the shadows, away from the dull film of light that peaked in through the trapdoor. He went to the cluttered workbench first and picked up a handful of pages. They were covered in what looked like complex math equations that Arthur couldn't make heads or tails of.
He considered bringing them to Merlin to decipher, but quickly decided against it. It was best to keep the bunker secret until he found something of relevance.
Instead, he dropped the pages back to the table and picked up a shard of a broken beaker. It was covered in a layer of dirt. Some of the shards that had fallen to the floor crunched under Arthur's shoes. Whoever occupied the bunker hadn't been there for a long time, and it appeared they'd left in a hurry. Arthur wondered why that was.
He crossed to the other workbench and picked up a book on the top of the pile, causing a puff of dust to cloud upwards that made him cough. He brushed the caked on dust off the cover with the flat of his palm, and enough of it streaked off for him to see the golden, cursive letters embossed upon it: Le Morte d'Arthur.
His breath caught.
Keeping the book's leather spine in his hand, he quickly sifted through the other books on the table. There were some medical journals and there were a few novels Arthur recognized: Crime and Punishment, The Old Man and the Sea, The Wizard of Oz, Brave New World, and so on. However, most of the books were Arthurian legends.
Arthur at once realized the bunker belonged to Wilt.
He flipped through the pages of one of the books, finding notes and scribbles etched into the margins. The handwriting wasn't like the neat, curved script Arthur suddenly realized he'd expected. It was messy and common and almost familiar. There were doodles and patterns, too, which were apparently mindlessly drawn. Most of the notes made no sense to Arthur. Again, they were equations or some hurried thought. There was a list reading "milk, eggs, carrots" on the title page of King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table.
He picked up The Once and Future King and flipped quickly through the pages. Something thick fell out and thumped softly onto the ground. It was a stack of postcards held together by a fat rubber band. Furrowing his brows at it, Arthur placed the novel back on the pile and picked up the postcards.
They were from all over, depicting glossy scenes throughout the world. There was the Colosseum in Rome, the Acropolis in Athens, and the Statue of Liberty in New York; there were cards from Paris, Barcelona, St. Petersburg, Istanbul, Brazil, and on and on. Most of them were crumpled and yellow with tears in their brittle paper, but some of them looked relatively new and in good condition.
None of them were dated, and there was no address on their backs. But they all had the same scribbled message:
Wish you were here.
-M
"M," Arthur thought aloud. Whoever this M person was, they seemed to care a great deal about Wilt. Arthur wondered what the initial stood for. If he could figure that out, it could lead to Wilt. Maybe he'd joined M on his or her adventures around the world.
He shoved the stack of postcards into the front pocket of his sweatshirt and brought his attention back to the books. He found himself grinning at them. If Wilt had mindlessly jotted down his shopping list, perhaps there was a hint of who M was somewhere in the pages. Maybe there was even a full name.
Collecting a pile of books in his arms, Arthur brought them to the other table and got to work.
To Arthur's surprise, the weather held out, and as promised he made his way to the bonfire after he'd lost the sunlight and had to make his way back to the base. He'd flipped through half a dozen of the marked up books but found nothing of relevance—just more bits of equations and chemical symbols from the periodic table. There were certainly no mentions of M, but perhaps there were more books and notes in his office. He had to get into it before Woo did.
He wondered if Woo knew about the bunker.
He wondered if Wilt had ever returned to it, and if he would again.
When Arthur got back to the base, he quickly showered and changed into fresh, non-soiled clothes to not arouse any suspicion. He hid the postcards beneath his pillow.
The fire was already lit by the time he got to the field, and the orange light contrasted the deep, dark sky and painted the surrounding buildings with a menacing glow. There were more people than Arthur expected there to be around the fire, with their shadows dancing in every direction around them. He supposed the nurses convinced them a night out would be good for them.
It was an odd mix. Some were hunched over in wheelchairs while others shuffled around one another, and some were lively and well. The ill versus healthy seemed to have broken into groups similar to the individual's condition. Arthur wondered where he fit in.
If that didn't make it hard enough, it was difficult to tell who was who. Everyone wore those godforsaken masks. Arthur's own was perched on the top of his head, as he felt ridiculous every time he wore it over his face. He hoped Beatrice would spot him in the crowd when he walked closer to the fire. He stood right on its edge and looked into it, watching the kindling furl and sparks shoot up in every direction. It made his eyes hurt.
He wondered where Merlin was, and if he was at the fire at all. The intense, numbing heat of a campfire felt strange without Merlin sitting across from him.
"Hey, you made it!" came Beatrice's voice. Arthur looked to his side to find her approaching and lifting her mask from her face. She was bundled up in the usual sweatpants and, since the cold weather arrived, long sleeve shirt. There was also a splash of color around her neck, a red and gold scarf.
"For you," Beatrice told him. She removed the scarf from around her neck and stood on her toes to toss it over his shoulders.
Arthur looked down at himself and grinned thankfully. "How do I look?"
"Hotter than the fire!" she teased, making him chortle. She always said such ridiculous things.
He tossed one of the ends over his opposite shoulder, and when he did he noticed something stitched into the hanging end. He held it up for closer inspection. It was the silhouette of a dragon with a thick cross behind it, all enclosed in a circle.
Arthur focused on the dragon and gaped. He must have let out some unsure sounds because Beatrice asked in a worried tone, "Oh, no. You hate it, don't you?"
"No, no!" he assured her urgently. He showed her the sigil—his sigil. "What is this?"
Suddenly, Beatrice was sheepish. He'd never seen her coy. It was a little endearing. "I've just been so pleased ever since I got my good news," she told him. "I've been stitching into everything. Plus, it's where we met, isn't it? I thought, I don't know—something to remember me by when we part ways. I mean—if you want to part ways. I don't know!"
Arthur didn't notice her blushing in the firelight. He shook his head, wishing she'd explain further. "What do you mean, where we met?"
"At Eleazar," she said like it was obvious. "It's their logo."
"Their logo?"
"Yeah!"
Arthur searched his brain, trying to work out how that was possible. Woo said Dr. Wilt had been obsessed with the legends, but how could he have known the Pendragon crest? He tried to remember it was mentioned in one of Merlin's stories or drawn in a book. He couldn't place it, but he hadn't gotten the chance to read everything. Maybe it had been there. It must have been.
"Where did they get it?" he asked, hoping Beatrice had the answer. She seemed to always come to his rescue, but it appeared this time she came up short.
"I don't know, silly!" she laughed. "Where did Renault get their logo? They just picked it!"
Arthur looked back down at the fabric in his hand. The dragon appeared to slither as it moved in and out of the firelight.
"Stay here, alright?" Beatrice said suddenly, reclaiming his attention. "I'll get us some tea. Back in a tick!"
She pulled her mask back over her face and disappeared from before him. Arthur stood alone for a few minutes, in which he impatiently tried to find her in the crowd. He couldn't, and the fire was starting to get too hot to bear. He figured it would be okay to step away from it.
There were chairs set up on the football pitch, and Arthur decided to claim two of them. He scanned the masked crowd as he made for the chairs. He thought he saw a few orderlies and doctors he recognized, but he could distinguish them. He wondered if Scott was there, but assumed he would have heard his bellowing laugh by now.
His eyes latched on to a particular person standing away from the activity. He was on the peripherals of the glow, with his mask worn like Arthur's on top of his head. He was an old man. Even from the distance, Arthur could see his deeply lined face and thinning white hair. He had a short beard, too. It made Arthur stop dead in his tracks.
He couldn't take his eyes off the man. He couldn't do anything, not even breathe. His mind went blank and his heart jumpstarted with a mixture of fear and fury. Before Arthur realized it, he was marching towards him. The man didn't seem to notice Arthur.
Someone grabbed Arthur's shoulder. It was a weak touch, but it was enough to startle Arthur and make him spin around. It was Eddy. He looked thinner than the last time Arthur saw him. In fact, he looked almost emaciated. He was wheeling an oxygen tank around at his back. Its cord wrapped around his ears and was fitted into his nostrils. It stunned Arthur.
"Good to see ya, mate," Eddy said in a frail voice.
Arthur blinked a few times and stammered. "Yes, I—"
A bitter smile stretched Eddy's cheeks. He must have sensed Arthur's discomfort. "I know," he said ruefully. "Bloody 'eart disease, right?"
Arthur peered over his shoulder. The old man was putting down his mask to hide his face. He turned away and vanished into the darkness. Arthur's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't lose him.
"I'm sorry, I've got to go," he told Eddy quickly, not even looking back at him. He started as quickly as he could without drawing suspicion after the old man.
Arthur made sure to stay close to the walls of the buildings, and caught up with the old man's back when he whipped around a corner. The man seemed to be headed towards the main building. Arthur crept behind him at a safe distance, careful not to make a sound, and the old man didn't seem to know he was being followed.
Arthur's instinct was to call the man out, yelling at him to stop, or to get the jump on him. He refrained. He wanted to know where the man was going. He wanted to be certain before he did anything too rash.
Sneaking after a person meant the pursuer had to remain silent. Merlin probably never called after someone he was tailing.
The old man brought Arthur to the door of the main building, and Arthur waited outside until the count of sixty before following him in. He shut the door gently behind him, and the florescent-lit corridor stretched out empty before him.
Arthur's stomach sank. He wondered if the man had turned down an adjacent corridor or stepped into a room. He walked quickly down the hall, looking into every corridor and open door he passed. They were all empty. Soon, Arthur was running.
He caught movement at the end of a connecting hallway and had to double back to peer around the corner. It was the old man. He was almost at the end of the hall. Arthur trained his breathing and followed after him.
The old man led him through the labyrinth like he knew exactly where he was going—like he knew every inch of the building by heart. Soon, things began to look familiar, and Arthur realized he was being led to the doctors' offices.
When he reached that part of the building, Arthur made sure to fall back as far as he dared. He stayed around the corner and curled himself around the wall. The old man had stopped walking. He was standing at an opened door, bent halfway into the threshold. Arthur couldn't see what he was doing inside.
Arthur snuck around the corner into the hallway. All the other doors were closed, and everything was silent. He placed one foot closely in front of the other, keeping his eyes fixed on the old man. Soon, the old man straightened out. He stepped backwards. He was wheeling something out the room.
It was a janitor's cart.
Arthur stopped short. He'd been following the caretaker.
The caretaker finally seemed to notice his presence. He gave a startled sound and said in annoyance, "Don't sneak up on an old man like that, boy! You'll give me a heart attack!"
"I'm sorry," Arthur stuttered, feeling foolish. He also felt a little relieved as he realized he had no idea what his plan was if the man actually did turn out to be Wilt.
He put up his hands and backed away slowly. "I didn't mean—I'm sorry."
The caretaker grumbled, and Arthur shamefacedly turned away. He did so just in time to see someone start with shock and rush back into the connecting hallway like they were trying to hide. Arthur furrowed his brow. He could have sworn it was Merlin.
Arthur raced after the figure, and he turned the corner in time to see that it was Merlin, who had almost slid into a wall as he turned another corner. Arthur didn't have time to stop. He ran at full speed until he'd finally caught up to Merlin, two hallways later, and slammed him against the wall. Merlin grunted in the process.
"What the hell are you doing?" Arthur demanded, not sounding as commanding as he would have liked through panting breaths. He ignored the stitch in his side.
"Avoiding Woo. What the hell are you doing?" Merlin shot back.
Arthur fixed him with a hard glare, looking for signs of a lie. He tried to remember if he'd seen Woo by the bonfire, but he couldn't have known with all the masks. She didn't seem like a person who would join in a Guy Fawkes Night celebration, so it was possible she was working late with Merlin. Still, Arthur was finding it hard to believe a word Merlin said anymore.
He released Merlin and backpedalled a few steps. Merlin rubbed the soreness out of where Arthur was gripping him.
"Then, why were you running?" Arthur asked suspiciously.
"I didn't know it was you," Merlin answered immediately.
Arthur narrowed his eyes at him.
"What?" Merlin asked.
"Woo will find you eventually, you know. There are cameras." He gestured to one on the ceiling, but it wasn't until he looked did he realize the red light wasn't on. "You turned off the cameras, did you?" Arthur realized.
"I didn't want to make it easy for her," Merlin told him.
All it did was further Arthur's distrust. Why was Merlin sneaking around the offices when he could have gone to the bonfire, where everyone's face was hidden? It would have been a better hiding place than this.
Arthur reached up and ripped the mask off his head. He thrust it into Merlin's chest, and Merlin hugged it so it wouldn't fall to the floor.
"There," Arthur sneered. "You might as well wear it if you're going to keep hiding behind one."
Merlin looked like he had no idea what Arthur was saying. "What does that mean?"
Arthur scoffed bitterly. "I don't know, Merlin. You tell me." Arthur was tired. He'd go as far as to say he was exhausted. He suddenly remembered that he left Beatrice at the bonfire. She'd offered to get him tea. That sounded a lot better than arguing in a hallway with Merlin. It wouldn't get them anywhere.
"Tell you what?" Merlin asked, sounding frustrated. Good. It was about time he was as irritated as Arthur.
Merlin clutched the mask in his fist, crinkling the plastic, and brandished it. "Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?" It was enough for Arthur know his anger required no explanation. He was certain Merlin had an idea of what this was all about. After all, he wasn't an idiot.
"Tell Woo hello for me, if you even are going to see her tonight," Arthur said through barred teeth. Merlin looked even more lost than before, but Arthur didn't care for the act. He marched down the hallway, trying to focus on his tea getting cold.
The cold shoulder wasn't exactly an apt enough term to describe what Arthur had given Merlin after that encounter. One would have thought December had come early.
Arthur's bed was no longer pushed against the glass. He'd moved it weeks ago. It was now by the wall, where he'd originally found it on his first day at Eleazar. At first, Merlin was confused by it. Three nights in a row, he asked Arthur about it like he couldn't work it out. Arthur never answered. He kept his nose in his book like he hadn't heard Merlin and was too enraptured by Winston Smith's plight. (The only downside was that Arthur was forced to glaze over any word he came across that he didn't know instead of being able to ask Merlin its meaning.)
By the fourth night, Merlin got angry. He shouted until his face turned red. He'd fallen asleep with his back facing Arthur and his arms crossed tightly across his chest.
Two weeks went by after that, and Arthur didn't see Merlin in all that time. He was always fast asleep before Merlin returned. Even if Arthur were talking to him, he wouldn't ask where Merlin was on those late nights. He wouldn't get a truthful answer, anyway, so what was the point?
Then, one night, Merlin was back. His anger seemed to have subsided. He knelt on his mattress, still hopefully lined up against the glass, and spoke sad, soft words to Arthur. It was almost enough to crack Arthur's shell, but then Merlin asked, "What have I done?" That only incensed Arthur further. Merlin knew exactly what he was doing, and Arthur didn't know whether or not he wanted to find out for himself.
That night, it was passed lights out, but Arthur couldn't sleep. He stared at the dark wall and listened out for movement. All he heard was the background hum of the heater. Merlin wasn't in his room. Arthur assumed he was sneaking around somewhere.
He thought back to all the times Merlin had gone missing in Camelot. He very much doubted that he'd been collecting herbs all those times, like Gaius claimed. He wondered how many times Merlin and Gaius sat across from each other at their dinner table, laughing at how they pulled the wool over Arthur's eyes once more. He felt so stupid.
The thoughts made his head ache with a dull thump. His vision started to blur, and static appeared before his eyes. It was like he could see every particle of the darkness.
Merlin's door opened, making a stream of bright light flood the shadows. Arthur instinctually winced and looked towards it in annoyance. However, his irritation faded when he saw Merlin's silhouette stumble through the threshold and tumble to the floor with a groan.
Arthur suddenly forgot all his anger and humiliation. It drained from him instantaneously as Merlin writhed slowly in pain with his cheek pressed against the tiles.
"Merlin," Arthur said urgently, unable to get his voice above a whisper. He fought himself out of his tangled blanket and rushed towards the glass. "Merlin!"
Merlin only continued to groan with soft gasps in between them, like he was crying.
Arthur had to get to him. He sprang across the room and pounded his fists on his door until they ached. His mind spun in a panic. "Gadewch i mi allan!" he shouted at the top of his voice. "Ewch â fi at Merlin!"
He slammed his shoulder against the door a few times, like he could break it down. He nearly fell through it when it was torn open. Arthur didn't wait to find out who had opened it. He raced down the corridor and into the next until he reached Merlin's door. He jiggled the handle a few times, but it wouldn't budge. He didn't know how to unlock it.
There were rushed footfalls from down the hall, and Arthur turned his head to find an orderly running towards him. He reasoned it must have been the man who opened his door.
"Agorwch y drws," Arthur demanded through the lump in his throat. It occurred to him that he wasn't speaking English, but he suddenly couldn't find a single word of the language. He felt like he was in a haze. The bright lights made the hallway spin around him dizzyingly as his mind focused completely on Merlin.
The orderly must have understood what he wanted, because he tapped his ID card to the sensor next to the door, and it clicked open. Arthur pushed through and, with a rush of blood to his head, landed on his knees next to Merlin, who had stopped writhing to lie still on his back and breathe heavily.
The orderly had stayed at the door, keeping it open. In the light from the hallway, Arthur saw Merlin's skin was scarred badly. The wounds rippled his arms along with blisters and blood. They reached up his neck and lined his cheeks. His hair was scorched off around one of his ears.
He looked like he'd been burnt, like a sorcerer on a stake.
"Merlin," Arthur breathed, horrified.
Merlin's eyes were red and glossy. He looked at Arthur like he'd just realized he was there, and his face contorted. He turned his head away as though to hide his face.
"Arthur," he choked out, just audible.
"Dwi yma," Arthur assured him. His hands ghosted over Merlin, but he was too afraid to touch him. He didn't want to cause any more pain. "Rwy'n gyda chi."
"English," Merlin breathed and Arthur tried to crack a smile. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad if Merlin smiled back. He didn't. The world didn't correct itself; it instead continued to wobble.
Arthur realized the door was still open, and the orderly was still standing in it. Arthur glared at him, daring him to try to separate them. The orderly made no move to do so. In fact, he was staring down at Merlin with the same look of paralyzed horror Arthur wore. His eyes flickered to Arthur, and he turned sheepish. Quickly, like he wanted to get out that situation immediately, he closed the door. Arthur knew he wouldn't be back. The orderlies, the technicians, the assistants, the guards—none of them ever asked any questions.
He refocused on Merlin, knowing he had to get him off the floor. He had no choice but to touch him for that, so he fitted his arms underneath Merlin and scooped him up. It seemed to cause another shudder of pain, but Merlin didn't fight him. Arthur struggled to his feet and carried Merlin to the mattress.
When he set him down gently on the blanket, he saw Merlin's eyelids fluttering rapidly. His irises were glowing gold as his magic fought against his wounds. He even started to chant something under his breath, but Arthur couldn't make it out. However, it seemed to settle Merlin. His eyes fell closed, and his breaths evened out.
Arthur just stared for a while, not knowing what to do. Should he call the orderly back to take him to his room? Should he sit by Merlin's side all night in vigil? He didn't know if he could do either. He wanted to find out what had been done to Merlin, and if this was Woo's fault. Had she tried to kill him again, this time with fire? Arthur would kill her.
He suddenly felt moved to do just that, and he almost jumped to his feet to find her.
Merlin must have sensed it, because his scarred hand reached out and grabbed Arthur's shirt, twisting the fabric. "Aros gyda mi."
Arthur nodded, even though Merlin's eyes were closed. Carefully, he crawled over Merlin and laid on his side on the small mattress, with his back pressed against the cool glass. He kept his eyes on Merlin's profile, watching him take in measured, shaky breaths.
Soon, Arthur eyes became heavy, and he started to drift off.
"I just wanted you back," he thought he heard Merlin say, but he was on the cusp of sleep. He might have dreamed it.
Arthur couldn't remember what he'd been dreaming, but it woke him up in the middle of the night. The clock on the wall blared 3:32 in red, block letters, and Arthur blinked at it in disorientation. The arm he was laying on spiked with pins and needles, and he tried to shift his position to take his weight off of it.
And then Merlin shuffled in sleep. Arthur remembered what had happened just hours before, and it stilled him. He still didn't know if it was okay to touch Merlin, so instead he propped himself up to look at him.
Even in the shadows, he could tell the scars on Merlin's face had diminished greatly. The scabs on his arms had faded and his blisters were gone. The hair that had been seared off had grown back to its original length. Merlin's body was recovering, and Arthur found himself gritting his teeth and clenching his fist in pain as the blood rushed back into his dying arm. He wished he had a magical cure, too.
His eyes dropped down to Merlin's torso, where his arm was slung across. Arthur couldn't prevent himself from reaching for his wrist and turning it over to look at the dragon tattoo. He traced it idly with his thumb as he thought back to the same sigil sewn into his scarf. They were almost identical, and impossible, and it suddenly felt less like Arthur had branded Merlin and more like Eleazar had.
His vision flickered back up, and Merlin was smiling gently in his sleep, like he could feel the pads of Arthur's fingertips tickling the rough skin. Arthur laid back down, but kept his arm resting over Merlin's, and went back to sleep.