A/N: So...I kinda lied. I totally didn't have this chapter written. I made the decision to switch around this chapter and the next (you'll understand why I can do that when you get to the end of this one). The segue at the end of this one just worked better than what I originally had. That being said, this chapter is the longest chapter so far (15 pages, 8,400 words). Sorry. That wasn't supposed to happen. Hope that's not a problem. I also hope it's still written well, seeing as how I only got to read through some of it once. I'm praying that was enough and that I didn't miss any huge errors.

So tired. I have to be to work in 5 hours, and I have yet to sleep. Oh well. It was worth it. I really wanted to get this posted, since the rest of my week will be rather hectic.

Title: Healing Spells
Author: BeyondTheStorm
Rating: T for violence and bloodshed.
Characters/pairings: Only friendship here :) Lots of Merlin and Arthur, and quite a bit of Gwen too, with some Morgana and a little bit of Gaius.
Spoilers: Um...lets just say everything up through 2x07, just to be safe.
Warnings: Self-harm (though just mentions of it from now on), violence, and blood.

Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews. You guys totally make my day. And thank you to all who are reading. I hope you're enjoying my fic :)

CHAPTER 11

It felt like he was floating. That was the only way to describe it. It was like being weightless, unable to feel even the pull of the earth. It was similar to being submerged in water, but without the need to breathe or the fear of drowning. There was something very calming and yet unsettling about it, because despite the freedom the feeling carried, it was unnatural. He knew with every fiber of his being that he wasn't supposed to feel like this, unfocused and numb.

However, with that realization came a dull sort of ache that erupted into unbearable pain. He wanted to sink back down and just float, to return to that painless state even if it wasn't natural, but something was keeping him from doing so. Something was keeping him in this place where his body felt like it was on fire and each breath was torn from his lungs.

Gods, did it hurt. He just wanted it to stop, to end, wished for it with all he had, and eventually the pain began to recede, giving way to numbness. It was a rather odd sensation, actually. His body still hurt, but he was numb, unable to feel anything other than each labored breath and the beating of his heart. It was strange but at the same time vaguely familiar, as if he had been in this position before not all that long ago, where he was numb and paralyzed aside from where it mattered most.

He was pretty sure the burning sensation was new though. It was concentrated where he assumed his stomach would be if he could actually see anything. Everything was dark, and he couldn't even feel his eyes in order to open them. It was hard to explain what it felt like to be both numb and burning at the same time. He was pretty sure that it was logically impossible, but that's how it felt. Everything was pretty hazy though. There was always the chance he was just imagining all of it, that none of it was real.

But if that were true, then why was it familiar?

Suddenly a new sensation washed over him, cool and comforting, easing the burn in the pit of his stomach. With it came the aching from before, but it wasn't as bad, and whatever was moving through him was relaxing, and he found he could breathe deeper, easier, and without forcing a single breath. It was such a soft and gentle touch, relaxing and safe and even more familiar than the numbness (even though it had no right to be, as he was certain he had only felt it once or twice before).

Realization hit him rather suddenly, and he was able to put a word to what had washed through him.

Magic.

That cool, relaxing, safe feeling that flowed like water was magic. That was what it felt like to have magic used on him, without malice, but it was more than that, more than just magic.

It was Merlin's magic.

The memory was very recent, and it wasn't one that would ever fade, nor did he want it to, because it was soothing and familiar. He had felt the same thing flow through him before, keeping him safe and alive. It wasn't something he would ever forget, and as he allowed himself to take it all in and sink into the comfort it provided, the memories began to wash over him. They came slow at first, like a flash of trees, the sound of birds, a clearing, and then came fire and light and gold and then darkness, followed by a rush of voices and words, sentences streaming together until it became too much to focus on, just too much…

"Hurry up, Merlin!"

"Don't Move."

"Arthur Pendragon…"

"Very good. You're clearly stronger than you look."

"Arthur!"

"I won't let it come to that."

"Why are you doing this?"

"I'm sorry…"

"The prince saw you, you know."

"Even if it costs me my life…"

"It doesn't matter."

"I think it's time we end this."

"If you cast that spell, you'll die!"

"So be it."

"As long as Arthur lives and Camelot stands…it doesn't matter what happens to me."

"It doesn't matter what happens to me…"

"It doesn't matter…"

The first thing that came to him when he started to wake was a sense that wherever he was wasn't where he had been. For one, he was pretty sure he could feel rocks beneath him instead of dirt and grass, and even though he couldn't quite remember why he should have been lying on dirt and grass, he knew that it somehow made sense. He had no recollection of even seeing a place recently where the ground was covered in rocks, so something was definitely wrong, and when he managed to crack his eyes open, he realized just how right he was.

Everything was dark at first and a bit blurry, and he figured it was probably because he had just woken up, so he blinked a few times to clear his vision. The blurriness cleared up easily enough, but the darkness only partially retreated. His surroundings were still pretty shadowed, and upon closer inspection, he discovered why.

Everywhere he looked he saw rocks. The walls were all made of stone, as was the ground, apparently. The only thing that wasn't was an opening about twenty feet away, and only when he saw it did he finally realize where he was—a cave, but that didn't make any sense. He was pretty sure he had been in a forest not too long ago. Everything was still a bit hazy, and as he looked around as much as his stiff neck would allow, he got the sense that something was missing…something important.

It was only when he attempted to move and a sharp pain shot through his stomach that it all came back to him in a rush. He remembered the arrows, the men charging, and then each and every battle until there weren't many opponents left. He could still hear the one yelling for the rest of them to kill Merlin, and then there was wind, an arrow, and more fighting. After that only two things came to mind, and he found they were the last things he could remember. There had been the hilt of a knife and two terrified blue eyes.

He had been stabbed.

Breathing deep, Arthur shifted against the ground, trying to sit up. It hurt, but it was more of a slow burn this time, and so with a few calming breaths and a lot of effort, he managed to prop himself up against the wall, relaxing as soon as he could feel the cold stone against his back. Even through the thick fabric of his jacket (his tunic was currently absent) he could feel the rocks, though it wasn't entirely uncomfortable, thankfully.

Now that he was sitting up, he could see a bit better and took a longer look at his surroundings. The cave wasn't all that big but it certainly wasn't small either, with high walls and a large opening. Upon closer inspection he could see a bag sitting nearby, the contents scattered across the floor. Among them was the tunic he had been wearing earlier, but in the dark it was impossible to tell how ruined it was. There also appeared to be the remains of a fire not too far away, and right next to him were some strips of white cloth—bandages, his weary mind supplied helpfully—stained red. Perhaps that was why he couldn't feel any wrapped around him at the moment.

He shifted once more, hissing in pain as the skin near his stomach pulled. He decided that it was time to face the damage, because he couldn't keep avoiding it. Taking a deep breath, he looked down, prepared for the worst.

His eyes widened at what he saw.

Arthur knew injuries well. He had seen many in his life, on himself and others. He knew what stab wounds were supposed to look like, how fatal they could be, how long they took to heal if you were lucky enough to live through one, and therefore he also knew what they weren't supposed to look like. They weren't supposed to be only half the size of the blade. They weren't supposed to stop bleeding without medical treatment. They weren't supposed to heal so easily. Some weren't supposed to heal at all.

It should have been bigger, it should have still been bleeding somewhat, it should've hurt like hell, and it probably should have been infected, all things considered, but it wasn't. It wasn't any of those things. Instead it was half the size it was supposed to be and completely scabbed over, no signs of infection or potential scarring or anything.

He had been healed.

His head shot up and he looked around again, because now he knew why it felt like something was missing, because something was, something important…

"Merlin…"

No response.

"Merlin!"

The warlock's name echoed around him, but there was no reply. He was met with only silence, and his stomach began to hurt in a completely different way when he realized that he was alone. Other than the scattered remnants of their supplies, there was no trace of his servant.

Where was Merlin?

His eyes traveled the cave once more, looking for some sign or just something to point him in the right direction, only to end up staring at the bloodied bandages just a foot or so away. He realized rather suddenly and with a growing sense of dread that they couldn't belong to him. His wound looked like it had stopped bleeding quite a while ago (though he couldn't be positive about that, given that magic was involved), but the blood on those bandages was fresh.

If it wasn't his, then logically there was only one other person it could belong to.

"…Oh, you're awake."

His head snapped towards the entrance of the cave, and standing there with his arms full of logs and twigs was Merlin. He couldn't see him all that well due to their rather dim surroundings, but his servant didn't look injured. He was standing upright, not hunched over, not shifting uncomfortably, and he was carrying what looked to be a lot of wood, probably to build another fire. He seemed fine, and so the prince relaxed a bit, but he kept his attention on the warlock, looking for even the slightest sign that not all was well.

With a smile on his face, the boy walked across the cave and stopped where the remains of his previous fire were…and then just stood there, staring at it. Arthur watched him rather closely, because usually Merlin would crouch down and start organizing the wood, carefully and almost methodically, before lighting it. The look on his face though suggested that he was trying to decide how to get the fire going. That was the prince's first clue that something might be wrong.

Eventually the warlock just spread his arms and allowed the wood to fall, gathering it all up with the help of his magic. Once the pile was organized, he lit it with a single word, and light instantly flooded their small shelter, casting shadows against the cave walls.

Now that his surroundings weren't so dark, Arthur took a closer look at his servant, trying to spot even the smallest thing wrong, because this was Merlin. This was a warlock who had kept his magic hidden while using it right under the king's nose and in Arthur's presence on more than one occasion. Despite being a terrible liar, Merlin was good at hiding the things he didn't want anyone to know. If something had happened, if the boy was injured, then Arthur was going to have to drag it out of him. He intended to keep watching closely, and if it turned out that everything truly wasn't all well, then he was going to have a rather loud discussion with his servant about their whole "no secrets, no hiding" policy, because he was really getting sick of having to force the truth out of Merlin every time something was wrong. It was becoming a bit ridiculous, as if years of having to hide his magic had turned into a habit of hiding everything that could potentially be cause for concern.

Even if it drove him to the brink of insanity, he was going to break that habit, because constantly trying to read Merlin accurately would likely drive him insane anyway. Despite the boy's rather carefree and honest personality, he was not an open book.

With a satisfied smile on his face, the warlock turned around and moved towards the scattered supplies lying on the ground. The prince assumed he was going to clean up the mess he had made, but instead he simply drew the bag to him, summoning it with his magic. He reached in and pulled out an apple before tossing the bag back down and moving closer.

"Here," he said, holding out the bright red fruit. "It's not much, but you should eat something."

He hadn't given it any thought before, but he actually was rather hungry. It suddenly dawned on him that he had no idea when he had last eaten. He didn't even know what day it was.

"How long was I out?" he asked, reaching to take the offered fruit.

"Two days."

It felt like it should've been longer than that, but he wasn't about to complain. They could only afford to waste so much time before things would get problematic. It was a good thing he had asked for two weeks. If things continued like this, they were going to need every last day.

"And where are we, exactly?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I found this cave in a ravine about an hour away from where we were, but other than that…"

"You got us here?"

"Well, the horses did most of the work…"

"Where are they?"

"Outside, tethered to a tree. Don't worry, I've been taking care of them."

He just nodded his approval and took the apple, and when he did, he noticed something that hadn't been present before, and it was further proof that perhaps not all was well. Merlin's hand was bandaged. It was his right hand, the one he had shoved a knife through (Arthur clenched his jaw at the reminder, forcing himself to rein in the anger) while practicing the healing spells. However, the warlock had healed it. The wound had been scabbed over, and Merlin hadn't seen fit to wear bandages before, so why now? What was he hiding?

His servant turned away and was about to walk back towards the fire, but Arthur quickly reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. Startled, the boy turned around and fixed the prince with a questioning stare, obviously waiting for an explanation. Arthur didn't say anything though and instead held on a bit tighter, turning Merlin's hand until he could see where the bandage was tied. He reached with his other hand (the apple now lying forgotten on the ground) to undo the rather sloppy knot, and in doing so he felt the warlock tense. He glanced up, half expecting the look that greeted him, one both nervous and a bit guilty.

It had been speculation at first, but now he was certain that something was wrong.

"I thought you healed this."

"I did."

"Then why is it bandaged?"

Before Merlin could come up with an answer, Arthur undid the knot and eased the cloth aside, letting it fall to the ground. His eyes widened briefly before they narrowed, his grip tightening, because what he was met with was nothing like what he remembered. Gone was the scabbed over and partially healed flesh, replaced with torn skin and dried blood. It looked as if just the slightest pull might tear it back open.

"What happened?" he demanded in a soft but seething voice, already knowing that whatever answer he got probably wouldn't be the complete truth.

"I…it reopened."

"I can see that. How?"

"I don't remember. It happened during the fight…"

"Why didn't you heal it again?"

"I…I couldn't at the time. I still can't."

"What do you mean you couldn't…?"

He didn't get the chance to finish as he was assaulted by a rush of memories. He could remember a similar situation, asking Merlin why he hadn't used his magic, only to be told that he couldn't, that it hadn't worked. He had lost the ability to use his magic after healing a life-threatening wound. The prince's thoughts then flew to the battle they had just survived, and he was painfully aware that he shouldn't have made it out alive. That knife should've killed him, but it hadn't. It hadn't because he had been healed, because Merlin had healed him. The warlock had healed a fatal wound, worse than the one to his own arm a couple weeks ago. Had this one also cost him temporary loss of his magic?

But he had built that fire with his magic and used it to grab his bag, so that couldn't be it. He could still use it, so what did the warlock mean? Why couldn't he heal his hand? It was understandable that he hadn't been able to during the fight, but what was stopping him now?

There was something else, something the prince was neglecting, and when he tried to recall the last few moments of the battle in the woods, all he could really remember was feeling frantic before there was pain and then nothing. He put all the effort he could into recalling those last moments before he was stabbed, and it didn't take long for him to remember why he had been frantic. There had been the strum of a bowstring, the rushing of wind, and an arrow…

He inhaled sharply, his stomach clenching.

Merlin had been shot.

His grip tightened further, and despite the fact that the warlock was standing in front of him without effort or displaying even a hint of pain, he had the sudden irrational urge to pull him down and see for himself whether the boy was still injured or not. He had to check, because Merlin was the type of person who didn't want others worrying about him, who would ignore his own injuries and put up with the pain for that reason and that reason alone. He was an idiot who never thought things all the way through and who couldn't seem to understand that hiding things only made the people close to him worry more.

If his shoulder was in the same state as his hand…Arthur wasn't quite sure yet what he'd do. For Merlin's sake, it just better not be.

"Sit down."

"What?"

When Merlin just stared at him, confused, Arthur tugged on his wrist a bit.

"I said sit down."

"Why?" he asked.

"So I can take a look at your shoulder."

It didn't escape his notice that the boy looked slightly uncomfortable with that idea. He also made absolutely no move to comply with the prince's wishes.

"There's nothing wrong with it."

Now that was an utter lie.

"Merlin, you were shot."

"I'm fine."

"Merlin…"

The warlock heaved a put upon sigh (and really, what right did he have to sigh like that? If anyone deserved to sigh, it was Arthur for having to put up with such insolence), but with one more insistent tug, Merlin finally relented. He leant back against the wall and slowly slid down until the two of them were sitting side by side, but there was something very stiff about his posture. The prince made a mental note of it and decided to ponder it later. Right now he needed to see just how badly his servant had been injured.

However, Merlin didn't move from his spot and instead just looked at Arthur as if waiting for something. He wasn't removing his jacket or doing anything that would allow the prince to see his injured shoulder.

"Well?" asked Arthur, growing slightly impatient, and the confused look he got from his servant certainly didn't help his mood any.

"Well what?"

"Your shoulder, Merlin. Let me see it."

This wasn't good. It didn't look like Arthur was going to take no for an answer. Merlin fought the urge to worry his lip when he realized he wasn't going to be able to avoid doing this for much longer. Even in a weakened state, he had no doubt that the prince would force him to comply if he refused, and right now between the two of them (taking all things into consideration, even the magic), Arthur was by far stronger. About all Merlin could manage with his magic right now were small, simple spells, because he needed all of it for healing.

More specifically, he needed it for healing Arthur, because after using that "sharing" spell, he had decided to do a bit more reading, and although what he had found wasn't all that surprising, it was something he wished he'd known earlier. His newfound knowledge wouldn't have changed his decision though. What he had done had been the only way to keep them both alive. He just wished he'd been a bit better prepared for the consequences.

With every moment that passed without him complying with Arthur's demands, the prince's eyes narrowed more and more, and it was easy to tell that he was doing all he could to keep his frustration in check. His friend wasn't going to let this go.

From the moment he had entered the cave to find Arthur awake and aware, he had been trying his best not to give away the state he was in. For the most part he could numb the pain in his hand and his shoulder, but he could only do so partially for the stab wound to his stomach. He had learned early on that stretching that area too much resulted in a lot of pain, and at one point the wound even reopened. That was the last thing he needed to have happen in front of Arthur, and so therefore he hadn't been able to crouch down to build the fire or pick up his bag. Instead he had used magic so that Arthur wouldn't become aware of how injured he was.

However, it seemed his actions may have had the opposite effect he was hoping for. He had never seen a look quite that scrutinizing before, as if Arthur was just waiting for even the slightest sign that something wasn't right, and when the prince was actually paying attention, no secret was safe. It looked like any hopes he had of keeping what he had done from his friend were about to be dashed.

With an air of resignation, he began to remove his jacket. Slowly he slipped his arm out, trying not to twist at all, because just the slightest pull could reopen his wound, and as delusional as the thought was in this situation, he still wanted to keep it hidden from Arthur. He managed to get his jacket completely off without incident, thankfully. He then undid the laces to his tunic and slid the material down to reveal his injured shoulder. He wasn't sure what sort of reaction he was expecting, but whatever Arthur decided, he just prayed the prince wouldn't ask that he remove the tunic completely. Not only would he hurt himself, thus exposing his secret, but he would also expose the wound, and Merlin knew how Arthur would react upon finding out what had happened and what was continuing to happen (once more he cursed himself for not reading ahead before attempting a powerful spell. As soon as he found the time, he was going to read the whole bloody section, no matter how long it took).

He watched as the prince's expression tightened, and although it was nice to see something familiar on his face, the anger left a feeling of foreboding in the pit of his stomach.

"You bandaged it," he said, as if that were the most condemning bit of information he had ever found. Sadly, in this situation it probably was.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It kept reopening."

Another glare, and this time the prince reached over and tried to move the cloth aside so that he could see the wound. However, despite having been pulled down, the tunic was still in the way. When the prince stopped trying, his eyes meeting Merlin's, the warlock had a sinking feeling he knew what was coming. Even with that knowledge, he was no better prepared for it.

"Take this off," said Arthur.

"Why?" He had to at least give it one last try.

"So that I can see how bad the wound is."

"It's fine."

"Don't lie to me, Merlin. If it were fine, you would've healed it. Now take this off and let me see it."

"But Arthur…"

"I'll not ask you again."

When Merlin still made no move to take off his tunic, Arthur lost his patience. He reached over and fisted his hand in the material before giving it a jerk upwards, intending to show his disobedient servant that if he didn't do as he was told, Arthur would just do it for him. He pulled the boy forward a bit, expecting to be shrugged off with a petulant glare. What he wasn't expecting was a startled cry, a sharp wince, and all the color beating a fast retreat from the warlock's face. He released him and watched as Merlin bent forward, placing one arm across his stomach. His eyes were closed, his expression pinched, and each breath was suddenly harsh and fast. Everything about him spoke of an intense pain, one far beyond that of an arrow wound to the shoulder.

"Merlin?" he asked, not even bothering to try and hide the concern in his voice. Merlin didn't appear to hear him though, and the prince wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't a physician; he didn't know what was wrong, and the last thing he wanted to do was act rashly and hurt the warlock further.

Being a man of action and a decent strategist, Arthur quickly took stock of the situation. From the moment Merlin entered the cave, the boy had been behaving suspiciously. For someone with an injured hand and an injured shoulder, he hadn't seemed to be in even the slightest bit of pain. Then there was the fire, where instead of building it the normal way, he had stood there and contemplated it before using his magic. After that came his bag, where instead of bending down to pick it up, he had once more relied on magic, despite it lying right at his feet. It was true that Merlin sometimes used his skills for mundane tasks, but this bordered on ridiculous.

There had to be a reason. Why had Merlin used magic for everything he could easily do himself, everything that he usually did without magic, and why did it look like he was in pain now when he hadn't been earlier while carrying firewood and moving around the cave? There was also something a bit strange about his initial refusal to sit down and then the careful way he lowered himself to the ground, relying on the wall for support as he did so.

The prince took a good look at his servant, taking everything in, but what really struck him was the arm wrapped around Merlin's waist. It was hard to see, even with the firelight, but upon closer inspection he saw that Merlin was pressing down, his hand clenching the material at his side in a white-knuckled grip. The warlock had moved it there instinctively…protectively, even, and that's when it hit him. He had seen that posture before in knights who had been wounded in battle, where they would guard the injured area and refuse to bend or sit or do anything that would give away their pain, men with cracked or broken ribs, heavy bruising, sword wounds, stab wounds…

Stab wounds…

Something in him twisted sharply. He wasn't sure why he thought of it. He was the one who had been stabbed, not Merlin, but so far everything the warlock had avoided doing, including what he currently was doing, reminded him of those knights. He decided rather suddenly that he was done being cautious. He shifted as much as he could while still leaning against the wall until he was turned fully towards the warlock. He reached out and wrapped his hand around the boy's wrist. He felt Merlin tense, his eyes opening as he turned to look at Arthur. Amidst the pain and the resolve was also a hint of fear, and that alone was enough to worry the prince, spurring him on.

He held Merlin's gaze as he began to pull the boy's arm away from his stomach, and he saw something break in those eyes. They softened, the resolve fading, and he got the feeling that if the warlock hadn't been in so much pain, he probably would've sighed in defeat. Merlin loosened his grip and allowed his arm to be pushed aside, but other than closing his eyes and collapsing rather boneless against the wall, he didn't move. He was going to make Arthur do all the work it seemed (Merlin really was the worst servant ever sometimes), but at the same time it looked like he was done resisting.

Without further hesitation, Arthur grabbed the hem of Merlin's tunic and lifted. Originally he had intended to remove it completely so he could see the full extent of his friend's injuries. In the end he didn't get any further than the ribs before he froze, squeezing the rough material in his hand as it clenched in both shock and a slow, seeping fury.

Merlin had been stabbed. Of all the injuries the warlock had ever tried to hide from him, this one went too far. He found himself growing furious at both Merlin and whoever was responsible. When had it happened? He retraced his memories of the battle in the woods, but he couldn't for the life of him remember a moment where Merlin had been stabbed. Shot, yes, but not stabbed. Before falling unconscious, his friend had been more or less alright, so had it happened afterwards, after he had been…?

His eyes widened and he snapped his head up towards Merlin, but the boy had his own turned away and was purposefully not looking at Arthur.

For a moment his mind blanked aside from one single thought. I was stabbed…

From there, everything began falling into place. His own wound—not bleeding, not infected, scabbed over, half the size it should be—and then Merlin's wound…

Merlin's wound, which was unhealed and in the exact same place as Arthur's…

"What did you do?" he demanded, his voice soft and scared and angry.

The warlock flinched but otherwise he said nothing. He didn't even turn to face Arthur, which only caused the prince to grow angrier, and he had to resist the urge to grab the boy and shake him until he answered.

"What did you do?"

Still nothing.

"Merlin!"

He watched as Merlin closed his eyes and sighed, his whole body relaxing against the wall in defeat as the last ounce of defiance drained out of him. He just sat there for a moment, unmoving, before he opened his eyes and stared into the flames flickering only a few feet away.

"I took it," he said softly.

"You…what? You took it?"

"Yes, well…part of it, anyway."

"Merlin, what do you mean you took…?"

…Oh. Two stab wounds, both the same size, half the size of the blade…

Finally Merlin raised his head and met his master's gaze, if only at a glance, eyes once more filled with determination but at the same time weary.

"You were going to die, Arthur," he said. "I tried everything. I couldn't stop the bleeding, I couldn't close the wound. Nothing worked."

"But then…how…?"

"There are two spells in the book for wounds like that, one for taking all of it and one for sharing it. Thankfully the second one worked or you'd probably still be lying in the woods."

The prince just stared at him, mouth moving but no sounds forming.

"Merlin…you…" He didn't know how to finish or what to say, because there just weren't words for it. There weren't words for the rage and the fear and the overwhelming gratitude he felt at the thought of what Merlin had done. He wanted to yell at him, call him an idiot for putting himself at risk, for doing something that could have killed him, but more than anything he wanted to thank him, yet nothing seemed adequate enough to express how grateful he was that they were both alive, that Merlin had once again saved him. He was astounded and angry and worried all at the same time, and nothing he said would ever be able to express it.

"Idiot," he whispered, the insult coming out more fond than anything, and maybe that was enough, because Merlin gave him a small smile in return, as if he understood exactly what Arthur wanted to say but couldn't.

With a soft sigh, the prince let go of Merlin's tunic and allowed the warlock to pull it back down over his wound. He no longer needed to check on the boy's injures, but there were a lot of questions that his servant needed to answer, and he would answer if he knew what was good for him.

"What happened after I was stabbed?" he asked, and he just sat back and listened as Merlin told him about finishing off the men who attacked them, about how he took part of Arthur's wound and then stopped the bleeding for the both of them, how his other wounds had reopened because of it (that information came with a stab of guilt, but he said nothing about it and just continued to listen).

Merlin told him about resting for a while before getting up, relying on what little magic he could in order to lessen the pain, and then finding their horses and getting them both mounted and secured before heading off into the forest again. He spoke of finding the ravine and then the cave just as it was getting dark, deciding it was the safest place for them to rest. He talked about the mundane tasks of gathering food and wood and tending to the horses as well as leafing through his book in hopes of finding something useful. Lastly he spoke about how he had been slowly healing Arthur's wound a little more every chance he got.

"If I keep at it, you should be completely healed in a few days," he said.

"Wait," said Arthur, fixing the warlock with a confused stare. "Let me get this straight. After taking part of my wound, you were able to heal it?"

"Um…yes."

The prince grit his teeth. Why did his servant have to constantly do things that were beyond frustrating?

"If that's true, then why haven't you healed your own?"

Out of the two of them at the moment, Merlin was the one more seriously injured. Aside from the stab wound to his hand (and that was his own damn fault, the bloody idiot, and he would be yelled at again for it later), he had an arrow wound to his shoulder and a knife wound in his stomach, both barely even closed.

"I told you before. I can't."

"Why can't you?"

Merlin huffed a sigh and didn't say anything at first, but just as Arthur was about to demand that he answer the question, the warlock fixed him with a firm stare and began speaking.

"The way healing works is the magic…pools in the wound. It stays there in order to keep it closed or to stop it from hurting…it all depends on the spell, really, but until the wound heals, the magic stays. The amount of magic lessens gradually, but it can't be used. If redirected, the wound will stop healing and go back to what it would be if it were healing naturally. That's why my wounds reopened when I took part of yours.

"However…I didn't realize that the spell for sharing a wound works differently than the other healing spells. If I had healed you with a normal spell, the magic would've stayed with you. Even if I died, you'd still heal. However, when I made the decision to share it, I connected my magic to you."

Oh, he really didn't like the sound of that.

"What do you mean?"

"Right now, the magic keeping your wound closed is still connected with me. If I make even the slightest error and end up redirecting the magic, it'll reopen…all of it will reopen. You'll get the rest of it back, and we'll be right back where we were with you bleeding to death and me unable to stop it."

He swallowed hard at the thought and was once more amazed at the amount of dedication Merlin continued to show him. He hated the fact that his friend was suffering because of this, but at the same time he knew that it was the only way for both of them to survive. He was well aware that Merlin could've chosen to take the whole wound, to let himself die. Arthur could've woken up in the forest instead of the cave. He could've woken up next to Merlin only to find his friend bloody and broken, cold, gone…all for his sake. It was a sickening thought, and he found himself fearing the next fatal wound he would receive.

"I've been trying to close your wound as quickly as I can so you won't be at risk anymore. A few more times and it should get to the point where you won't need to be connected to my magic."

"Is that why you can't heal yourself yet?"

"More or less. Even though it may not seem like it, I did have to use a few on myself. They all got infected, so I had to stop that first, and then I numbed the ones in my hand and shoulder and made sure to keep them from bleeding. It unfortunately didn't work as well as I'd hoped, so I had to bandage them, and I haven't bothered trying again. The stab wound was my main concern. So far it hasn't reopened again. I don't know if I could keep it from bleeding if it does."

Arthur just took it all in, filing the information away. At a later time, the two of them would sit down and discuss this properly in the safety of his chambers. For now there were only a few things he really wanted to know so he could better understand what Merlin had done.

"Is healing magic really that difficult?"

"Not difficult, exactly, just…powerful, different. It can take a lot out of a sorcerer, and the spells can be dangerous if they're not used right."

"Is that why…you felt the need to practice?"

Merlin winced at the reminder, because now more than ever he was cursing himself for his oversights. Every wound he had inflicted upon himself had been using up his magic, allowing him to use less and less for other things, and he hadn't even realized it. What if he had gone too far? What if he had caused so much damage to himself that he wouldn't have been able to fight without them reopening? Something like that could've cost him his life, and all his attempts to learn and become stronger would have been wasted. Such an oversight could've cost him everything. He had been originally practicing so that he'd be able to help Arthur should the need arise, and instead what he had done could've ended up costing the prince his life somewhere down the line.

If Arthur hadn't stopped him when he did, there was no telling how far he would've gone, and that battle in the woods might've turned out far more tragic.

"Arthur," he began, earning his friend's full attention. "Thank you."

The prince just stared at him incredulously.

"What for?"

"For stopping me when you did. If I had continued…practicing…"

"You don't need to thank me. Whatever debt you think you owe, I assure you you've already paid it."

Merlin couldn't help but smile, because coming from Arthur that was as good as any thank you. It fell a bit though, because despite everything he had told the prince, he was still hiding something. Hidden within the healing section of his book, amongst the consequences for redirecting the magic, was a warning and a spell. Apparently the sorcerer who casts the spells isn't the only one who can redirect the magic. Just as other spells can be redirected, so can the magic from healing spells. If he were to go up against another sorcerer, one who could tell what he had done and who knew the right incantation, they would be able to redirect his magic.

Right now, if that happened, Arthur would die. He had to finish healing the prince, and until he did, he needed to keep him hidden and safe. As soon as the wound was more or less healed, the magic would fade, and then the warlock could focus on healing himself, but at least by then he'd be the only one at risk, and that was fine. He'd take his chances. They didn't have time to sit around and wait for the both of them to heal up completely. They had already been away for four days, and there was no telling how long it would take to help Gaius. Hopefully they'd be able to return to Camelot in two weeks, or else Uther would likely send knights out after Arthur regardless of the consequences. That was the last thing they needed.

A rather comfortable silence filled the cave as the two of them just sat there, lost in thought. Merlin could tell that the prince was starting to get tired though. It was understandable. Not only had he fought hard against all those men, but he had also lost a great deal of blood. The fact that he hadn't really had anything to drink or eat since then probably didn't help any.

Not wanting to move just yet, Merlin used his magic to bring his bag over again. As long as Arthur was awake, it was best that he eat and drink as much as he could before passing out. Even if it meant going out and finding more food later, that was fine. Taking care of Arthur came first.

"You really should eat something," he said, pointing towards the apple that had been forgotten earlier, discarded on the ground.

"I'm not hungry."

"Doesn't matter." That earned him a glare, to which he just smiled. "You're the one who told me that part of treating excessive blood loss was eating properly. You really should take your own advice, sire."

Merlin pulled out some dried meat, nuts, and a water skin and handed them all to Arthur. The prince took them with a sigh, proof that the situation was probably getting to him. He didn't usually give in so easily. That or maybe he really was hungry. Either way it didn't matter, just so long as Arthur finally got something into his system. Two days was a long time to go without any sustenance, especially after losing so much blood.

Deciding that he should probably clear up some of his mess, Merlin turned towards their scattered supplies and began to gather it up magically (now that he was sitting, he didn't much feel like trying to get up again). As long as the spells were small, he could still use his magic without having to worry about the consequences.

From his spot against the wall, Arthur quietly observed his friend while eating what he'd been offered. It was once more just a small display, but it was still magic, and he couldn't help but find it fascinating. Merlin wasn't even using words. This was the kind of magic that came naturally to him, something he could just do without trying. It was instinctual and normal for him. His magic was as much a part of him as his arms or legs and as vital as the blood running through his veins. Arthur couldn't help but wonder if there were others like him, people who were born with their gifts, who had no say in the matter.

How many people had his father killed simply for the crime of their existence?

It was true that many of the sorcerers that had been put to death in Camelot had deserved such a fate, but it was also true that many had been innocent. Many had done nothing wrong, with or without magic. So many senseless deaths…

Perhaps in the beginning, it had been necessary. Maybe people had used magic for the wrong reasons, allowing the power to corrupt them, but things were different now, and the laws were starting to do more harm than good. How many had attacked Camelot out of revenge, seeking retribution for the slaughter of innocents? How many of them had chosen to target Arthur simply because he was Uther Pendragon's son, because they thought he was the same as his father? How many had hunted him down for crimes he hadn't committed just like his father hunted them? It went on endlessly, and it would continue to do so until something was done. He just had to survive long enough to do something about it.

For now though, he would settle for doing whatever he could, and if the only thing he could do against the law was protect Merlin, then so be it. No matter what, he would not see his friend executed. He would never stand by and let him die, not at his father's hands or anyone else's. Merlin certainly made it difficult though. He had never met someone before with so little sense of self-preservation. The idiot needed someone to look out for him since he was too busy looking out for everyone else, namely Arthur.

The prince huffed a laugh, unable to stop himself from smiling at the thought. What a pair the two of them made. Master and servant, a prince and a peasant, a knight and a warlock, and someday…someday they would be a king and a court sorcerer. Alone, neither of them would get very far (countless witches, sorcerers, and magical beasts had proven that, as had the laws of Camelot), but if they could keep each other alive, then maybe, someday, everything would work out.

"What?" asked Merlin, who obviously must have thought that the prince had been laughing at him (which was true to some extent, just not in the way Merlin probably thought).

"It's nothing," he said, taking a long drink from the water skin before capping it and setting it aside. He had only been a little tired before but now his eyes were starting to feel heavy. The blood loss was catching up with him. He wouldn't be able to stay awake for much longer.

"You should get some rest," said Merlin. "It'll be dark soon anyway."

Normally he would have complained about his servant trying to tell him what to do, but that was one suggestion he had no trouble going along with. He slowly maneuvered himself back down to the ground and onto his bedroll (he hadn't even noticed it there before, but that was probably why he had awoken in far less pain than he should have after sleeping on uneven rocks).

As soon as he was lying down, Merlin carefully moved over until he was kneeling next to the prince.

"I'm going to try healing you a little more," he said. "It's probably been long enough now. It might feel a bit odd, but it shouldn't hurt."

He raised his hands until they were only a few inches above the wound. As much as he wanted to watch, Arthur found he could barely keep his eyes open.

"Just try to relax, alright?"

He closed his eyes as Merlin whispered a few words in that strange language, the one all users of magic seemed to know. It was a language that had once put him on edge, one he had associated with treachery and treason and death, and even though it still made him nervous, he was slowly learning to appreciate it. Those words and that voice had saved his life countless times, and he was slowly but surely growing accustomed to that.

Following the words was a soft and cool sensation that spread across his skin and then sank inward, easing what pain there was and leaving him far more comfortable than he had been. It was the exact same feeling as before, and in his exhausted state, his mind began to wander back to where it had been earlier, making every connection along the way. Later he would blame Merlin for all of it. The feel of magic flowing through him, cool and comforting, was so strange and yet so familiar that he found himself getting lost in the sensation. Once more it was magic that was keeping him alive—magic and Merlin, standing between him and death, unafraid and unwavering, just like that day five weeks ago in the forests outside of Camelot. With his eyes closed and the magic moving through him, it was exactly the same as back then. If he tried, he could even recall the things that were said, every threat and declaration, each and every argument, every last word…

When sleep finally took him, it came with the feel of magic that flowed like water and the sound of words almost left unsaid.

A/N: So...can you guess what I intend to segue into? :) I did make a ridiculous amount of promises, after all.