Part II - Chapter 4

"Your argument is invalid, Lady Nine. The fact that she was under the legal age of eighteen does not detract from the fact that she used magic in a terrorist act!"

Fighting the urge to glare at the spokesman across the wide expanse of circular table, Arthur pressed his lips together and glanced instead towards Nimueh. As always, she held herself cool and composed, her posture impeccable and not a twitch in her expression to suggest the words of the Initiative Party member irked her in the slightest.

Blinking with the deliberate slowness of one who would be sipping tea to extend the silence if only there was tea available, Nimueh shook her head slightly. "Indeed, magic was used, but that is neither here nor there when it comes to the punishment due to those of an underage status."

"How is it not? It has everything to do with it." The spokesman – some nameless face as so many members of the Initiative were – curled his lip in distaste. He was a weedy man, elderly with the jowls to speak for it and thinning hair atop his crown. As for every upper class citizen of London, he wore the ridiculous wide sleeved and skirt-trousers that was of high fashion at present. The tightness of the outfit about his torso only enhanced the strain his girth loaded upon the seams of his garments.

It was juvenile, Arthur knew, but he found himself picking the man apart, noting every flaw he could detect and mentally throwing it against him. It was fuelled by his anger at the man's irrational hatred of sorcerers, he knew, at his hatred and aggressive fear of magic itself, but that knowledge of his own thoughts, of his own impression, did nothing to alleviate Arthur's scanning study. The man wouldn't be able to pick up a shield to save himself, let alone a sword. He wouldn't know how to track a fleeing criminal – a real criminal – through a forest even in broad daylight, even should footprints be impressed upon the path. He would complain after a day in the saddle, whine at the shortage of rations in hard times, bemoan the wait for bathwater as it boiled to optimal temperature rather than drawing it readily from a tap.

The people of this New World were so soft. It was almost embarrassing.

Each of them was the same, Arthur knew. There were seven members of the Initiative, the party that currently sat in government and spearheaded the 'fight against magic'. They mirrored the seven members of the Confederation, Nimueh at their head with Arthur at her right hand. As it should be, he knew, even if he had only been a part of the party for a little over three months. In the thick of politics, putting his opinion forward and directing the foolhardy ignorance of others was where Arthur was supposed to be. He hadn't been raised as a prince, hadn't been a king for years, to have nothing to show for it.

Only, it was a struggle to hold his tongue. As was the way of such political meets in this New World, the spokesperson for each party would be the only ones who conversed across the space of the ironically round table. Nimueh spoke for the Confederation, the weedy man for the Initiative. The members of each party relayed their input to their spokesperson to be conferred upon relevance, if at all. It irked Arthur to no end, especially when he wanted nothing more than to run rings around the little man's stupidity. Around the stupidity of all of them, including the members from his own party. Sebille sat at his side, silent and watching with hawk eyes, but she rarely spoke, even to Nimueh. The rest of them held little enough participation too; apparently, at least in the conference room, Nimueh's superiority was universally acknowledged by her own party.

It didn't sit well with Arthur. It didn't sit well with him to a very pronounced degree. He could hardly protest, however, the fact that Nimueh was doing a relatively good job of quelling the weedy man, even if she had been unable to turn his opinion – as was customary of such meets, Arthur knew. She said everything that Arthur would have said, lacking only in that she didn't override her opponent when he spoke the absolutely ridiculous.

Such as accusing a ten year old of terrorism and sending them to the Facility.

"Tell me, Lord Wevil," she replied in the wake of his last dispute. Yes, Wevil his name was. Arthur discarded the knowledge from his consideration a moment later; it was irrelevant as there would likely be a different spokesperson next time anyway. "Should a ten year old acquire a firearm and happen act destructively with it, would a similar life sentence be assigned?"

Wevil frowned. "We are not talking about firearms, Lady Nine," he began, but Nimueh interrupted him. Thank the Gods, she actually interrupted him, even if not actually overriding his words.

"Perhaps not, but that is as much of an issue as the situation of this 'act of terrorism' itself."

"How so?" Wevil replied, his eyes narrowing with a note of accusation.

"Quite simply, the discrepancy between the sentences afforded to magical and non-magical crimes is becoming more and more pronounced. Not only is it undue, but the heightened prejudice it induces –"

"Undue? Undue?" Wevil shook his head, snorting and only pausing before speaking as the thin, pale woman at his side leant into his ear and muttered inaudibly. He shook his head once more before turning back to Nimueh. "As my colleague reminds me, we are not here to discuss the perception of sorcerers and magic as a whole today, my Lady. You yourself urged this conference to dispute the treatment of Haddie Wild."

"A treatment of which the overall prejudices towards sorcerers is interwoven," Nimueh fought to impress.

Wevil continued as though she hadn't spoken, however. "And as such I would request that we remain focused upon the topic at hand. We are not directly connected to the judicial system that will be involved in Haddie Wild's case –"

Arthur snorted, loud enough that Wevil actually paused and flickered a startled glance towards him. The eyes of every other Initiative member were similarly startled before shifting into frowns of disapproval.

Arthur didn't care. He couldn't stand the indulgent spiel of the weedy little man a moment longer, simply had to stall it. Not directly connected to the case? In what world did the man believe that any of their opposing party believed that? True, technically and publically the governmental party was distinctly separate from the court system. But it was a technicality only. Everyone with an ounce of sense knew that where the Initiative stuck its nose, people jumped to attention and fell to their orders like a dog to heel.

It was disgusting. Not so much because the citizens and officials at large followed their orders but because they followed such skewed orders. Unquestioningly. Disgustingly.

Ignoring Sibelle's kick under the table, Arthur turned towards Nimueh. And met her gaze, for of course she would have turned her attention upon him at his open objection. Arthur raised an eyebrow in a silent comment of "are you truly going to let this slide?" Nimueh's scarlet lips pursed slightly, but only slightly, and she did bow her head.

Good. At least Arthur wasn't alone in his sentiment.

Wevil had recovered from his bout of surprise, however, and continued his spiel with a distinctive note of affront in his tone. "Haddie Wild is, admittedly, an unfortunate case. It is always regretful that one so young can be so strongly overwhelmed by the magic as to lash out in a destructive fashion." Arthur rolled his eyes once more, not even bothering to hide it. Overwhelmed by magic? The man made it sound like a plague. Ridiculous. He took a sharp sense of satisfaction from the fact that at least two of the Initiative member's jaws tightened slightly at his dismissal. "But destructive it was, a magical contribution cannot be denied. As such, Haddie Wild she must be treated according to the severity of her crime. The people who have lost their material possessions, who were impaired by his actions…"

The man continued talking, but Arthur deliberately shuttered his ears to the words. They were the same as he'd said at least three times before that morning, since the crack of dawn hour they had begun their conference. Arthur didn't want to hear it, not again. He didn't want to hear the condemnation of a child – a child – who had caved to the open use of magic in a time of need. A near drowning, it had been, in the slums of the South-East-West sector of the slums. Reportedly she had fallen into the canal in an area of the slums that was so clogged with toxic muck that not even the slum-dwellers dared inhabit it. By her words, in a fit of panic she had ejected the entire surrounds of that canal onto the streets and buildings in a torrential downpour. A destructive area of nearly a half-squared kilometre had been severely impacted.

Or it would have been, had there been much except broken shacks and slurry-like roads to be impacted. Arthur had been in the slums once – once, and very briefly only to pass through to the Inner City – and knew there was not truly all that much to be destroyed. And the public outcry? No, there would not have been public outcry for the destruction. Fear, most definitely, but objection? Demands for compensation? The slum-dwellers didn't demand anything of their upper class government representatives and not because they didn't want to. It was simply that nothing would be done even if they did.

Funny, Arthur reflected, how when it suited them the Initiative government would respond with such concern to the 'damaged party'.

Arthur turned his gaze instead to the image of Haddie Wild that stood in a hologram upon the podium at the other end of the room. Aside from the unnecessarily large, wooden table – so large that Arthur had to wonder how it had even been drawn into the modest, windowless room – the podium was the only other noteworthy article. An electronic device, Arthur knew, though had to admit that even after years in the New World he could claim to know little else about the functioning of the projecting mechanism. The image displayed was life-sized, faintly washed out of colour and just slightly transparent but otherwise identical to that of what Arthur would have anticipated had the little girl truly been there.

Little didn't even begin to cover it. She was a toothpick of a girl, limbs like twigs and eyes so wide beneath the stringy mess of her mousy fringe that Arthur was left with the distinct impression of a rabbit captured in the sights of a snake. Pity was the only emotion that arose within him, pity and sympathy for the very obvious distress she bared, even as a mere hologram. How anyone could label her a criminal, one so young and so evidently helpless, was a mystery to him.

Times certainly had changed. Arthur could hardly even recall the mindset he'd once assumed when his father had been similarly objectionable towards sorcerers. Surely he hadn't been so blind himself?

His attention was distracted from Haddie's image, from the conference meeting at large, by a faint chiming sound. A sound that no one else could hear, Arthur knew from both the distinctive familiarity of that sound and the fact that not a one of the listeners or speakers noticed. With a touch of his fingers to his ear, another to the strap on his wrist, Arthur tapped the Comm-piece into life. A thin, translucent screen, one that Arthur knew would be all but invisible to anyone further than a foot from him, snapped around his eyes like a visor. The image of Gaius appeared, his face pale on the faint blue-white screen.

Arthur frowned but didn't speak. The little red, flashing 'Recording' light indicated the image was a message rather than interactive. "Arthur," Gaius, his face springing into visibility, began without ceremony, direct and blunt as always. "I have just received a message from Alice; she has requested my attendance at Lady Nine's estate promptly. There is no urgency, nothing is wrong. Rather, it is very right." A smile quivered upon Gaius' thin lips. "Merlin has awoken. Alice was saying…"

Arthur was on his feet, his ears deaf to the words that followed. To the raised eyebrow of Sebille and the frowns of Wevil and his Initiative party, he spun on his heel and strode towards the unobtrusive door embedded in the corner of the room. The broken "says he's well, remarkably well" and "come to pick you up at once" barely registered, except to invoke a distracted relief and satisfaction. Merlin was awake. Merlin was awake. Finally, after months of recovery, after weeks of being in a state, Gaius had claimed, of being able to awaken, he had finally… Arthur's hand was already impressed on the ID-pad upon the door when Nimueh finally spoke to his departure.

"An urgent matter, Mr Montague?"

Arthur paused as the door hissed open, glancing over his shoulder. "Certainly, Lady Nine. I would never assume to depart should the matter be anything but." He met her eyes with a meaningful widening of his own.

Whether Nimueh understood exactly what he was referring to or simply figured it easier not to argue he didn't know. Most likely it was the latter; they had come to an agreement the two of them. Arthur would not publically counteract Nimueh, would support her and even use his oratory skills when directed – skills that Nimueh professed were swaying to say the least – and in turn, should Arthur have a suggestion or circumstances necessitate he act of his own accord to meet his own goals in private, she would allow it. One of those goals – his primary goal – involved putting Merlin and Morgana, should the situation warrant it, at the foremost of his concerns.

Merlin awakening? Arthur considered that such a situation certainly warranted his immediate attention. Definitely more than the Conference that everyone, Confederation and Initiative members both, knew would end in the same way it always did: with the Initiative getting there way. Arthur wasn't going to remain in the room a moment longer to hear the vilifying of a girl who had done no more than save herself in a public manner. If only he knew where the girl was kept he would be chaffing at the draw her from the clutches of the authorities himself.

He'd done it once, with Merlin. Why not again? The backlash of that, the suspicion and accusation towards the Confederation after his rescue had only lasted… three months. And counting. Not that anything could be proved, but speculation ran rampart.

Arthur strode, nearly running down the wide hallway of the City Castle of Government. It was a ridiculous name for the central house of parliament given that the government was no longer a monarchy nor that the building resembled a castle not in the slightest. All high ceilings of windowless pastel walls, coloured in such a way as to reflect the artificial lighting overhead, with synthetic rugs only partially covering glossy, reflective floors that stung the eyes with their sheen. Randomly dotted chairs lined the walls, tables with glass vases and fake flowers sprinkled with an artificial scent and the odd, frameless print of a landscape or persona that no longer existed adorned every other wall. They seemed to compensate for the lack of vibrancy, of relief, that a window would afford.

Arthur hated it, couldn't stand the sensation of fallacy that he felt whenever he stepped through the grand, excessively tall front doors of the Castle, and not only because it was so vastly different to the castle he recalled so fondly that it practically spat his memory in the eye. Despite the openness of the halls, the surplus of interconnecting passageways that hinted at even greater coverage than the wide corridors would otherwise suggest, it was different. Closeted. Suffocating. A rabbit warren, just like the Facility had been. Arthur had to wonder if the people of the New World knew how to build in any other way.

Stepping through the front door between the quartet of heavily clad and helmeted guards standing stoically tall, Arthur immediately raised a hand to shade his eyes from the glare. It was always glaringly bright outside, which was one of the reasons that none of the buildings in the Inner or Middle City of London had windows. The white light, beaming through clouds and abusive even on stormy days, was painful to behold. Literally, Arthur had been told. Exposure for more than an hour or so without the appropriate medication, without proper protection, could apparently significantly damage the skin, the eyes, and drastically increase the contraction of the medically diagnosed 'cancer'. Arthur didn't know what had happened to make the sun so aggressive, but he was cautious enough to believe the unanimous word of everyone.

The plaza before the Castle, down a flight of wide stairs and spilling onto the equally glaring sandstone that stretched a half kilometre towards the distant iron-welded and electrically pulsing gates, was largely empty. Permits were required, chauffeurs logging their details – fingerprints, passcodes, average vitals range – before entry. It was all so grounded in security, more even than it had been in Arthur's time, that it was disconcerting. Arthur didn't like that either.

Luckily for him, one of Nimueh's chauffeurs – the one she had assigned to Gaius – was already drawing up towards the double doors of the Castle. The vehicle – Skimmers, they were called – hummed as it skated on its own air current a foot from the ground, the box like structure of metals and plastics drifting to a halt at the base of the stairs. The windows were blotted black, of course – there was always the sun to consider – but Arthur was familiar enough with the sleek, purring vehicle to recognise it as one of Nimueh's. Even before Gaius slid open the side door and poked his head out.

"Arthur," he called a little redundantly, gesturing towards him with a wave. Arthur didn't need to be told twice and hastened down the steps to slide himself into the Skimmer. The eternally silent chauffeur, Mascus, barely waited for the door to draw shut before tapping the screen at the front of the Skimmer and urging it towards their next destination. A purring hum of subservience met his directions and they sped away from the Castle across the sandstone yard.

Arthur couldn't even attempt to make himself comfortable on the padded seats. He perched on the edge, leaning towards Gaius across the distance between them and dropped his elbows onto his knees. It was only slightly larger than that of the interior of a carriage but for once Arthur didn't protest the size. "Tell me, Gaius."

Gaius leant back in his own seat, his hands folded loosely in his lap. Arthur wasn't fooled, however. Even in a different body, the little quirks that Arthur could recall from his childhood remained; the distinctive tension in his shoulders, the slight quiver to the stillness of his usually expressive eyebrows and the thinning of his lips. Gaius was almost as jittery as Arthur was.

"There's not all that much to tell," Gaius said, his voice low and mild, but betraying his tension further in the faint tightness of his words. "Alice called me not ten minutes ago to tell me that Merlin had awoken, that he was physically stable and conscious of his whereabouts, lucid enough to speak. And that she considered you and I may wish to visit him at our earliest convenience."

There was a moment of pause, of expectancy between them in which Arthur fully expected Gaius to drop the dreaded "but". It never came, however, and after a minute of silence he released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. A shuddering sigh, of relief, of releasing tension that had been sitting with Arthur for… for he didn't even know how long. Since he'd rescued Merlin? No, it was before that. Since he'd learned of the existence of sorcerers that retained their memories of his own time? No, it was before then, even.

Since he'd first awoken, on the shores of the Lake of Avalon.

Dropping his chin to a hand, Arthur briefly closing his eyes and let the lingering tension flow from him. With the momentary darkness, he felt himself deflate. Maintaining such closed-eyes, he let his tongue spill forth the words that battered against the inside of his head and demanded to be spoken. "Alice says he's stable?" He was not terribly familiar with medical terms, but enough exposure to Gaius and Alice both had acquainted him with the rudiments.

Gaius nodded. "More than that, he appears to be quite responsive. A little unnerved, perhaps, but that's to be expected."

Arthur opened his eyes, his frown returning. "Unnerved how?"

"Consider, Arthur. He's been through a terrible ordeal and while his body may be progressing remarkably along the road to recovery, his mind had not yet had the chance to do so."

"So he's…?"

Gaius sighed heavily. For a moment that tension in his shoulders eased into something akin to sadness. To regret. "Hesitant, was how Alice described it. Touch aversive, which, given the beating his nervous system has undertaken, would be expected. Withdrawn at first, and wary – which is similarly to be expected – but Alice seems to think that so long as he is not overwhelmed he should be fine."

Slowly, Arthur nodded. He wasn't particularly well acquainted with what it took to care for the injured, the ill, the worn and the distressed. In the past, that role had always fallen to Gaius, to Merlin himself even. In the New World, Gaius similarly filled that role, his innate doctoring inclination arising once more as, he had claimed, it always did. Alice was the same. They were simply born to be healers.

Arthur wasn't. He didn't have that. He couldn't look at an expression, gauge a response, and instantly know the mental ravaging that was wreaking havoc upon the mind. He couldn't glance at an open wound and immediately identify how long since its delivery, its severity, and detect any trace of infection. He didn't know more than how to splint a sprained or broken limb, knew only vaguely the herbs that would assist in quelling a fever – even if such herb lore was redundant in these times.

Arthur had felt helpless over the past three months. It was an even greater helplessness than he'd felt in the past, when he had been at the beside of his father, of his friends, of Merlin himself as occasion had arisen, each struggling against the illness or injury, the poison or force that threatened to overwhelm them. At least in such times he could race at Gaius' beck and call, heave water from the well, order the servants to prepare linens, ensure that the room was well aired and that the blankets were thick enough. He could even, as had been necessary, throw himself upon the course of retrieval for a specific cure.

In Nimueh's estate, there was no need for such assistance. Water pumped immediately from a tap on hand, hot or cold. The temperature was always moderated by air conditioning systems with barely a need for blankets to provide warm or cover. Arthur couldn't even get his hands dirty with digging through herbs, with shovelling soil and watering saplings to ensure the medicines needed would be readily available. Medicines were all synthetically made these days and Arthur was useless.

He'd found that doing nothing was far worse than trying to do something and yet finding his efforts fruitless. There was a trial in waiting, one that was unprecedented and unavoidable.

Silence followed Gaius' words. The waiting as they drove through the wide, empty streets of Inner City, between towering, rectangular buildings visible through the protective film of shaded glass, along roads unnaturally flattened for carriage wheels that were no longer used, was achingly slow. Even knowing as Arthur did that the Skimmer was fast, that the time it would take to reach the estate was little more than half an hour. It seemed to take so much longer.

Gaius seemed content to remain silent. He only spoke briefly, sporadically, in the reminders that he had enforced upon Arthur so many times that he could recite the words and exact tone in his sleep. "Remember, Arthur, we must take things slowly. No excessive questioning, no hassling, no sharp movement or – actually, I think it would be best to kept a distance between the two of you for a time. At least until we can ascertain his level of comfort with contact and proximity. The abuse of the Facility will have certainly left its mark."

"Yes, Gaius," Arthur intoned, as he always did. Honestly, it was exactly the same, down to the correction to 'keep a distance'. Every time.

Gaius barely acknowledged him. "If you speak of the Past, do so sparingly, of the positive, and allow Merlin to direct the conversation. Tread carefully."

"Yes, Gaius," Arthur repeated. It sounded as though Gaius were coaching him on how to court a potential lover rather than welcome the awakened recovery of a long-lost friend.

"And do not – do not – mention the war. The Battle of Camlann or anything regarding the heightened severity of the war status in your final months. We know not to which point Merlin remembers as of yet and it is highly unlikely that he recalls your… death."

Arthur nodded once more, in more fervent agreement this time. It wasn't only because he agreed with Gaius' sentiment, that doing so may cause Merlin some distress. Gaius had spoken of an incident he'd experienced himself in which he'd met someone from his past – no, his Past. When he'd encountered someone who referred to shared experiences that he could not yet recall. Gaius had claimed it was disconcerting at times, unnerving to say the least, to hear of memories and experiences that one could no longer remember.

But just as much, Arthur knew he would hold his tongue because of the discomfort it caused himself. He didn't like to think about the battle, even if it had been triumphant. The memory of a sharp blade puncturing his chest, of the piercing agony that had arrived only moments afterwards and drawn him into unconsciousness. There was after that even… the faint haziness or something… but no, Arthur didn't like to think about that either. It was too confusing.

The only light to deter the potentially pervasive blackness of his death – for it had been his death, Arthur knew, as nauseating as that was to contemplate – was that Merlin had been there with him the entire time. Merlin, his friend, his dearest friend, someone truly closer than a friend. In spite of the revelation of his magic, the revelations that followed thick and fast in their slogging flight to the Lake in hopes of seeking sanctuary that left Arthur seeing Merlin in an distinctly new light. It was more than that; it had been comforting that the person he relied upon the most in the world, in a different and at times even more profound manner than he had even with Guinevere, had been with him the entire way.

Arthur reflected upon those days in the privacy of his own head. Reflected and reminisced, considered and brooded, though never aloud. He would be more than happy to keep it that way, lost as he was in coming to terms with them himself, and even more so if Merlin didn't even remember them happening. That thought in itself was unnerving, for Arthur had only ever really conversed about the past with those who had outlived their lives in Albion. It was a different situation entirely, considering one who couldn't even recall the moments that were so profound, so deep, and had meant so much to Arthur.

He couldn't deny that, even without the revelation of his magic, Arthur saw Merlin in a very distinctly different light after the Battle of Camlann.

When they pulled up outside of Nimueh's estate, Arthur was out of the Skimmer almost before it had stopped. The familiar grounds were walled in the customary electrical fencing of the wealthy and upper class. Nimueh's residence looked more like a castle than the Castle did, with its old, pale grey slabs of brick in fitted stone and the semblance of windows that didn't penetrate the walls dotting the exterior, but only just. Arthur barely heeded it, didn't spare Mascus a glance as the chauffeur bid them a nod of good day, didn't pause as Gaius called his name after him, either to slow him or urge him onwards with more speed. He was nearly running up the steps towards the front door, slowing only as required to key his ID into the door's reader before darting inside. He raced down long corridors of tasteful décor, more so than that of the Castle despite the overwhelming impression of 'artificial' that pervaded every building. At least it wasn't so monochromatically pastel; Nimueh exhibited a modicum of taste in contrasting the synthetic carpeting of the faux-timber panelling.

Arthur knew the layout of Nimueh's estate by heart. He'd been living within its walls for three months, had been assigned his own suite with a cordial smile by the owner herself, a smile that suggested Nimueh knew that she could afford Arthur all the luxuries she desired and could take them away just as easily. But even if Arthur hadn't been able to paint a map of the building, of each of its extensive four floors, he would have made certain he knew where the infirmary. The Hospital, Gaius and Alice called it, expressions a little wistful, a little nostalgic. That was where Merlin was kept, and was where Arthur spent hours each day.

Despite his headlong flight, however, a stride that had gastened into an alternating jog-walk-jog every half dozen steps, when Arthur reached the Hospital he paused outside of the doors. Not because they were remarkable, no more so in their plainness than any of the other doors he had passed. And not because it was locked either, for closed it may be it was never barred entry to him. He doubted the ID-pad pulsing in muted light at the centre of the door even had a locking mechanism; he'd not seen engaged if it did.

He paused because he felt a moment of apprehension. A moment of anxiety bordering on fear of the unknown, of what he would find. Arthur was prepared to face any challenge, pit himself against any foe in a heartbeat, but this… How much would Merlin even remember? He would remember Arthur, wouldn't he? Gaius had said something about the haziness of a sorcerer's Past memories, that at times those that had a lesser impact, that were deemed less important, were not as clearly remembered. But Merlin, for the life that he'd shared with Arthur and the journey's they'd experienced, the trials they'd faced together in a much more profound way than Arthur had ever realised at the time, as comrades in battle even… surely Merlin would remember that.

Wouldn't he?

The sound of Gaius' approach shook Arthur from his nervous stupor. The elderly man was remarkably sprightlier than he had been in the Past. Arthur had even chanced to see him run at times when the need dictated. When it was absolutely necessary, as it had been precious few times over the course of the last half a year. Arthur put it down to the seemingly longer legs of people in the New World; it wasn't overly notable, not excessively so, but he'd noticed that people seemed to be just a little… taller than they had been in his own time. It was strange. Disconcerting.

With a deep, steadying breath, Arthur set his jaw resolutely and tapped a finger to the ID-pad, urging the door to open. The hiss of the mechanical pulley system accompanied the smooth slide of the opening door. As he stepped into the room, Arthur's eyes swept the familiar room, the cool, calming colours and minimalistic furnishings, and fell immediately on Alice's dark head, drew to her permanently fixed smile. An instant later his attention snapped to the bed she stood beside and for the first time in years, Arthur really got a chance to see Merlin.

There were differences in each incarnation, both physically and psychologically. Arthur had noticed them in Gaius just as he noticed them in his simple observations of Merlin in his sleep. Such features as his hair – a shade darker than it had been – and the shape of his face, ever so slightly more pointed than Arthur recalled in the way that seemed as common in the people of this world as did their slightly greater height. There were the other aspects – that he was far too skinny and far paler than he had been – that were immediately recognised as the effects of mistreatment or illness. All in all, the little differences made up a respectable list, and yet even with such differences Arthur could recognise Merlin. He would have been able to identify him within a heartbeat.

When Merlin was awake, though, when he sat holding himself upright, legs crossed beneath the blankets and his own attention turning towards Arthur, those little changes were immediately thrown on the backburner. Because his eyes, opening impossibly wider with each passing second, were familiar. So achingly familiar that Arthur felt his throat thicken with emotion.

This was his friend. His most trusted friend, the one he cared about more than anyone in this New World. One of the few who had shared the past – the Past – with him and knew. Because Arthur realised, with the instantaneous awareness of certainty, that Merlin remembered. And that was even before he spoke.

"Ar…thur."

His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whispered croak, but so loaded with emotion that Arthur barely heard it. In an instant he had crossed the room, and quite without conscious direction found himself dropping to his knees at Merlin's bedside. He couldn't break his gaze from where it was locked on Merlin's, couldn't even blink because… because…

This was what he'd needed. This was what he'd been searching for through the years since he'd awoken on the lakeside. Like a drowning man clutching at a lifeline, he'd clung to the notion that Merlin was still alive, that Morgana existed in this world, and it had been his primary motivator. His only motivator. It was the only thing that kept him going. And now that Merlin was here? That he was awake, that he was alright, that he so obviously remembered Arthur…

For the first time, Arthur felt as though solid ground had been paved beneath his frantically scrambling feet. Like he could properly breathe again. Quite without his say-so, without his direction and, he was sure, to his future regret, Arthur found himself smiling broadly.

"About time you woke up, Merlin. I was beginning to think that you truly were as helplessly lazy as the impression you'd always led me to believe." He raised his eyebrows with deliberate casualness, struggling to shift his smile into a smirk. It was that or risk falling prey to the weight of his overwhelming emotions.

Merlin gave a huffing choke of breath. It could have been a sob just as easily as it could have been laughter. Arthur wasn't sure which it was and Merlin's expression didn't give any indication either. His continued widened, unblinking eyes, coupled with the gauntness of his cheeks and angular features, gave him a remarkably childlike impression. Yet despite it all, despite the hoarseness of his voice, when he replied it was in such a Merlin-like fashion that Arthur immediately felt his smirk drift back towards a smile. "Me lazy? You're one to talk. You do realise I was actually up before you every morning, don't you?"

Had the true sun finally broken through the clouds and beamed its glorious radiance directly upon Arthur he could not have felt a greater flooding warmth of relief. Merlin remembered. Not only that, but he appeared to remember the little things. The little things that were almost more important than the big ones. Leaning forwards to prop an elbow on the edge of the bed, to drop his chin onto his hand, Arthur snorted. "That's because you did so little in a day that you hardly required sleep. Layabout."

"You have no idea, do you?" Merlin said, his stunned expression dying slightly to be replaced by a softening of… fondness? Possibly. Hopefully.

"About what?"

"Have you ever spent a day in your lives polishing armour, of dusting rugs, or running errands that hold no greater purpose than to convey a simple joke or two to an acquaintance half a mile away?"

"Of course not," Arthur smirked. "I was a king. And before that a prince. My time's far too important to –"

"To spend it on commenting on the weather to Lady Joseline whenever she came to court?" Merlin interrupted coarsely, barely more than a mumble. It was rude, unbecoming of a servant, and Arthur loved every word of it.

"Well, what else would you talk to her about? She's a harpy who would take exceptional delight in monopolising my time had I given her the opportunity to talk about anything else."

"True. Very true," Merlin agreed, nodding. And thought he didn't smile – something that Arthur wondered about but disregarded for the moment – there was very definite warmth to his whispered words.

Arthur's attention was drawn towards Gaius as the older man stepped up beside him and placed a hand upon his shoulder. Merlin's attention too diverted, for the first time shaking from his unblinking stare at Arthur and turning towards his former mentor. A new wave of fondness touched his features and he gave another one of those huffing sighs. "Gaius."

Arthur didn't need to glance towards Gaius himself to know he smiled warmly in return. It was as clear as still water, resonating through his voice. "Merlin, my boy. Welcome back to us. I am so pleased to see that you are well enough to join the land of the living once more."

Merlin's expression softened further in an almost-but-not-quite smile. "Not as pleased as I am, I can assure you."

"How are you feeling?" Gaius asked as Arthur, suddenly realising he was still on his knees in a most indecorous manner, quickly regained his feet.

Merlin shrugged one shoulder in an entirely Merlin-like manner. The gesture tightened something in Arthur's chest. "Never better."

"I doubt that," Arthur muttered, shaking his head.

"Do you?"

Something in Merlin's tone caught Arthur's attention. Something that suggested the question held more weight than a simple rhetorical question. Arthur frowned. What did that…?

"He's actually remarkably healthy for having just woken up. More lucid than I had anticipated," Alice was saying, and Arthur turned his attention towards her instead. Her ever-smiling face held a satisfied edge to it. "Vitals are all well, though you're still a little peaky for my taste."

"More lucid?" Arthur asked.

Merlin, his attention turned similarly towards Alice, raised an eyebrow. "Is that a compliment or a back-handed criticism?"

"Maybe a bit of both," Alice said, smiling down at the blankets tucked around Merlin and adjusting them slightly. Arthur didn't miss that Merlin shifted just ever so slightly away from her fiddling.

Gaius is probably right, then. About the touch thing. Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to know how bad it was. Merlin seemed well – remarkably so, all things considered – but Arthur had seen enough patients under Gaius' care to know it was likely the falsely calm surface above a turbulent current of chaos. Fall beneath that calm and the problems truly arose. He wasn't sure he was prepared for that yet.

"Well, there's one way we can start to set aright some of this 'peakiness'," Gaius said, his voice somewhat louder than it should have been. Perhaps he too had noticed Merlin's flinch, was similarly pointedly ignoring it and attempting to divert the attention? "Alice, perhaps some breakfast?"

"Here I thought you'd never ask," Alice grinned up at Gaius. "What's this? You've never thought to remember for yourself. Not once."

"He eats with his patients," Merlin muttered, flashing another softened glance towards Gaius. "It's his reminder of sorts. Was the only way I could get him to remember at times."

"Ah, then great minds think alike," Alice exclaimed, sharing a knowing glance with Merlin as he turned back to her. "You've likely battled with his stubbornness and air-headedness in the past, too."

"More than you know," Merlin sighed.

"Merlin," Gaius frowned, though it wasn't really a frown. "If there was one of the two of us who was 'air-headed', it most certainly wasn't me."

"That I can wholly agree with," Arthur nodded. Merlin cast him a faintly accusing glare, but it carried no heat to it. "But breakfast sounds wonderful. Shall I call for someone, Alice?"

"Ever the King, getting the servants to do the legwork," Merlin murmured, almost too quiet to be heard. Gaius and Alice chuckled in tandem.

"They're servants, Merlin. It's what they're paid to do," Arthur clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes at the sentiment. Trust Merlin to rise to the defence of those whose duty it was to fulfil his needs. That serving bone had never existed in Merlin, though; Arthur should have expected it. "Shall we head to the dining room? I'd not fancy picnicking an egg and bacon sandwich on the floor."

"Oh, climb down from your high horse, Arthur," Alice scolded as she made her way across the room to the Comm-pad, a positioned mirror of the ID-pad on the flip side of door into the room. "Merlin's hardly capable of any kind of movement like that so soon after awakening." She shook her head as she leant into the Comm and muttered a string of requests into the speaker.

Arthur felt a pang of guilt at her reminder. Ah. Yes, there was that. He'd been so caught up in relief that the basics of the situation were overlooked. He glanced back towards Merlin, on the verge of apology but was cut off by Gaius' words. "Speaking of, how is your locomotion, Merlin? Can you wriggle your toes, your fingers, lift your arm?"

Merlin glanced distractedly at Gaius before turning his attention back to Arthur. Unexpectedly, almost as though he were talking to him rather than to Gaius in his reply. "Yes, I… my fingers? Yes, they're fine. A little stiff maybe but… Actually better than fine, better than – than before…" He trailed off, frowning slightly and flickering a glance down to the fingers curling in his lap. He studied them silently for a moment, with such intensity that he seemed to have momentarily forgotten the presence of everyone else in the room until he visibly shook himself from his thoughts. There. That's what I was expecting. It was like he completely tuned out for a moment. I wonder…

Merlin's wide gaze snapped to Arthur once more. "I'm sorry, did you say eggs and bacon?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, striving for casualness once more to rid himself of his discontent. "Trust you to jump to the most 'important' part of the conversation."

Merlin gave his huff-laugh, which was what Arthur believed it to be even without the presence of an accompanying smile, and shook his head. "No, I… I mean, it just surprised me. I didn't even know they made egg-and-bacon mimics."

"What?" Arthur's eyebrows rose incredulously. "You mean you've never -?"

"I've never had eggs and bacon before." Merlin appeared faintly wistful at the thought, eyes drifting back to his hands. He muttered something that sounded like, "can even remember how to eat" beneath his breath, giving another little huff of not-quite-laughter.

Arthur blinked. He'd put his foot in it again, he realised, but he hardly even considered that. Gaius' warnings arose once more in his mind, the plethora of those that he'd ground into Arthur again and again, even more extensive than the ones mentioned in the Skimmer trip. That the upper class of London were privileged and that most didn't have access to the basic resources that were on hand for the wealthy. 'Mimics' were what Merlin had called the food – for mimics they truly were; there was a distinct otherness to the meals that reeked of artificiality – but Arthur had heard tell that they were above and beyond the rations that most residents of London were afforded. Far beyond.

Clearing his throat and deliberately putting the revelation to the side, Arthur crossed his arms casually over his chest. At his side, Gaius muttered something under his breath about "for the fingers" and bustled over towards what Arthur knew to be the medicine on the other side of the room, in cabinets behind locked doors. "Well, it's not exactly Camelot fare, but it does the trick."

Merlin blinked up at Arthur before slowly raising an eyebrow. "Always a critic, aren't you?" He said, though there was more fond exasperation than annoyance in his tone.

Arthur shrugged. "How can I not want for better when I can remember better?" He glanced over his shoulder at Alice, still chatting through the Comm. She seemed partial to excessively conversing with just about everyone, even when simply relaying a request to a servant. "Although, if there was such a thing as choicest pieces, Alice would be the one to scavenge them. She has an art for that kind of thing."

"Maybe she's just a nice person and people unconsciously reward her for it?" Merlin suggested, pausing for a moment to cough in an evidently unsuccessful attempt to clear his throat. "I always found that a simple thank you went a long way."

"What, you plied your 'goodly nature' and gained me treats, did you?" Arthur asked lightly.

Merlin shrugged his one-shouldered shrug, disregarding the question. "A little gratitude goes a long way."

"You never knew, Arthur, but Merlin was something of the beloved son in Camelot's castle kitchens." Gaius cast a glance across the room, his expression more amused than reprimanding. He appeared to be loading his arms with an excessive amount of phials and sealed containers. "I believe the cook had a soft spot for you."

"Is that so?" Arthur asked, cracking a smile. He raised his own eyebrow at Merlin, who pursed his lips innocently. "Perhaps you should take over from Alice, then? Or maybe resume your manservant duties, hm?"

It was meant to be said in jest. Arthur had intended it to be a joke, nothing but a passing comment shared between friends with the superior air that he had always assumed. Except from the earnest expression on Merlin's face, he realised that Merlin himself had interpreted it far differently. His voice was even quieter than a hoarse croak when he replied with downcast eyes. "I would want for nothing more than that, I can assure you. Although… I doubt me now would have quite the same appeal to your kitchen cooks."

There was a note of sadness in his words, on that drew a frown from Arthur and, he noted in his periphery, the attention of both Gaius and Alice as the simultaneously paused in their motions. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Merlin, eyes still dropped to his fingers, shrugged once more. "Only that I guess I'm not the same person as I was. I'm different in this life, as I'm sure everyone is. Maybe not so nice." His lips tugged in a downward quirk and he flickered his gaze up to meet Arthurs. "Things changed after you died, Arthur."

That single comment hit the room like a shockwave. Several things happened at once and Arthur wasn't quite sure which occurred fastest.

For Arthur, it was as though he was hit by a sudden bout of vertigo. The floor seemed to tilt in sheer confused stupefaction. He jerked a step backwards as a rush of memories at the mere verbal mention of his 'death' hit him.

Alice gasped a splutter from across the room and nearly slipped as she spun towards them.

Across the room, Gaius appeared to have fallen into the medicine cabinet. The clatter of vials and a yelp of surprise was accompanied by a thump as he then stepped backwards and nearly tumbled into the table behind him. A clatter of plastic containers slapped onto the floor.

And Merlin. Merlin seemed blown away by the response of his fellows. As Arthur righted himself, thrust aside the memories that always resurfaced with a careless mention of his last days in Albion, his attention snapped towards Merlin once more. Merlin, whose eyes were blown wide like a startled rabbit and shoulders hunched, lurched forwards halfway down his bed. He had an arm outstretched, towards Gaius of all of them, as though attempting to reach for his old mentor as he juggled the medicines.

Except he wasn't. Gaius didn't struggle to hold that which he nearly dropped, nor was he hastening away from a spilling stain of medicines oozing across the floor in a chemical mix. Holding himself up on the edge of the bench, his attention turned slowly towards Merlin. Just as Arthur's did when he caught sight of the handful of glass phials hanging suspended in the air. And he noticed – though he didn't quite know how he'd missed it in the first place – the golden radiance illuminating Merlin's eyes.

Magic. That was it. Merlin did have magic. Of course Arthur knew that, and yet… seeing it for himself was something else. It drove even the lingering memories of Arthur's death from his mind, the hysterical thought of, "well, I guess we know what he remembers up to now!" from his mind. Because Merlin did have magic. A magic that was holding up the delicate phials of medicine to rescue them from smashing across the ground.

Shaking his head, Arthur rubbed a shaky hand over his brow. He strove once more for that casualness that they had all been straining for since entering the room. "Really, Merlin, when you drop a statement like that, could you perhaps give us a little warning. I don't think…" He trailed off, however, as his gaze settled once more upon Merlin. Upon the gold illuminating his eyes, eyes that were still blown wide but now swum with the beginning of tears. His chin trembled almost as much as the hand held aloft to direct his magic. "Merlin? What -?"

"Oh, my dear boy…" Gaius sighed, gently plucking the vials from the air. Alice murmured something comforting and unintelligible as she hastened across the room to his bedside once more. "Are you alright?"

Merlin didn't cry. He didn't let those tears fall, but seemed to hold them back by sheer willpower alone. Sinking his teeth with what looked to be an almost painful bite into his lip, he nodded. His voice was huskier, laced with heavy emotion, more than it had been since Arthur had first heard him speak his name. "It's… my magic…"

Arthur didn't know what to say, could only stand silent and watchful as Alice comforted Merlin with gentle words and urged him back onto his propped pillows. He could only watch as Gaius swept across the room with his medicines and, with a soft smile that suggested he suspected if not exactly knew at least a little of what Merlin was feeling, quietly directed him on what medicines he wished Merlin to take. Arthur stood upon the outskirts, not really comprehending, not really understanding, but witnessing all the same. And when Merlin finally spared a wavering glance towards Arthur once more, almost surprised, as though he'd forgotten he was even there, Arthur made a concerted effort to pretend the situation had never happened. That, just like Gaius and Alice, he thought he recognised Merlin's emotional upheaval and wouldn't comment upon it.

It was easily done, for really, what could Arthur say? For the first time in perhaps years Merlin had used his magic. Arthur knew that much, if not what it felt like. Just like he knew, from Gaius' words, that to live without the ability to use one's magic was to be without sight, without hearing or voice, unable to feel.

What could Arthur possibly even say to that?