A/N: Aaaaand back to the plot.

Ch. 11

Impromptu trips to towers while escaping invisible enemies wasn't quite as draining, it seemed, as weeping like a little boy. It left no room for humiliation of being seen red-eyed and barely upright by worried knights and nervous servants alike, and seemed to speed time along; one moment Merlin was being supported through the halls then the next he was in his bed being tucked in by Gaius.

The best part was when Merlin woke not realizing he'd even fallen asleep, and with no dreams in between to force him violently back into the conscious world.

No, that wasn't entirely true. There'd been dreams pushing and struggling to the forefront of a mind so weary one would think it would have lost easily to the nightmares. Instead, those nightmares became lost in the mire of an unconsciousness not even the dreams could penetrate, and for the first time since coming back, Merlin woke at his own pace – nice, slow, groggy and actually wishing he could stay asleep just a little longer. But with his headache mostly gone and his stomach so empty it seemed to be digesting itself, now was not the time to pass up an opportunity to give his body something else it needed without nausea getting in the way.

Merlin kept his blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders as he trudged down the stairs. Gaius had to be a mind reader, that was the only explanation when Merlin saw the small pot full of simmering stew in the hearth and two bowls waiting to be filled.

"Merlin, good, you're awake," Gaius greeted from his work table. He was twirling a glass vial, the contents swirling in a mini-whirlpool the familiar green of a sickness draft. Waiting on the table close at hand was another vial, the familiar brown color of a headache draft. Gaius looked at Merlin, and it was quite the pointed look. "How are you feeling?"

"Hungry," Merlin answered immediately, and shuffled straight to the table. This earned him an arched eyebrow of surprise.

"Good to hear," Gaius said. "I was hoping you might be too tired to dream. Arthur nearly had to carry you, you could barely stand."

Merlin started in surprise. "Arthur supported me?" He didn't remember much about the transition from tower A to tower B. Arthur helping him down the stairs, yes, but then there had been all those people, the knights looking eager to help, Merlin's head throbbing like a drum and somewhere within the time that followed Merlin had decided the best course of action would be to clock out. The last thing anyone had needed was for him to have another panic attack and lock himself back in the tower.

Gaius chuckled. "You truly were exhausted if you don't remember that." He moved over to the pot, grabbing the bowls along the way. He filled them, brought them back to the table, then moved the cups and water pitcher within reach.

They ate in silence, things that might have been said or perhaps should have been said not being put into words. It was on purpose, Merlin knew. But Gaius had a way of making those big monsters in the room no one would acknowledge seem almost small and transparent, as something that mattered but didn't have to matter right away. This was not an awkward silence between them, it was a reprieve, maybe even a moot point, because Gaius knew good and well what must have happened. As a physician, he would know a bad reaction the result of a bad dream or bad memory even when he didn't see one – the aftermath had said plenty. As Merlin's caretaker, as the surrogate parent who had been with Merlin since his return, who had talked him through a few of his nightmare-induced panic attacks and had plied him with a steady stream of food and drafts, Gaius could easily hazard a guess as to why Merlin had vanished. And he would know, as both physician and surrogate parent, that the time to talk about anything of a nightmare or memory nature was well after Merlin had some food in him.

When they finished, Gaius cleaned up – a job normally left to Merlin – then helped Merlin to the chair by the window to digest and add to his slowly building strength.

Merlin had given Gaius the details of all that had happened to him while in the hands of the druids, as much as he could in fits and starts that sometimes took hours to get out of his mouth and sometimes took more than a day. The memory of his torture was a kaleidoscope of images and feelings, but the gist of them had been as clear as day and fresh as now, phantom pains spiking whenever he recalled the boots slamming into his body and the fists smashing into his face. Gaius had listened to it all with the calm, weathered reserve of the physician he was. But later... later when Merlin had finished regaling Gaius with all that he could and had rested, Gaius had come to him baring a tray of food, and moisture had glittered within the lines of his face.

So there was a good chance that there was nothing to talk about. Not unless Merlin wanted to, and he didn't want to. It seemed redundant to when they both knew what the problem was and both knew the answer to it would be the same as it had been from the start – time. Merlin needed time, time that was crawling at a pace a snail could outrun and that occasionally seemed to be going backward. But Gaius had also said that healing often felt as though it were going nowhere, except it was, but it was difficult to see the forest through the trees when all you knew were the trees... or something like that. What it translated to was that if change was happening, it would be some time before Merlin actually saw that change manifest.

He was getting stronger, and better, but there were still the dreams, the thoughts, the memories and the weight in his chest, and the only thing Merlin cared to see through those trees was a sleeping dragon.

The chamber door opened – Merlin hadn't realized anyone had knocked. Arthur walked in trying to look regal but his wandering gaze making him come off as feeling like an interloper, and new thoughts invaded Merlin's mind. Specifically a very vivid memory of crying into Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur possibly crying in return, both men reduced to something child-like and lost and not giving a damn about the embarrassment of it.

Then Arthur's gaze settled on Merlin and something in Arthur visibly uncoiled, removing the tension that had him ramrod straight. He quickly composed himself back into the king he was.

"Doing better," he stated.

From the little barrel where they washed their dishes, Merlin could see enough of Gaius' face to spot his small smile.

"You'd seemed ill at the time," Arthur said. He cleared his throat. "But Gaius did say you were simply tired."

"I was," Merlin said. "Just tired, that is."

"Good."

"Yeah."

Now it was Merlin's turn to clear his throat. "And... er... thank you. For helping me back here."

"Of course," Arthur said.

It was a sore temptation to bring up what happened, not as a discussion, but to mock, to brush-off and make light because at any other time they would have already done so long before they'd even reached the bottom of the tower steps. It was what they did, after all. How they moved on and broke the barrier that was having seen each other at their most vulnerable.

Merlin said instead, "How are the investigations into the arsons coming along?" Because the very thought of discussing what happened and making it seem less felt more than not right, it felt utterly despicable.

That Arthur jumped onto the change of subject like a starving wolf on a rabbit confirmed this feeling.

"At this point I'm ready to catch whoever is doing this and burn them at the stake rather than toss them in the dungeon," Arthur said, taking the chair on the other side of the table. "Although he'd probably enjoy it. I'm telling you, Merlin, if this is a mad man we're dealing with then he's mad as a bloody fox. The fires have gotten worse – larger and more difficult to contain. I'm starting to wonder if this is less an act of insanity and more the precursor to something far more sinister. Merlin, are you all right?"

Arthur's change toward concern alerted Merlin to the fact that he had slumped dejectedly into his chair. He quickly straightened, not wanting to give Arthur something else to worry about.

"Yes, fine, sorry. Um... has no one really been able to spot whoever it is in the act?"

"No, and not for wont of trying, believe me. It always occurs at night. The farmers have taken to guarding their own fields and I've sent men to help. Nothing, not so much as a shadow being seen flitting away into the dark." Arthur sighed. "I'm starting to think magic may be at work. I was honestly hoping there wouldn't be."

Merlin's stomach tightened uncomfortably, as did his chest. But he said with as much cheery disposition as he could muster and a smile to match, "Or you're not thinking enough like a mad fox with a fire fetish."

"Id' rather not have to if it's all the same to you," Arthur said dryly.

"Well, that's too bad, because you're going to have to if you want to catch them. Maybe you could set up a little field for them to burn, have some of the knights dress as farmers and peasants."

Arthur shook his head. "I'm not sure it would make a difference. The villages have been guarding their fields non-stop and they've neither seen nor heard anything. Yet neither do they have the manpower to guard every single field even with Camelot's aid. The fires also happen to those fields less guarded so that isn't helping. This can't last forever."

"Exactly," said Merlin. "It can't last forever. Even were magic involved sorcerers are also capable of mistakes. Something will eventually give."

Arthur frowned thoughtfully. "True. But when it gives, and what damage will be done up to that point, is what has me worried."

Merlin managed not to grimace as he thought, me, too.

~oOo~

Had Arthur known about Merlin's magic and that he was a dragonlord, he would no doubt be saying right about now, "What use is having command over a dragon if you're going to fret over every little order as being a possible annoyance that you would rather not bring onto said dragon." And he would probably be right. Maybe. In a way. Merlin didn't know because he knew what it meant to be a powerful being with more danger in his little finger than the entire knighthood combined and yet resigned to menial labor.

Not that he minded doing menial labor – except where endless polishing, mucking and having things thrown at him while being called a coward were concerned. Sometimes menial labor was relaxing and gave him a sense of satisfaction in a job well done. But Kilgarrah wasn't Merlin, and Kilgarrah got annoyed even when the menial task involved saving Camelot and, therefore, all of Albion. Asking a dragon to hunt down a petty arsonist might be advantageous if Kilgarrah could pull it off without getting caught, but it felt wrong. In part because of the getting caught aspect and in part because Merlin felt like a heel just thinking about it, even when he thought of it as ample enough punishment for Kilgarrah attacking Camelot – Merlin still felt the dragon needed to be punished for that, and what better way than to force him to help the very city he'd tried to destroy with every little problem? And Kilgarrah was quite good at not being seen, big as he was.

But Merlin couldn't do it, not after what they had been through and what Kilgarrah had done for him – not because Merlin had ordered it, but because Kilgarrah had chosen to. Merlin couldn't bring himself to order Kilgarrah about; it felt far too much like an abuse of power.

On the other hand, there was always the tried and true method of asking politely.

You don't have to get close to any villages if you don't want, of course – I have discovered first hand how sharp a dragon's vision could be, Merlin tacked on a nervous little titter, swallowing fast when he felt that same laugh attempt to bubble out of his throat with Gaius close by at his work table. iMaybe if you smelled any smoke you could fly in close enough to spot anyone running away or... watch some fields or... something? If that's all right...?

And this is a matter of great importance because...? Kilgarrah asked. Merlin didn't detect any annoyance in his voice. If anything he thought there'd been a trace amusement.

Because crops are being burned! And for all anyone knows it's about more than a love for fire, it's about something darker and sinister and... and there's nothing wrong with playing it safe, that's all.

Merlin must have been making unhappy faces. Gaius kept glancing at him.

Peace, young warlock, said Kilgarrah kindly. Peace. I understand your concerns but there is no need for your request. I have been taking to the skies during the night, searching for any survivors from the druid camp. I have witnessed these fires you speak of but I have yet to see anyone running from the destruction, only towards. However...

Merlin stiffened. However?

It is nothing.

Kilgarrah, don't make me order you to tell me.

There is nothing yet to tell, that is why I say it is nothing. Sometimes within the scent of smoke there is another scent that is both familiar yet a stranger to me. It has made me curious, that is all, and I did not wish to worry you over it.

Merlin let his body sink deeper into the pillow and blankets of the chair. Kilgarrah, at this point, one more concern isn't going to make a difference.

I am sorry I cannot be of more help.

That's all right. Just... let me know if you come to know anything or... anything.

I will, I promise.

Merlin tilted his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, wondering at how paranoid he was getting that he was asking a dragon to look into an arson situation, and the irony of it – like asking a cat to look into the death of a mouse, or Gwaine to look into whose been sending Arthur their tavern bill.

"Bad news, I take it."

Merlin's head shot up. "What?" He looked to Gaius now looking back at him. "I... what?"

"I know what you were doing, Merlin. Unless you've taken to talking to yourself."

Merlin balked. "Did I really say all that out loud?"

"Not all of it," Gaius said with a shrug. "But there may have been a few exclamations somewhat difficult to ignore."

"Oh. Actually it's no news. Kilgarrah hasn't seen anything, either. Which I'm finding that strange because shouldn't someone have seen something by now?"

"Not necessarily, not if magic's involved."

Merlin was about to berate himself for not asking Kilgarrah about that but knew that if the dragon had any suspicions he would have said something. He was worried about a smell, for goodness sakes. He probably wouldn't have waited for Merlin to contact him if there was foul magic afoot. If Kilgarrah was hunting for renegade druids who may have survived, then that meant he was just as on edge as Merlin.

And he would be; the Great Dragon practically older than time itself and he now had to live with the humiliation of two captures by humans, one group of whom should have been on their knees bowing to him, not chaining him up.

Maybe "on edge" was the wrong choice of words. It was more logical to say he was probably furious.

"But if magic were involved," said Gaius, "We'd have more of a problem on our hands than a patch of burned farmland."

"Distraction," Merlin reminded him, and being rather snippy about it.

Gaius merely smiled at him indulgently, which Merlin felt to be a little patronizing. "I would think us sufficiently distracted, Merlin. And yet nothing has come of it." But then the smile faltered, fighting a losing battle to stay in place but the rest of Gaius' expression having already given up the ghost to something more soft and melancholy.

"You don't have to fight every battle that comes Camelot's way, Merlin," he said, and then the smile failed and was gone. "It's all right to rest and leave the battles to others until you're ready. When you can."

But as they say, it was easier said than done, because battles didn't rest and people looking to do harm much preferred it when defenses were down.

And that, Merlin would think when he looked back on this very moment with a dry laugh and a bitter shake of his head, really should have been prophetic for all the irony that followed. Merlin tried to absorb Gaius' words, tried to steer his thoughts to other matters, knowing he wouldn't succeed but that had yet to stop him. Maybe a quick doze wouldn't hurt, one he would wake from before he had a chance to dream. He was just squirming to make himself comfortable and find a position that didn't make his ribs ache when the door burst open, Merlin nearly jumping from his skin when it slammed with a bang against the stone walls. The shock of the noise was nothing compared to the shock of seeing Leon – quiet, reserved, polite-to-a-fault Leon flush-faced, wide-eyed, panting and all-over frantic as Merlin had never seen him before.

"Gaius, we need you, now, down in the court. We have wounded."

Gaius, ever steady and calm in the face of injury, was already up and grabbing his kit when he asked. "How many and the nature of their injuries?"

"We haven't had a chance to count. They're from the village in the south, most of the injuries seem to be burns."

Leon and Gaius were to the door, almost out when Gaius remembered to glance back and order Merlin to stay put. It was as the door was closing, as Gaius and Leon were nearly gone from sight, that Leon said and Merlin heard...

"They say it was a dragon."

TBC...

A/N: Poor Merlin, his dragon troubles continue.