Chapter Twelve.

A shadow blocked the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the door. There was a soft knock. Merlin huffed at the wall. All he wanted to do was let his heavy, stinging eyes close and his shallow breaths even out. However, he propped himself up in bed, though it took an effort to do so. The dull pain at his side complained, and his hand shot to it to stifle the feeling.

"Come in," he groaned as loud as he could, and the door swung open to reveal Gwaine.

His eyes widened after he took in Merlin's state.

"My god, Merlin," he breathed, not bothering to close the door behind him as he rushed across the room and knelt down next to the bed. Merlin eyed the satchel at Gwaine's side. "You look—"

"Handsome?" Merlin tried to joke. His voice croaked.

"I was going to say like hell."

"Did you bring everything?" Merlin asked, sounding as exhausted as he felt. He didn't want to think about how he looked.

Gwaine nodded profusely, remembering the satchel, and dug into it. He spoke as he laid out a few potions, bandages, and a needle and thread for stitches on the bed. "I almost didn't get your message. Thought it was just a pesky crow that wouldn't fly away. Wasn't until I opened the window to shoo it away that I saw the note."

Merlin smiled as large as he could muster, but it looked drugged. "An old magic trick. Wings come in handy."

Gwaine held the needle over the fire pit to sanitize it and Merlin sat up straighter to struggle out of his shirt. It had been over a day, and the wound wasn't getting any better. As Gwaine threaded the needle, he caught sight of the blackened scar.

"Merlin," he said sternly.

"It's fine," Merlin breathed. "It just looks that way because I burnt it to stop the bleeding. It's not infected."

Gwaine dropped his shoulders in concern, but Merlin didn't pay him any mind. He fumbled to rid one of vials of its stopper. When it was open, he downed it in one go. It tasted like swamp water, but it would help with the pain. He shook the empty glass to his lips when it was drained to make sure he got every last drop. The other vials contained the same potion and would be used later for healing.

Then, he took in a few steadying breaths, readying himself for even more discomfort. "Alright," he whispered, gesturing for Gwaine to give him the needle. "Boil some water, will you?"

Gwaine jumped up immediately and emptied one of the vases of rainwater into a cooking pot. He set it over the fire pit and dragged a chair to Merlin's bedside.

Merlin sat as straight-backed as he could and craned his neck to get a good view of his wound. Bracing himself, he dug the needle into his skin and hissed at the sharp spike of pain. The scab started oozing with fresh crimson.

"I don't know why you don't just go to Gaius," Gwaine said, sounding squeamish.

Merlin only looked at him for a flash through his eyelashes before returning to what he was doing. Slippery red was getting all over his hands, but that was nothing new.

"I can't go back to Camelot, Gwaine," Merlin said, trying to sound preoccupied. "You know that."

"Of course, you can," Gwaine persisted. "Arthur sent out nearly every guard in Camelot to look for you. He even went himself—searched through the night. He was raging, telling everyone, when they found you, to take you straight to Gaius. He's worried about you, Merlin. Are you just gonna let him think you're dead?"

Merlin hadn't realized it, but his hand had frozen over his wound. He stared down blankly until his eyes stung with dryness, lost in Gwaine's words.

"You should come back with me, Merlin," Gwaine went on. "Everyone is talking about it. It's the citadel's worst kept secret: Arthur fought side-by-side with a sorcerer. Everyone knows what you did. They're thankful."

Merlin shook his thoughts away and got back to work. It didn't—couldn't—change anything.

"The law won't change for me, Gwaine."

"But Arthur—"

"Arthur can't know I'm here!" he snipped, glaring at Gwaine to make his point clear. Gwaine pressed his lips together like he wanted to say something but was holding it back. "If he did . . ."

Merlin shook his head, feeling pressure build up behind his eyes that he wanted to attribute to the pain. He was too tired to keep his emotion down, but he did it anyway. Remaining silent had become a knee-jerk reaction.

"He'd have no choice but to kill me, or banish me—and that means I can't protect him," Merlin decided on, and that concern was true, but it wasn't the prominent reason Merlin left. He didn't want Arthur to bear the weight of that decision again.

"Okay," Gwaine said, begrudgingly accepting it. He pushed a tight smile to his face, though he didn't really mean it. "I won't tell him."

"Thank you," Merlin said, even though he wished Gwaine would talk him into it. He finished his stitches and nodded towards the fire. "Pass that here."

Gwaine brought over the water and a cloth, and Merlin cleaned off the blood and dirt. Next, he wrapped a bandage over his stomach a few times and slipped into a fresh tunic.

Gwaine stayed for a few more hours, ensuring that Merlin was fed and had fresh water. He didn't bring Arthur up again, but Merlin caught Gwaine regarding him out of the corners of his eyes, and knew he wanted to.


The chambers were quiet. They'd been so all morning; they'd been so for the last week. Gwen sat at the desk, scratching at some parchment with a quill. Arthur heard her writing from his place at the window as he watched the townspeople mill about below. Most of the damages from Joseph's short reign had been repaired, and life in Camelot was returning to normal. The usual maids with folded laundry in baskets giggled as they walked side-by-side, vendors called out their newest items for sale, and knights in red cloaks drifted along against the white stones near the well.

Arthur caught sight of a discrepancy. One knight was not in his chainmail and cloak.

Gwaine was dressed in a gray tunic and his old leather vest, like he was garbed for travel and didn't want to be recognized as a Knight of Camelot. He'd been wearing his old clothes quite often recently, and he would disappear for hours at a time. Arthur would sometimes catch him riding through the gates of the citadel, returning from wherever he had gone.

At first, Arthur didn't think much of it. Gwaine's business was his own, but now Arthur was curious. He'd tried casually asking Percival, Elyan, and Leon, all on separate occasions, if they knew where Gwaine was going, but they all claimed ignorance. But Arthur knew they'd noticed his absence, too.

Gwaine was readying his horse to leave again. His sword was strapped to the saddle, and the back end was loaded with a rough leather satchel. It didn't look like Gwaine was preparing to be gone for long. He would return later that day, just before nightfall, like he always did. Wherever he was headed, it was close—perhaps not far out of the city.

Arthur had his suspicions of what the satchel was full of. Gaius had reported some of his supplies missing just a few days ago, and there was only one other person who knew what to do with medical provisions.

"Still nothing?"

Arthur jumped slightly in surprise. He hadn't expected Gwen to break the silence. He turned his head towards her questioningly.

She gave him a sad sort of smile. "Arthur," she said kindly. "Do you expect him to come back?"

He took in a steadying breath as he considered the question. "I don't see why he would," he finally answered, being honest with himself for the first time in days. He groaned and scrubbed his face as he spun away from the window and plopped down on the bed. His legs were more tired than he'd realized.

He nodded vaguely towards the window and world beyond it. "Out there, he could still be alive. And he could keep it that way. The minute he steps foot back in Camelot—"

"Your sentence still holds?" Gwen challenged, placing the quill next to the ink well. She shook her head. "You would retract it."

"I can't," he conceived himself, sounding hopeless, "not for a sorcerer."

"But for Merlin."

Arthur looked down at his hands on his lap. He heard Gwen shuffle and stand up.

"I think you're relieved he got away again, really," Gwen said, taking a few steps closer to him. The mattress dipped as she sat next to him, and he furrowed his brow at her.

"What do you mean?"

"You wouldn't hurt him any more than he'd hurt you," she said, looking at him pointedly. "You still care for him too much."

Arthur remembered what she said to him the first time Merlin escaped, about how Merlin loved him more than anyone.

He let out a breath through his nose. "How long have you known?" he asked, turning his eyes to the floor like a child caught sneaking out to play past his bedtime.

She snorted a short laugh. "Please. I think I knew before either of you did."

He couldn't stop the corner of his lips from twitching up, but his expression dropped immediately again. Gwen reached up and brushed at the side of his hair with her fingers.

"It's alright, Arthur," she soothed. "Neither of us were the other's first love, and maybe we won't be the last."

Arthur didn't know how to respond. She had a mournful look behind her bright eyes, but it wasn't for him. It was for someone else—her first love, and possibly her love, still.

"Guinevere, I'm sorry," Arthur found himself saying, "About what happened with Lancelot."

She gave him a look as though he wasn't to blame. No one was. "As am I."

She blinked the moisture away as he folded her hand in his and kissed it once. Then, he stood up again and paced towards the window. Gwaine was still at his horse, rifling through the satchel for something in particular. He apparently didn't find it, because he searched around for a servant. Muted by the closed window, Gwaine called a boy over and instructed him to hold his horse. Then, he hustled back up the steps into the castle.

Arthur knew this was his chance. He would not carry life-long regret for Merlin like Gwen did for Lancelot.

"I have to go," he said shortly, making up his mind. Without looking at her, he started out of the chambers. Gwen called after him questioningly. He didn't have time to explain.


Gwaine's footsteps echoed down the corridor. He was on his way back to the courtyard, and Arthur made sure to position himself on the wall of the adjacent hallway. Gwaine would have to come that way, and his footfalls grew ever louder.

He swung around the corner briskly, a blue tunic that wasn't his size clutched in one hand, and walked passed Arthur without noticing him.

"You know, consorting with a known sorcerer is a crime punishable by death," Arthur said, making Gwaine stop short. He stood up from his lean against the wall when Gwaine turned around apprehensively.

He licked his lips coolly before saying, "Don't know what you're talking about."

Arthur admired his loyalty. Most would say a knight's loyalty was supposed to be to his king, but Gwaine was always more than a knight. He was a friend—and he was Merlin's friend first.

"Gwaine," Arthur said sternly, pacing towards him.

Gwaine raised his chin in defiance and remained quiet. It made Arthur drop the act, and his eyes turned soft.

"Is he hurt?"

Gwaine looked down at the tunic in his fist. He must have decided it was useless to lie, because he answered, "He's healing."

Arthur felt relieved, but he wouldn't be content until he saw Merlin himself—alive and well.

"Gwaine," Arthur said again. He didn't sound commanding, but beseeching. "Where is he?"

Gwaine searched Arthur's face in consideration.


Merlin was doing a lot better. That is, he wasn't confined to his bed anymore, which was a small miracle. He hated just sitting around. There was a time when doing nothing would have been a blessing. It would have allowed for sleep. But now all it did was make his fingers tap and his legs shake with unused energy. They willed him to run through the trees, to use his magic in Arthur's defense against some creature or foe.

Gwaine had been a relentless nurse, however. He stopped by every day, making damn sure Merlin was rested and well and had more than enough food and medicine. Merlin should have been more thankful and less disgruntled. Looking back on it, now that he was feeling better, he supposed he was.

He still had to take it slow. Waves of fresh blood would still bloom on his tunic if he exerted himself too much, and he was quicker to losing his breath than normal. But the pain had subsided. He didn't even need Gaius' poppy milk anymore, which was a relief. It helped with the pain, but it also dulled his mind.

Sometimes he thought that wasn't such a bad thing. One night, he took it just to slow his tumbled thoughts as they circled around Arthur. Merlin promised himself he wouldn't do that again. Too many times had he seen a patient become reliant on the draft.

He was sitting next to the fire, stirring the rabbit stew, when there was a knock at the door. Merlin looked over his shoulder, waiting for Gwaine to step through the threshold, but the door remained closed.

Merlin found that odd but didn't think on it too much. Instead, he heaved himself up, ignoring the stiffness in his side, and hobbled towards the entrance. Beads of sweat were already forming on his temples despite the chill of the autumn day when he reached the door and opened it.

Arthur stood before him. The expression he wore seemed caught off guard, like he hadn't expected Merlin to answer, or like he'd considered running away before Merlin came to the door and missed his chance.

Merlin barely noticed. His breath caught and he took a few steps backward. His large eyes instantly flashed over Arthur's shoulders, expecting to see a dozen knights in red prepared to arrest him. No one was there; only Arthur's horse reigned to the fence.

"It's just me," Arthur assured him, holding up his palms like he had nothing to hide. "I'm alone."

Merlin pressed his lips together in a line, still searching behind Arthur, but he was satisfied that Arthur was telling the truth.

"You shouldn't be," he said. "The woods are a dangerous place, especially for a king."

Arthur sucked on his lower lip and nodded thoughtfully. "Can I come in, then?"

Merlin inwardly cursed Gwaine, but he nodded and stepped aside. Arthur paced through, scanning the one-room hut with disgust, which he probably didn't realize he was wearing, on his face.

"This was the hut that old sorcerer lived in, isn't it?" he asked, turning around to face Merlin.

Merlin opened his mouth to answer, but he closed it again. Admitting that would be admitting he was the old wizard, but it appeared not to matter. Arthur's eyes lit up like he'd worked it out.

"That was you," he said, not really asking.

Merlin nodded anyway.

"I should have known," Arthur said, turning away to run his gloved hand on the wooden shelves. He kneaded the lifted dust between his thumb and index finger. "He always did seem familiar."

"Sorry," Merlin said with a shrug, mostly because he didn't know what else to say.

Arthur looked back to him with a neutral expression. "Yes, well, if it was abandoned beforehand, you could have at least cleaned it up a bit." He pointed towards the corner of the room. "The pot I broke is still in shards."

Merlin eyed the broken pot with curiosity. He hadn't noticed it before.

"Um—did you come here to insult my living arrangements?" Merlin wondered.

"No," Arthur answered immediately, but he didn't sound apologetic. He looked down at his shoes, no longer able to stall the reason for his visit. "You left, Merlin."

"I didn't have a choice—"

"Yes, you did."

The room felt a little skewed off center. Merlin thought maybe he'd backpedaled, but really all he'd done was blink. He'd convinced himself that leaving was the right thing to do. He was still sure of it, but it was hard to be certain of anything when Arthur's eyes were so clear and blue against the bloodshot pink.

"I didn't want to make it hard on you," Merlin said. "That's why I made Gwaine promise not to tell."

Arthur scoffed. "Well, evidently, he isn't as good at sneaking around as you are. And, in case you haven't realized, you're still in my lands, Merlin. The law still applies."

Merlin raised a brow. "Should I expect your men knocking down my door?"

Arthur didn't say anything. He kept his gaze on Merlin, trying to win an unannounced staring competition. He looked angry, but that was only to combat the emotion. Being tense was preferable to being sad for Arthur; rage was better than tears. Merlin never understood it.

Soon, Arthur's eyes flashed downward to Merlin's gut. "You're bleeding," he said.

Merlin looked down, too, spotting the plume of shiny darkness on his blue tunic. He remembered he's run out of bandages and Gwaine was supposed to bring more.

"Oh," Arthur said like he'd read Merlin's mind. He started to shuffle, and it was only then that Merlin noticed the familiar satchel hanging at Arthur's side. He grabbed it by the strap and held it out for Merlin to take. "Gwaine gave me this for you. It has bandages and water and things."

Merlin risked a few steps closer in order to be in arm's reach. He slowly relieved Arthur of the bag and set it on the table. When he found what he needed, he peeled off his shirt and pretended he didn't notice that Arthur was trying not to look out of the corner of his eye.

He ripped the saturated gauze off with a hiss and twisted awkwardly to put on the new one. It was difficult to hold it down and plaster it on with one hand. The bandage flopped over so that it was no longer covering the wound.

Merlin didn't realize he'd groaned in frustration until Arthur stepped forward and said, "Let me." Before Merlin could argue, Arthur took off his gloves and leaned down to be level with the wound. As he patched it up, his knuckles brushed against Merlin's skin, making it prickle against the warmth. Merlin stared down at Arthur as he worked, aware of how intently Arthur was focusing on the wound to distract himself from looking up.

When he was finished, he straightened out and stepped back, clearing his throat in the meantime. "It'll scar," he said.

Merlin already knew that, but he didn't care. "That's alright," he admitted, taking the fresh shirt out of the bag and slipping into it. "It's healing, at least. It would have been a lot worse for someone—"

"Without magic?" Arthur guessed.

Merlin nodded slowly. "What will you do?" he whispered. Not for the first time since Arthur walked through the door, he realized there was a strong possibility that he could end up in the citadel's dungeons again, or he'd have to leave forever. He wasn't sure which was worse. Whatever his fate, he wished Arthur would decide it already.

"I don't know," Arthur told him genuinely. "What about you? You won't run off now, will you?" To both their surprise, Arthur looked a little frightened.

"No, I'm staying right here," Merlin promised, and Arthur seemed relieved by it. He took in a deep breath and blinked rapidly to get himself under control.

"Right," he said, making himself stand a little taller. His eyes found the window as the lowlight shimmered across his features. "I should go."

Merlin didn't want him to, but Arthur had already started for the door, so he could do nothing but nod.

"Yeah," he said, hoping his voice didn't sound too thick. His throat felt constricted. He wanted to ask when Arthur would come back, if he would come back at all, but he didn't. He waited until he heard Arthur's footsteps reach the exit, and the door creaked open.

Merlin counted his breaths, trying not to call for Arthur, trying to keep it down.

"Arthur," he said, spinning around to face him, before he could stop himself. Arthur looked more than expectant—maybe even a little hopeful. Merlin realized he didn't know how to follow it up.

"The satchel," he said lamely, picking it up from the table. "It's Gwaine's."

"Oh," Arthur said, trying not to sound disappointed as Merlin dumped the rest of the contents on the table. "Of course. I'll see that it gets to him."

He walked back and took the bag, holding it firmly between his hands like a lifeline. He scanned Merlin's torso, inspecting to make sure the bleeding hadn't started again, and didn't meet his eyes when he said, "Look after yourself, Merlin."

Merlin nodded but didn't choke anything out, so Arthur left. Merlin stood still until the gallops of his horse had faded away, and told himself it was only his imagination when he heard them returning.