Author's Note: Wow, look at that, this is the second to last chapter. Only one more to go. How time flies...

13. What Comfort There Is

Merlin looked down on the sleeping city below, the rooftops illuminated by moonlight, the sway of a guard's lantern and the dreary blanket of rain over everything else. He didn't turn to face his king.

"I did not expect to find you here," Arthur admitted, stepping close to him; Merlin wanted to curl away from his touch but stopped himself. "Do you know who was behind the attack?"

"We found a man in the woods, dying from his injuries," Merlin said tonelessly, seeing the pallid man again, his soaked tunic, the torn flesh at his side, the enchanted cloak. "No-one recognised him, either."

"Did he say who sent him?" Arthur asked impatiently.

"No." Blood had bubbled from his mouth with every forced exhalation, but there had been no words. "It doesn't matter. Ryia found their camp a mile to the east. They weren't knights, just bandits dressed up in red. Sent by someone who wants to see this alliance fail. My money is on Morgana."

"How did you deal with them?" Arthur asked, acknowledging Merlin's theory with a grim nod. "Do you need me to send my knights?"

"We didn't," Merlin said, felt the prickle of angry magic under his skin. "Kilgharrah did. They hurt Aithusa."

"I see," Arthur murmured. "Good."

"Is it?" Merlin snapped. "Revenge does not bring back the dead nor heal the wounded."

"Why are you angry at me?" Arthur asked and he sounded hurt. "I had no part in this."

Merlin snorted, wanting to be angry like his magic, a storm, a force of nature, but could only feel cold and tired at the uselessness of it all. "They were your people, were they not? That is what you promised at least. How can you stand there and call it 'good' when we were attacked in sight of your walls. When you didn't protect us."

"Merlin...," Arthur's voice was half choked, a feeble thing like a newly hatched bird, and Merlin felt the guilt wrap around his throat. "I'm..."

"Mordred," he interrupted Arthur's apology that would only make him feel worse. "Kilgharrah said he would kill you. So did Lochru. And I resented him, feared him, wished him dead even. And now he is and I should be happy, shouldn't I? I should feel relieved that now nothing stands in the way of your destiny. I should... I should have saved him because he was only a boy, a sweet, solemn little boy who never did any harm and probably never would have."

He only noticed that he was crying when Arthur started to thumb away his tears, slinging a strong arm around his chest and pulling him back against his own. "Oh, Merlin."

He dissolved into wet, heaving breaths, his eyes squeezed shut against the tears and the images to no avail.

"I didn't want him to die," he confessed, Arthur warm and alive at his side. "But I don't know if I would have protected him if I had been there. What does that make me?"

"Human," Arthur murmured into his hair. "Human and loyal and mine."

"Would you have me turn into this?" Merlin asked desperately. "Willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to get what I want?"

Arthur shook his head. "I would not have you pay that price for my safety - nor trade the life of an innocent child for mine. I hope you know that. But you did not kill Mordred and it is not your fault that he died. Do the druids blame you?"

"No, they... they wouldn't save him," Merlin whimpered. "They..."

"... couldn't do anything with an arrow in his stomach," Arthur interrupted him gently. "I've seen many men die, Merlin, old and young, good and bad, innocent and guilty. Every day I get reports of raided villages, pleas for my help and messages that any assistance would come too late. Every winter Gaius is beset by mothers cradling their sick and dying children and there are too many he cannot save."

"I know that," Merlin murmured, and he did. He had ridden out many a time with Arthur against bandits and hostile knights and sorcerers and there had been death. It was part of his job to sort through the letters and reports Arthur received and they were full of bad news. And he helped Gaius were he could and gave the last comforts were he couldn't. But it was different this time. Because he couldn't mourn Mordred without betraying Arthur and any sense of relief made him sick to his stomach (dead eyes).

But Arthur somehow knew or understood, rubbing circles on his back as he said: "My father... it's only now that I begin to glimpse how misguided he was, how cruel even, how many innocent people he sentenced to death out of grief and a wish for vengeance. But even before, when I had to watch him wither away, only a shell of what he used to be, frail and broken... a part of me was glad when he finally found peace."

Merlin heaved another shaking breath, but Arthur's arms stayed sure around him. "You sat outside that door the whole night - let me offer what comfort I can now."

Merlin gave a tentative nod, sinking into Arthur's familiar scent and leaning against the toned chest beneath the thin fabric of Arthur's tunic. They stayed like that until Merlin felt... better, not good, not all right, but better.

"I didn't think you knew how to give a hug," Merlin murmured as he drew back, a soft teasing lilt in his voice that brought a smile to Arthur's face.

"You're not the only one with hidden talents, Merlin," Arthur replied, clasping his shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze before stepping back to allow Merlin to get up from the window sill. "I'll have someone bring up dinner. You look like you'll keel over if I don't feed you soon."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I'm not your pet. I can feed myself."

"Your bony wrists belie that statement," Arthur gave right back, wrapping his hand around Merlin's right wrist, his fingertips brushing against his thumb, and tugging him over to the table.

"I can't. I should get back to the others and to Aithusa. I can't leave her alone right now," Merlin protested, pulling free of Arthur's light hold. "I can... she's crying out for me even now. I shouldn't have stayed as long as I did."

"Bring her here," Arthur offered, stopping him on his way to the door. "It's still raining and she's too big to fit comfortably into a tent."

"I can find somewhere else for us to stay," Merlin protested, but the only place he could think of that was both roomy and dry was the last place he wanted to go (clammy hands on his skin).

"But you don't have to," Arthur pointed out, the dark look that crossed his face telling Merlin that he had noticed him shudder at the brush of memory. "I want you here, and Aithusa too."

Where you're safe, he might have said, where I can protect you. Merlin appreciated that he didn't, that Arthur didn't pretend that Merlin was helpless, useless, that he couldn't defend himself if need be. They were well past those pretenses.

"I'll see if she wants to come," Merlin compromised, slipping out of Arthur's room before the king could offer to join him.

Aithusa, as it turned out, was neither difficult to find nor difficult to persuade. She raced towards him as soon as he came in sight of the druids' camp and pressed against his side, snuffling and whining. Merlin scratched her scaly head, smoothed his hands along her sides and her frail wings, over the bones that he had had to mend only hours before. She still moved her hurt wing as if it was stiff, not folding it out as much as the other one, and the bandage he had fastened around her wing to stabilise it was soaked and askew.

She stayed glued to his side as he walked through the camp, exchanging a word here and there, noting that most of the tents had been rebuilt and the knights posted around the camp in a loose ring, pointedly facing outwards. It was difficult to judge the mood, but it seemed to him more subdued than angry, and Hamo even admitted that Arthur's knights had helped them set the camp to order. It was more than he had dared to hope for.

With Aithusa in tow he made his way back to the castle, soaking wet by now, and only the side that Aithusa was pressed against moderately warm. Aithusa's claws clacked and scratched over the stone floors, and the torches along the wall created grotesque shapes out of their shadows. Aithusa took everything in with huge golden eyes and fluttering nostrils, craning her neck to look around corners but not straying from Merlin's side. He was grateful for that, at least, not in the mood or physical shape to try to keep up with a wayward dragon.

When he pushed the door open wide to let Aithusa pass, she recovered some of her curiosity and enthusiasm, hopping past him and Arthur and bounding around the room. She quickly circled it, bumped against Arthur's desk chair, blew smoke at the fire and then zeroed in on Arthur's bed, completely ignoring the nest of blankets and pillows Arthur, or more likely one of the castle's servants had piled up next to it.

The shocked look on Arthur's face and the way Aithusa made herself at home amongst the king's feather pillows brought a small but genuine smile to Merlin's face.

"I can get her off of there," Merlin offered even as Aithusa settled down with her teeth gnawing on an edge of Arthur's comforter, her body spread diagonally across the four-poster bed.

"No, don't bother. She looks comfortable and the bed's already muddy and wet," Arthur declined. "You should eat something."

Merlin shook his head, cleaning and drying the bed with a flash of his eyes. "I'm not hungry, just tired."

"Merlin..."

Merlin went over to Aithusa, gently peeled away the bandage on her wing and replaced it with a new one from the stock of medical supplies he kept in Arthur's bedside drawer, letting his magic soothe her aches and cleaning away the last few drops of blood. It looked so much better now, just a pale pink line bisecting her wing, but underneath there was still tension, hurt. Time would heal what his magic couldn't.

"I'll make up the cot for you, if that's okay," he said, smoothing his hand over Aithusa's snout.

Arthur made a huffing noise, suddenly next to Merlin. "Get into the bed, Merlin."

"What?"

"I said, get into the bed, Merlin," Arthur repeated, tugging off Merlin's soaked jacket and then kneeled down at his feet to take off his shoes. "If you won't eat, you're at least going to get a good night's rest. I'm sure Aithusa won't mind sharing with you."

"But..."

Arthur had moved on to his socks, but hesitated over his tunic and breeches, all rain-wet and clinging uncomfortably to Merlin's skin. "I'll get you something to change into."

"You're the king," Merlin protested, making to get up, but Arthur pushed him back down.

"I'm your friend," Arthur replied firmly, throwing a fresh tunic in Merlin's direction. "Get changed and get under the covers. I don't want you getting sick."

Arthur pointedly turned his back towards Merlin, busying himself with stoking the fire with passing competence. He waited a moment longer. "Are you dressed?"

Merlin unaccountably blushed before springing into action, pulling the wet tunic over his head and exchanging it for the one Arthur had given him. He hesitated over his breeches, but then just dried them with magic, not comfortable with taking them off even with Arthur's back turned. "I'm good."

"You're still not in bed," Arthur pointed out. "Need me to tuck you in?"

"Where are you going to sleep?" Merlin demanded.

Arthur rolled his eyes, stepping up to Merlin's side once more and maneouvring him under the covers. Aithusa watched him with sleepy interest, but only snorted unhappily when he tried to make her give up her chew toy.

"For now I'm just going to make sure that you stay in bed and rest," Arthur replied, pulling up a chair and resting his naked feet on the corner of the bed. "Get the candles, would you?"

Merlin sighed, throwing the edge of the cover over Arthur's feet, and then extinguished the candles.

Three guesses what I would like you to do right now. And the first two don't count.