The mudslide in the night took no lives, but it was a near thing. Gwaine and Arthur are a bit worse for the wear, and the companions need to regroup.

In the Vaults of Camelot

Chapter 14 – Crossing

The rain had softened and slowed during the last hours of darkness. When dawn came, blue sky was beginning to peek through the clouds to the east. Merlin was awake to see the sunrise, having been unable to sleep during what little had remained of the night. His thoughts were running in circles regarding the events of the night. It seemed impossible that Arthur had failed to notice magic being used directly under his nose, and the prince's reaction certainly had suggested that he'd seen. Still, Arthur had said nothing of the matter so far. Perhaps the need to find a new camp after the mudslide and get everyone settled had taken precedence. Surely he'd respond in some way, at some point. But how? What would he say? What would he do? With the uncertainty gnawing at him, the glorious beauty of the sunrise did little to settle Merlin's mood.

In that early morning light, the camp began to stir. Soon Leon took a few of the able-bodied with him, and went back to their campsite of the night before to see what remained of their belongings. When he returned, his report to Arthur was mixed to say the least.

"The ground cloth is nowhere to be seen, sire, and I could find neither your pack nor Gwaine's," he said, setting the remaining packs on the ground. "I did discover my pack and Merlin's." He indicated the two packs, one only scuffed and damp and the other dripping and mud-covered. "I can't vouch for the well-being of the contents, however. Merlin's was lodged under a fallen tree, and mine was in the mud in shallows of the river."

"Do an inventory, Leon, and tell me what we have left that is still useable," Arthur responded. "Merlin, help him." As the prince turned away, Merlin noticed that he was still carrying his right arm very carefully tucked against his body.

"Arthur, how is your arm? Do you want me to look at it?" he asked.

"It's fine." Arthur firmly turned away to speak to Mari. Had Merlin imagined an edge of ice to his tone?

At the question, Leon looked sharply at Arthur's arm. He beckoned Merlin over, and as they began their task asked in a low voice, "What about his arm?"

"He's holding it oddly, and has been since last night. I think he hurt it when we were fishing Gwaine out of the river."

Leon hummed wordlessly in response and said nothing more on the matter, returning his attention to their task. They began to lay out the contents of the two packs and sort the simply damp from the entirely unsalvageable. There was more of the former than the latter, but unfortunately all of the food was latter category. Half of it had been in Gwaine's pack, which was among the missing, and the portions in Leon's pack were a soggy and muddy mess. The pot and cooking tripod were still intact in Merlin's pack. The washcloths, of course, were fine, and though the soap inside them had softened in the damp, it was still useable. The medical kit, Merlin found when he tugged it free of the pack, had taken significant damage, first from the water and then from the impact of the tree that apparently had fallen directly on it. Most of the herbs were soaked and unusable. Merlin continued to dig through with increasing concern. Bandages could be dried, of course, but what about Gaius' healing salve? The glass of that jar was thicker than most, but still…

The chucky shape of the jar met his fingertips, and as he wrapped his hand around it, he felt an edge that shouldn't be there. Taking care not to jostle the glass, he slid the jar free and raised it to his eyes to inspect it.

The jar must have taken quite an impact. The heavy glass had crazed, narrow lines of cracks running outward in all directions from a spot near the bottom of the jar. One section of glass had broken free. Rainwater had infiltrated the salve in that area, but the thick stickiness of the unguent had somewhat resisted dilution. Some of the salve is probably useable, thought Merlin. Though I'm going to have to watch for splinters of glass in it.

He carefully set the jar back down, and dug out the rest of the contents of the pack. Soon their belongings were sorted and laid out to dry. "That's it, then." He looked at Leon.

"I'll go tell Arthur."

After reporting their findings, Leon had quietly spoken with Arthur for several minutes, gesturing at the injured arm. After some hesitation, Arthur allowed Leon to carefully push the fabric of the prince's sleeve up. Leon hissed and waved Merlin over without asking the prince's leave.

"Merlin, you need to look at this."

Merlin could see stiff resistance in the prince's expression, but took the opportunity Leon was offering. He came over to inspect the arm for himself. The prince's forearm was one huge bruise, the center of which had a suspiciously spongy look. The whole area was badly swollen, but even so Merlin could see that the line of the arm was slightly off. Both bones were broken; and not only broken, the bones were out of alignment. If they weren't repositioned and supported that way, the arm wouldn't heal correctly. Given that this was the crown prince's sword arm, such an outcome would be more than inconvenient.

"Arthur, this is broken. It needs to be set."

"Broken bones heal. Go away."

"This won't. Not properly, anyway. If you let it heal without getting the bones into the right place, it'll heal out of line. You won't have full use of it."

"Merlin, I ordered you to go away."

"Sire, it's your sword arm…"

"And now you call me sire while ignoring my orders. Go away." The tone was now icy.

"Arthur…"

"Leon, remove him."

Leon took a reluctant step toward Merlin, and Merlin allowed himself to be herded away. He couldn't quite interpret the look on the knight's face. Exasperation with the prince and unwilling obedience certainly, and sympathy for Merlin, but there was something else. Merlin couldn't put his finger on it.

"Merlin, let it go for now," the knight murmured, pitching the words for Merlin's ears only. "Let me talk with him." He glanced back at Arthur, and then around the camp. He let his voice return to normal volume and continued. "Have you checked on Gwaine this morning?" Leon's gaze flicked to the young man still sleeping propped against a tree. "I thought it seemed a bit surprising that he's still out."

Merlin, followed by Leon, moved to where Gwaine was sleeping and observed for a moment. The young man's face seemed pale under a layer of mud, scratches, and bruises. Something about his friend bothered Merlin, and it took him a moment to realize what it was. He could hear Gwaine breathing. There was a sound to it that hadn't been there before. He pressed his fingertips gently to the pulse point under the corner of the young man's jaw, and Gwaine suddenly awoke in a spasm of coughing.

"Owwww," he commented when he caught his breath. "I don't think there's any part of me that's not sore." He looked at the two concerned faces peering down at him. "What?"

"You did battle with a river and several trees," explained Leon solemnly but with a glint of amusement.

"Apparently I won." He sat up more fully and then scrambled to his feet, using Merlin as a ladder. "Or maybe not. Ouch." He steadied himself between Merlin and the tree he'd been sleeping against. Arthur approached and spoke to Gwaine.

"Can you walk?"

"'Course I can walk."

"Then we should go." Without a glance at Merlin, Arthur walked away.

Gwaine looked plaintively at Merlin. "But… Breakfast?"

"Bad news, Gwaine. No breakfast."

"No breakfast?"

-o-o-o-o-o-

At Arthur's order, their belongings had been quickly repacked, still quite damp, and the group began the day's journey with Gwaine complaining jovially at being asked to march so soon after awakening. At Leon's advice, they would be following the river, hoping to find a place at which it could be forded. The knight had explained that such a spot would be more difficult than usual to find, with the river running high. Nevertheless, as the land flattened out there should be spots where the water spread out wide and shallow. They simply might have to go out of their way a bit to find one. Nobody else mentioned the lack of breakfast, but Merlin imagined that everyone was probably hungry; all except Leah, of course, who was contentedly nursing as they walked.

The morning was beautiful. The rain-washed green of the forest glittered in the sunlight, seemingly fresh and new. The clouds were fast disappearing in the far western sky, and glad calls from tiny birds in the trees added music to the soft sigh of the wind. Merlin could feel the sun's warmth finally beginning to take the damp out of his clothes as he walked. The warmth did nothing for the cold in his gut, but between the beauty and the activity, Merlin could feel his mood lift a little, setting his fears apart from him a bit.

Gwaine bounced off his shoulder, coughing, and Merlin looked up to see the young man looking with amused confusion at Merlin's pack. "You're wearing a mop, Merlin."

Oh. Merlin had taken out all the soaking wet bandaging he'd had in his pack and hung it anywhere he could, hoping that he could get them dry; wet bandages did nobody any good. The resulting white festoons did look a bit like a mop. He explained.

"As festive as your pack looks, your expression doesn't match it. You look like you're going to your own funeral."

Merlin winced at the choice of words. He looked around. People were everywhere. Choose your words carefully. "How much do you remember of last night?"

Gwaine coughed again and rubbed his chest. "I remember getting caught on something and getting dragged under. Couldn't get loose for love nor money. Thought it was over. Then I was back on land. So who do I thank for the gift of my life?"

"We managed to keep track of the tree you were tangled in and pull it ashore. But when Arthur and I pulled you out, you weren't breathing. I thought we were going to lose you, and," he lowered his voice, "I did something about it. I think Arthur saw."

There was a pause as Gwaine digested this. He looked carefully at Merlin, head cocked and eyes narrow, and spoke very quietly. "And you're afraid of what Arthur will do." It was, very clearly, a statement and not a question.

When Merlin made no additional comment, Gwaine sighed, triggering a spasm of coughing. "He won't confront you now," he predicted when he'd caught his breath. "He's too much of a strategist, and now's the wrong time. So we make plans."

"We. No, Gwaine."

"Yes, Gwaine. We. You're in this mess partially because of me. We'll figure something out." He coughed again and looked irritated. "As soon as I stop coughing up a lung."

-o-o-o-o-o-

As the forest continued to thin, Leon set them a task: find long branches, even small trees, long and straight and about as thick as a person's wrist. Young Bard fell to with a will, darting in tangents around their line of march and dragging out every fallen limb. When anyone found one that was long, slender, and sturdy, Leon would trim off the extraneous limbs and hand the pole to someone to carry. Soon they had several poles. Merlin had no idea for what, but figured he'd find out when the time came. He was more concerned about Arthur and Gwaine.

The prince was struggling, though as was typical of Arthur, he was trying hard not to show it. He still held his arm tightly against him, and Merlin could see the tightness around his eyes slowly increasing. When it was necessary to step down from something - a stone or root - the impact elicited a soft hiss and for a moment the prince went white. Merlin began looking for likely branches for making splints.

Gwaine wasn't in significantly better shape. Though the stiffness had abated once the young man got moving, through the morning the coughing had worsened, and Gwaine's breathing had a whistle to it. His pallor of the morning was giving way to a flush. When Merlin asked how he was feeling, the response was a cheery "Fine!" but he walked with dogged persistence, in uncharacteristic silence. The water hadn't fully cleared from his lungs, Merlin judged. Unfortunately, while he knew that this was a problem, he didn't have any idea how to treat it. We need to get to Gaius, he thought. Or, failing that, at least get to someplace he can rest and stay warm and dry. None of those things were available here, so the only option to was to keep going. Merlin knew it and, probably, Gwaine knew it. They had to keep on.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Late in the afternoon, tired and very hungry, they came to a potential ford. The river had spread wide, and was kicking and splashing its way through a maze of stones. The way forward had become challenging for a brand new reason: a flooded meadow. After one of the women had nearly lost her boot to the deep sucking mud, everyone was staying away from the meadow. Leon, after asking Arthur's permission, called forward everyone with a stick. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur request a stick from one of the older women and join them. Clotpole. You've got one arm out of commission and you've just got to do this anyway.

"We'll use these to find the best path," the knight explained. "We'll work our way toward the other side, probing the depth before us with the sticks. If you find a place that's deeper than about this," he held up a hand a waist height, "stop where you are and shout out."

Merlin shed his pack and readied his stick. With several of the villagers, Arthur, Gwaine, and Leon, he stepped out into the river, trying to hop from rock to rock as much as he could. My boots just now stopped squelching when I walk - I'd like to keep it that way. He picked a meandering path, heading slightly upstream so that he was at the end of the line.

The sound of the water rushing around him filled his ears, and the shouts of his companions were barely to be heard. The sun warmed the back of his head and shoulders, and the wind cooled his face. He looked down into the water. It was opaque and brown with carried silt. There was no judging the depth visually. He thrust in his pole, and discovered that it was only about knee deep. Leaping to another rock, Merlin continued across. Laughter reached him faintly. Somebody had slipped off a rock and landed in the shallows. He kept on working his way forward. The water was getting deeper, but thus far there were frequent rocks one could use. The jagged line of men and women advanced slowly across the river, and Merlin began to hope that they'd be able to rock-hop the entire way across.

Merlin was nearly three quarters of the way across the river when he reached a point at which the nearest dry boulder was well out of jumping range. Plunging his pole forward, he nearly lost his grip on it. The water here was deep - as high as a tall man, at least. Shout from downstream informed him that others had found the same. A deep channel ran between them and the other side. One good boulder in the middle, between me and that rock over there, and I could do it, thought Merlin. He stole a look downstream. Leon was sloshing and hopping his way toward Arthur, and the rest were perched on boulders or on the shore, watching the pair expectantly. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to Merlin.

He reached out with his magic into the rocks and soil beneath him. Was there a big boulder down there? He stretched out, searching. There! Just upstream, a cart-length away and deep in the bottom of the channel, there was a huge blocky chunk of rock. It should be possible to sort of roll it downstream. He extended his magic to grip the rock and began pulling it free of the streambed. Through his boots, he could feel tiny movements in the rocks all around, as stones came free and shifted into the space the large rock left behind. Still he pulled, turning and rolling the weight of the rock through the water. The rock came vertical, just clearing the surface of the water in the center of the channel slightly downstream of Merlin. As it did so, Merlin felt a slippage in the stones below the boulder he was standing on. The boulder tilted, dumping him unceremoniously into the water. He barely had time for a startled yelp before the cold water closed over his head.

The water was flowing strongly but smoothly here in this channel, and Merlin was a good swimmer. There had been an excellent swimming hole in the stream near Ealdor. Merlin had spent many happy summer hours there, when he could escape his chores. After his initial moment of surprise, he oriented himself and swam toward the surface, thinking quickly. He knew he should kick off his boots, but the thought of making the rest of the journey barefoot was painful. He'd try to extricate himself with the boots on, thank you.

Surfacing, he wiped the water from his eyes and looked around, treading water. It was a bit harder, admittedly, with the drag of boots and clothing. Leon and Arthur had realized he'd gone in, and were hastening to the edge of the channel. Leon was shouting something about sticks, but Merlin couldn't quite make it out. It was lucky that I was upstream, thought Merlin. If I'd picked downstream it'd all be up to me. He swam toward the proffered sticks with all his might as he was swept along and soon he was being pulled out onto a large flat rock by Leon's two hands and Arthur's one.

He floundered to his feet to find Arthur staring at him, face unreadable. Then the prince smacked him sharply in the back of the head. The motion jostled the prince's injured arm, and he froze, white to the lips and face set in a grimace of pain. Merlin reached hesitantly to steady him. Arthur apparently was hurting too much to brush him off. "When we get to the other side," said Merlin firmly, "we are setting that arm. Even if I have to bribe Leon and Gwaine to sit on you."

There was a pause as Arthur gathered himself and regained his usual stoic demeanor. Then the response was somehow simultaneously both curt and rueful. "Fine, Merlin. You set the arm. But first we have to get across this cursed river."

"I found a way. I just fell in before I could tell anybody."

"Only you, Merlin."

-o-o-o-o-o-

It did turn out to be as nearly as simple as that. Merlin's boulder, with the help of the gathered poles, formed a crossing navigable by even the least able-bodied of the group, and soon they were safely across the channel and able to rock-hop across to the far shore. There the group stopped to rest.

Seeing a tiny stream running down to join the river, Arthur directed the group to follow it upwards a short distance so that they could all drink something other than muddy river water that had been allowed to settle in Merlin's cookpot.

"Sire," interjected Leon as most of the group headed up the hill following the stream. "You mentioned letting Merlin set your arm."

Arthur looked annoyed. Probably was hoping we'd forget, thought Merlin.

"Now is as good a time as any," he suggested, "while everyone's out of our hair. Lie down for a second and I'll see what I can do."

"You do know what you're doing, I trust."

"I've done it several times under Gaius' watchful eye. I know how to set a broken arm, Arthur. Lie down and stretch your arm out this way."

Once he had Arthur arranged to his satisfaction, he instructed Leon, "Steady his shoulder, and make sure it doesn't move. I need to pull against it to straighten the bones." He looked at Arthur. "Don't move, and don't resist. Keep your arm loose and relaxed. You're stronger than I am, and if you tighten up, I won't be able to pull the bones into place." He paused. "It's going to hurt. I'm sorry."

Arthur scoffed. "Don't be such a girl. Just do it already."

Merlin grasped the prince's wrist. For all of his brave words, he hated setting bones. He didn't like inflicting pain on a patient, and the feeling of bones moving under the skin made his stomach churn. Still, he pulled steadily, feeling the nauseating grit of bones sliding against each other. Arthur gasped, but as requested did not tense or move the arm. As soon as the bones felt like they were back in place, he let go carefully and looked at Arthur's face. The prince was bone-white and pouring sweat.

"That's it. Stay still for a minute while I splint it." As Leon let go, the knight shifted to lay a hand on Arthur's shoulder for a moment. Then he got up and went off in the direction of the little stream, coming back a few minutes later with a skin of water and the rest of the group who were talking excitedly about getting home. By this time, Merlin had splinted the arm and fashioned a rudimentary sling, and had helped Arthur to sit up and lean against a tree. The knight handed the skin to Arthur, who took it with his good hand and drank thirstily.

Soon the prince was climbing to his feet. "What are we waiting for? Don't we have a village to reach?"

Cheers from the villagers were his reward, and the group moved out as the sun dipped to touch the tops of the trees. The sun sank, and just as dusk was falling, there was a welcome sight ahead - the firelit windows of the village of Breckfall.

The sight filled Merlin with both relief and trepidation. They were safe, they could get warm and dry for the first time in a day and a half - but Arthur might ask the fateful question. What in the world was he going to say?

Thanks for the reviews from last chapter - and to all of you who are still reading along. Is it horrible that they haven't had "the conversation" yet? I'm so sorry - Arthur is being stubborn and won't let me. He's apparently not yet ready to talk. I promise, he'll get there eventually.