Chapter Thirteen

The thing was, Arthur knew what his choice had to be.

No, he knew what his choice would be. Camelot always came first, even before his own life.

But if he did choose the right way – or just the lesser of two evils – he knew that he would never sleep soundly again. In that split second when Morgause waited and Merlin thrashed, Arthur found a sudden sureness—abandoning Merlin (and he forced himself not to shy away from those two words) would haunt him until the day he died.

But some things were more important than feelings, he knew. Merlin screamed, a sound he would never forget, and Arthur's free hand tightened instinctively, ready to fight. But duty and pain weren't really things he could punch in the face.

Arthur's eyes landed on the sorceress (Look anywhere but Merlin, he thought, anywhere but Merlin), on her glowing gold eyes and outstretched hand, which kept the injured boy in this pain. That she-demon's hand. It was out of reach, but the sight of it almost seemed to burn into his eyes, because that hand was keeping him from saving Merlin.

Wait. Arthur's forehead scrunched up in thought.

It was odd, actually, that the hand should still be up. Arthur had seen plenty of destructive spells cast, and they only required a moment. A hand would go up; two eyes would flash dangerously; then, it was over and the survivors were left to deal with the damage. But Morgause's hand was not moving from its position and her eyes still burned fiercely. This was a continuous spell, he realized.

She's still casting it.

If she stopped, so would the spell. But if he did anything to make her stop casting, she might or might not still have time to cast a spell that would kill. And he wasn't willing to bet Merlin's life on her having slow reflexes.

Another prolonged yell from behind him sent his heart into his throat and nearly knocked the blossoming idea from Arthur's head, but he forced his mind to stay on task. He had to ignore the pounding of his head and unsteadiness of his legs.

The question was: Would he really be willing to die to save Merlin?

He remembered throwing the goblet, seeing Merlin fall to the ground, grabbing his servant's jaw and forcing cloth between his teeth, remembered holding him down, remembered hearing him rant in delirium. He recalled Merlin drinking poison and the time with the unicorn. He knew it had been a stupid question.

It had been three seconds since Morgause voiced her command. Three seconds full of thinking, and now Arthur had a plan. Not a very good one, but a plan nonetheless.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Bors fell.

It wasn't really that big of a deal; this had to be the third of fourth time he'd fallen in the past few minutes, because Sir Bors was exhausted. The trick was, he'd learned, don't fall with the blade pointing in, but rather pointed away from you. You were more likely to hit an enemy that way.

This time, unfortunately, he didn't hit one of the enemy, and his opponent was not above striking at a man while he was down.

The soldier swiped downwards with his sword, but Bors rolled out of the way, blindly thrusting out his blade as he did so. He heard a grunting sound and felt the sword hit flesh, but looked up to see that he had hit the attacker in the stomach.

The attacker seemed to shrug off the wound and went in for the kill again, but this time Bors sat up and drove the bloodied blade into the man's heart.

With a gargling sound, his opponent died, pitching forward and landing on Bors's lap.

Disgusting…

Bors pushed the corpse away, getting blood on his gauntlet and not caring, too busy to even feel sick. He leapt to his feet, ready to face the next attacker…

There wasn't one.

Confused, he lowered his blade slightly (going against one of the many things Arthur Pendragon had drilled into his skull) and looked around.

He heard a whooping sound, and glancing that way, he caught sight of Leon with his fist in the air, cheering himself hoarse.

"Leon!" he called, and his fellow knight beamed in his direction.

Leon laughed a little wildly, pushing his long, light brown hair away from his face, letting his sword hang at his side. "Merlin was right!" he yelled back. "We won! The rest are running! We won! Ha-ha!" Others began to join with his cheering.

For his part, Bors only caught one thing he'd said. They'd won. Grinning, Bors fell back onto the ground, sword still pointed away, and this time he made no effort to get back up again. They'd won. Such beautiful news.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Morgause heard the shouts and felt her chest tighten. This meant she'd lost, and now she couldn't even kill that prig of a prince. Rage boiled up in her, but she knew that she had to swallow it for now; this time she just needed to cut her losses and hope to escape with her life.

Arthur seemed to be hesitating, which made her wonder if he was less attached to that manservant than Morgana seemed to think. She growled deep in her throat, trying desperately not to show the panic hiding just below the rage.

"Come on, Prince Arthur!" she hissed through her teeth, raising her hand and closing her fingers over her palm furiously.

Merlin responded immediately, his screams escalating into a crescendo. It had been only seconds, but his voice was hoarse, and his body jerked along the forest floor like a spider that was only half-dead and frantic to escape the next blow.

She had to admit it was quite heartbreaking, really. No way could Arthur say no to that kind of pain.

But Arthur, for his part, only spared his manservant a single look before springing into action. His arm stretched back, sword poised like a javelin, and then he threw it.

Not to the ground in defeat, not to the side, but directly at her. Directly at her, the woman who held the power of life or death over his manservant.

In the blink of an eye, she moved her hand (unthinkingly calling off her first spell) and screamed, "Bloc!" She didn't even notice when Merlin calmed immediately, his screams turning into nothing more than an echo.

The sword stopped in midair, hitting the blue shimmering shield she'd thrown up, and then it fell uselessly to the ground.

Her eyes lit up with rage—he'd defied her command! Well, his servant would pay for that with his life.

Her hand up once more, she turned to Merlin… and saw only Arthur. The prince had leapt to the side as he threw his sword, and now he crouched in front of his manservant, who was spread-eagle on the forest floor, protectively. He was directly in the path of any spell that Morgause could send out.

Morgause snarled, prepared to kill them both… but froze. In her moment of hesitation, she remembered her other spells and how they failed to even reach Arthur, much less do damage.

Arthur flinched when he saw her hand rise in his direction, but stood firm, mindful of Merlin, who was so unnaturally still behind him. He just hoped that when he was dead, she wouldn't waste her short time killing Merlin—for he, too, heard the victory shouts.

He prepared himself for death, tensing his shoulders, but it didn't come.

Arthur was a man of action, so he didn't waste a second. In a flash, he was upright, but still in between Morgause and Merlin, and he dived for his sword on the ground.

Morgause gave a cry of alarm when he went for his weapon, but her eyes didn't flash gold, and no magic slammed into him. He gripped it by the hilt, standing up again and facing her with a look of fury on his handsome face.

The witch knew that the time to bow out had come when she saw the way that blade glimmered in the sunlight. With one last venomous look at the pair, she turned and fled into the forest.

Arthur tried to follow her, his eyes locked on the blonde waves as they swung around and ran into the forest. He felt his sword come up, his back straighten, and he began to run after her.

But, without warning, his battle strength left him. Suddenly his legs couldn't hold him, and he fell to the ground, gasping. It was over. His head still hurt; blood still painted lines down his face; Merlin didn't move. But it was undeniably, finally over. She was gone.

He had to get to Merlin. God knew what kind of damage that spell had done to him… He turned, using his hands to navigate his suddenly clumsy and exhausted body around, and began to crawl to the manservant who was sprawled unmoving on the ground.

But his body had other ideas. His stomach clenched. Arthur's head began to spin wildly until he didn't know which way was up, and his muscles in his abdomen began to tighten… He just managed to fall on all fours before his mouth opened of its own accord and he vomited.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

The pain stopped, and Merlin sagged in relief. Oh, gods, he thought, it's over.

But he waited resignedly for the next bout of pain. He knew that she wouldn't leave him be. Somehow, miraculously, impossibly, the pain didn't come back, and he began to believe that it was ended for good.

If he'd been able to, he'd have laughed and cried, shouted in joy. But he was just too weak… He focused on breathing, just breathing and living and being free except for the fading pricks of pain and the memory.

In, out. In, out. I can breathe; isn't it wonderful? That was so horrible… I can never do that again, never…

Panic began to rear its ugly head, and he forced it down through willpower. He just lacked the energy to go into hysteria.

In, out.

That shouldn't have happened. It's never happened before. I should've blocked that, should've seen it coming…

But he hadn't seen it coming. He hadn't known she would suddenly turn away from Arthur, and all his meager energy had been focused on protecting the prince.

I should've stopped the spell in mid-air, then.

But he'd been so tired… So tired, and so scared. He'd heard her cast the spell, and his mind flew back to Morgana and being helpless. He'd… he'd just… He'd panicked. Frozen. Been completely and totally paralyzed by terror, but just for a second.

And then it was too late, and he couldn't think any longer because waves of agony were tossing him about.

Anxiety began to rise again, and his body trembled.

No, calm! In, out. In, out. In, out. Deep breaths. Don't tremble; don't shake…

He started on his feet, forcing them to be still. Then he moved his thoughts to his legs, bracing them. Moving on, he told his midsection to stop shivering, to be still as stone.

…And then his feet began trembling again.

Merlin spent the next five minutes trying to pull himself together into something that even remotely resembled the man he'd been a few days ago. Meanwhile, Arthur threw up until there was nothing left in his stomach but bile, and the pain in his head had receded slightly.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

They all tried to thank Bors. But Bors didn't want to be thanked; he wanted to sleep. That blasted squire, Hector, refused to allow him to lie there like a corpse on the street, and so he leaned against a building (hopefully the owner didn't mind) and closed his eyes. Of course, every man who'd picked up a weapon surrounded him, thanking him unrelentingly for tipping them off about the head-and-heart thing.

"Not me," he mumbled. "Leon figured it out."

They all tried to thank Leon, but he shook his head and modestly admitted that he'd only passed on the word himself; Merlin, the prince's manservant, had figured it out, probably by watching the battle.

That, naturally, woke Bors up. "Nonsense," he said gruffly, staring at Leon in disbelief. "The prince's manservant can't even walk, much less save everyone's lives."

"Sir Bors," whispered Hector, looking around nervously. "He can. I saw him."

He was inclined to think Hector needed more sleep, but then a nearby young woman stopped showering her husband in kisses and murmuring 'thank the stars' long enough to agree with Hector. "We saw him pass by," she said. "He looked like he was in pain, but he was running. Maybe Gaius gave him something."

Bors gawked at her. Only that morning, Merlin had been delirious! But before he could express his doubts, which no one seemed interested in anyway, she went right back to what she had been doing.

But all the talk of Arthur's manservant led them to a more important subject: Arthur himself.

Where was the prince? In the heat of battle, no one noticed his absence, but now it was painfully obvious.

"Start in the city itself," ordered Leon. "We need to look for him!"

Bors groaned with exhaustion but pushed off the wall and to his feet. No rest for the weary, he supposed; it was one disaster after another. First the manservant, then the battle, now the prince.

"Hector," he hissed to his squire, "if I fall, catch me."

"Yes, milord." The blond boy smiled slightly.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

At last, Arthur managed to regain control of his stomach, moaning slightly. He used leaves from a shorter tree to wipe his mouth, not wanting to get the vomit on his clothes. He spit multiple times, desperate to get the taste out of his mouth, but it never went completely.

Finishing that, he turned his attention back to his servant. Staggering slightly, he walked to Merlin and fell to his knees beside the prone figure.

"Merlin?" he called softly, hopefully, watching his chest rise and fall in rhythm. In, out. In, out.

Merlin didn't respond out loud, but a small grimace crossed his white face.

"Merlin, come on. We need to get back to Camelot. Gaius needs to take care of you…" Arthur trailed off, forehead creasing in concern. He wasn't sure if Merlin was unconscious or not, or if the spell still held some thrall over him.

Arthur arm snaked out, about to take Merlin by the arm, but he stopped. His mind flew back to the past couple of days, how Merlin seemed to react badly every time the prince laid a finger on him. He didn't want to see that happen again; it felt like a slap in the face from his friend.

But he needed to know if Merlin was in danger of dying on the spot, so he screwed up his courage and put his hand down firmly on the dark-haired man's arm.

Merlin's deep blue eyes flew open at once and landed on Arthur as swiftly as two magnets drawn to metal. There was no emotion in them.

"…Merlin?" he said softly, almost pleadingly.

Merlin opened his mouth, but only a croak came out.

"You don't need to speak," Arthur told him at once, putting up a hand to keep Merlin from talking. But, as usual, Merlin had no qualms about disobeying him.

"This…" he gasped. "This… is why…. I will… n- never be your servant… in the next life. With you, it always… always turns out… badly… for me." His chest seemed to shake with every word spoken, as though he struggled to breathe.

Arthur tried to laugh, but he couldn't. Because it seemed that Merlin was right, even if it had been meant as a joke. "I'm sorry, Merlin," he assured the man gently. "I'm sorry. This is my fault… Can you walk?"

Merlin shook his head, then drew in a sharp breath as though it hurt. What little blood there was left in his face drained, and he looked sick. His eyes closed, and one tear worked its way from under his eyelid.

Ignoring fact that his servant was crying, Arthur said, "Okay, I'm going to have to get you back to Camelot somehow, Merlin. You need to see Gaius. Do you understand me?"

He didn't really expect the manservant to answer, what with the hoarseness of his voice, what with the pain moving his head seemed to cause him. But Merlin proved himself to be brave all over again by croaking, "Yes, Sire."

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Hector saw the prince first. They hadn't yet extended the search to outside the city walls, and Camelot was crawling with people searching all over. Uther was frantic.

What with all of that, Arthur stumbled right through the gates, a limp body held bridal style in his arms, and hardly anyone noticed.

Luckily Hector (who was smarter than he looked and very nervous about returning enemies) was watching the gates, and sent out the joyous call immediately. The people who heard him called out to others, and so on, and within seconds all of Camelot knew.

"The prince! He's back! Prince Arthur's okay!"

The crowd swarmed about him, giving the prince no room to breathe, much less move. Arthur looked around nervously, his eyes bright and face pale. He couldn't understand why everyone was staring at him with a mixture of relief and horror.

Maybe it had something to do with the crusted blood that covered his face, or the half-dead man in his arms, the gash on his forehead, or even the dried brown stuff around the corner of his mouth.

Exhausted, feeling claustrophobic, looking around like a wild animal, Arthur fell to his knees yet again, but this time on the cobblestones amid his own people.

"Move outta the way! Everybody, move! Go home!" That was Bors and a few other knights, clearing a path towards their prince.

"Come now, everyone move; I'm the physician." There was Gaius.

"Arthur! Arthur!" If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought that was Gwen.

"Oh, no, Merlin!" And that was the ever-present Blair.

"Sire." Suddenly, Arthur dizzily saw that Gaius was beside him. "What's wrong?"

"My head," he mumbled, blinking wildly, lowering Merlin gently to the ground in front of him. "'M fine, just hurts... Ow…"

"You probably have a concussion," said Gaius firmly. "Nothing to worry about." His craggy face loomed in Arthur's sight, intent on helping the prince, but Arthur wasn't stupid. He saw the way Gaius's eyes flickered to the still servant, and he knew that was who Gaius really wanted to be helping right now.

"Check on Merlin," he ordered as sternly as he could, trying not to sway this way and that. "He… he walked into the forest… I think he was trying to help."

"What happened to him?" Gaius leaned over Merlin, gingerly lifting his eyelids, but Arthur couldn't be sure it was him who spoke. It didn't matter.

"Morgause used a spell… I don't know; Gaius, he was screaming and everything…" Arthur tried to get up.

"Morgause?"

Arthur nodded, and he felt a pair of hands on him, lifting him to his feet. They belonged to Bors.

"Gaius, is he going to be alright?" asked the knight, peering down at the barely conscious, silent servant.

Before Gaius could answer, a loud voice floated over the sound of the repressed crowd, who were slowly but surely trickling home. "Arthur! Merlin!" called the musical voice, and then Morgana was there, clinging to the prince's arm.

"Morgana," said the prince slowly. Merlin's eyes flickered at the sound of her voice.

Her voice held a hint of tears. "Arthur, are you alright? What happened to Merlin? I'm so sorry I left; I couldn't find you… I thought… Did you say Morgause? What happened?"

He was much too tired to answer all her babbling questions, so instead he just mumbled, "She got away. Hurt Merlin… It's okay…"

Morgana sagged in relief at the news that her sister was unharmed, but only Merlin, who was now watching her blearily, noticed. "Thank heavens you're okay, Arthur! I didn't mean to leave… I thought that I saw bandits in the wood and I had to tell you…" Arthur distantly recalled that Morgana had been kidnapped by people like that. No wonder she had run to him.

"It's fine, Morgana…"

"No, I blame myself," she said, perhaps going a bit overboard. Then she looked down and saw Merlin's gaze on her, his blue eyes filled with fury… not that anyone else saw. His hands were clenched, and she knew he wanted nothing more than to break her neck.

She smirked at him. And again, no one noticed. No one ever saw the things that went on between the two of them.

Merlin just managed to growl, but it passed as a weak moan, and everyone's attention turned back to him.

"Is he okay, Gaius?" asked Bors again. "That man saved all of Camelot today."

"Gaius, please say he'll live," begged the prince, worried about the effect that the run would have on his already injured servant.

Gaius looked down at Merlin, breathing shallowly, and felt his pulse, but he didn't hesitate to say straight out what he thought. "Sire, the spell she used didn't harm him physically, from what I can tell. And any man who can run across Camelot to find you… He may be weak, Arthur, but I think he's going to make it."

In the distance, Hector gave a faint sigh of relief. Morgana tried not to glower. Leon smiled.

"Yes, I think he'll make it," repeated Gaius, beaming but professional. "All we need is time."

And right then and there, Arthur's knees gave out. Bors's grip on him tightened, keeping him upright, but his head drooped. Arthur wanted to thank Bors for saving him the indignity of falling, but he found he couldn't speak.

Merlin was going to live. It was like a miracle.

In the middle of the courtyard, Gwen began to cry; big, loud tears of hope and joy. The sun shone down all the more merrily. Even Uther, who entered at that moment, was glad, if only because his boy was safe. They were in the middle of a corpse-strewn battle field, and still everyone was happy. Merlin would live. Uther called him 'Gaius's boy', and Arthur called him 'friend'. Bors said 'hero', and Gaius, 'son'. They and most of Camelot, excepting the furious Lady Morgana, were overjoyed because a servant boy who was much more than a servant was going to live.

Only one person couldn't seem to find it within himself to care one way or another. That was Merlin; for his part, he just closed his eyes again and breathed, oblivious to the strong feelings around him. In, out. In, out.