Again, I outdo myself for longest wait ever. I meant to keep up with fanfic through November despite NaNoWriMo, but I almost failed NaNo as it was... the time since then has mostly been laziness. But Chapter Fifteen (the final chapter, if I'm not mistaken, which is possible) is a few notebook pages in, if that's any consolation. I will not take over a month again on this, I promise you that much.
Hopefully the fact that this chapter was started in October and finished today won't hurt the consistency too much, but if it does, don't be afraid to say so! Reviews of any kind are love. :)
And quick shout-out to all my readers - you guys are the best! Over 150 reviews and 20k hits. I never even dreamed it. I love you all.
Chapter Fourteen: The Unexpected
The barest hint of light peeked out over the horizon. Merlin, quite simply, was exhausted. Arthur must have been too, but the prince showed no signs. He rode confidently over the turf, while Merlin held loosely to his midsection and tried with incredible determination not to fall asleep.
"Almost there," he mumbled absently, resisting the urge to use Arthur's back for a pillow. The horse trotted through an unexpected dip in the ground, jolting him back to awareness.
The transition from grass to cobbled stone was most welcome. Both riders slid off the horse's back, one gracefully and the other not so. At least when Merlin stumbled a little, Arthur caught him and steadied his stance.
Sir Leon stood at the top of the marble steps, customary armor setting him apart from the swarm of tunic-clad citizens bustling about. The knight dipped his head at the prince and then, curiously, repeated the motion to Merlin. "The king informed me of your mission," he told Arthur, then addressed Merlin, "It's good to see you back."
Dazed, he could only nod. "Thanks."
Arthur took him by the crook of the elbow and led him inside. Leon accompanied them, then split paths as he headed to the throne room. "Shall I inform your father of your arrival?" he called back when they'd grown several meters apart.
"That would be greatly appreciated," acknowledged Arthur, marching off in the opposite direction. Merlin hastened to keep pace with him.
"Where are we going, then?"
"Straight to Gaius, naturally. We can't be too sure that the sorcerer didn't cause any lasting damage."
"Arawn," corrected Merlin automatically. Arthur shot him a strange look. "He didn't like being called a sorcerer. He thought himself above petty magic tricks." He wondered briefly whether Arawn would've considered a conjured ball of lightning flying toward him a "petty magic trick." Nimueh probably hadn't thought so. "And I don't think he did any real damage," he added as an afterthought.
"Right." Arthur eyed Merlin's tunic somewhat skeptically. The warlock looked down and considered the formerly blue material, now stained a miraculous shade of dark crimson in most places. He conveniently kept forgetting about that.
"It's not lasting," he insisted. "There's not even a wound anymore."
He and Arthur continued to squabble lightly, both cheered by the knowledge that they were alive to do so. Intent on compiling a stack of witty comebacks, he rounded the corner and knocked forcefully into someone rushing by with arms full of linen, which softened the blow but erupted everywhere.
"Oh, sorry," he blustered, bending down to help clean up his mess. "I really need to watch where I'm going, bad habit..." He trailed off, recognizing the person he'd run into. "Oh," he said brightly. "Hi Gwen."
Gwen looked as though she'd seen a ghost. "Merlin," she whispered, and abandoned the linen altogether as she threw her arms around his neck.
"Nice to see you, too," he said awkwardly, patting her on the back in hopes she'd let go or at least loosen her grip. No such luck. If anything, she squeezed tighter, trembling with what he assumed were sobs but failed to understand why. "Er, Gwen? You're hurting me," he told her finally. She let go as though shocked.
"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed; it was her turn to act flustered. "I just - Arthur said - why aren't you dead?" He frowned, bemused. She realized how that sounded and hurried to backtrack. "Not that you should be! I mean, I thought you - Arthur came back alone, he told us you'd died, so - how?"
Merlin grinned. "Eloquent as ever."
Arthur, behind them, cleared his throat. "I did say you were dead," he admitted. "What was I supposed to think? But I got a letter..."
And he relayed yesterday's events to an apparently only half-informed Merlin and an increasingly attentive Guinevere. She frowned, insisting he could have let her know before rushing off to save Merlin, but relented when he explained his reasons.
"It would only have taken longer to leave, and I was almost too late as it was. Besides, I didn't want to get your hopes up, in case..." He didn't finish, but he didn't need to. In case I couldn't bring him back.
Gwen gave Merlin one last hug before Arthur more-or-less demanded they continue to Gaius's. Merlin prepared himself for another barrage of incredulity, but when he pushed open the door and cleared his throat, Gaius acted like he'd never been gone at all.
"Ah, I was expecting you sometime soon," he declared. A pleasant smell drifted from somewhere in the room. Arthur pushed Merlin into a sitting position on the physician's cot, ignoring the younger man's scowl. "For God's sake, Merlin, have you been wandering about the castle in that shirt?"
"Hardly anyone saw!" defended Merlin. In truth, the odd servant had given him a weird look, but no one who knew him particularly well had commented on it, with the exception of Gwen, who noticed the state of his tunic about halfway to Gaius's and demanded proof that he wasn't liable to bleed out before they reached their destination.
With the physician's help, he removed the offending tunic and permitted Gaius to examine his wounds. There were evidently still marks from the Farwolaeth's claws, though they were nearly closed. The wound in his shoulder had disappeared completely, which he'd guessed; it was the Farwolaeth's final gift, excluding the timely return of his magic.
Arthur narrowed his eyes at the non-existent injury, but said nothing.
Gaius gently coated each laceration with some foul-smelling liquid and wrapped him in a thin layer of bandages. "It's just to prevent the salve from rubbing off," he explained.
After all that was done, Merlin donned another tunic - still blue, though darker and thankfully not stained. Abruptly following this, Gaius pushed a bowl of piping hot stew into his lap and commanded for him to eat it. "Eat it all," he added when the boy took one tentative sip. "I imagine Arawn failed to keep you properly nourished."
"You know everything, then?" observed Merlin, blowing on the bowl's steaming contents before taking another bite. The first had practically blistered his tongue, but he knew Gaius was serious when he said he had to eat it all. "Arthur told you before he left?"
"You could say that," said the physician enigmatically, giving the prince a meaningful look. Merlin started to ask what he meant, but was thwarted by his own yawn.
"What have you got to yawn about? I thought we agreed my rest was the priority," Arthur reminded him. Gwen puffed up indignantly until she saw his face and realized he'd been kidding.
To cover her gaffe, she put in, "You could both use a rest by the looks of you. It's a wonder you didn't fall asleep on the way here." Merlin decided never to tell her that he almost had. "Sire, I can go prepare your chambers if you-"
"That won't be necessary. I'll be staying here." Merlin almost choked on a carrot when he heard these words, and he looked up at Arthur with watering eyes. Arthur rolled his own and clapped him on the back, harder than Merlin thought the situation really called for. "Someone has to make sure this idiot atually sleeps rather than blunder into another reckless stunt. One I'd no doubt have to rescue him from."
That pulled a small smile from the maidservant's lips. Merlin, on the other hand, threw his spoon at him.
When he blinked awake several hours later, it was to find that Gaius was gone and Arthur wasn't. Strange. He didn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he recalled was Arthur returning from the kitchens with a jug of water, which for some reason Gaius insisted on pouring...
The warlock groaned. Of course. The physician considered it a day wasted if he didn't slip something into someone's drink.
Arthur was snoring lightly on the chair by his bed - Gaius' bed, really. Judging by the sun, he guessed it was early in the afternoon. Normally the prince would threaten his life for sleeping half this late, but for once he could hardly complain. Merlin suspected he hadn't been drugged into his current state.
On Gaius' workbench, Merlin saw a book opened to a page portraying a familiar beast, at least as familiar as hand drawings compared to the real thing. Beneath it, in the language of the Old Religion, it named the beast Farwolaeth. Merlin smiled to himself; he should have known that if anyone could find something on the obscure creature, it would be Gaius.
Beside the book sat a tray, presumably Arthur's lunch. It must have been brought recently, for the drumsticks still retained enough heat to radiate steam. Partly out of sadism but mostly for the prince's and his own good, he shook Arthur awake and pointed out the food.
"Thank God, I'm starved," groaned Arthur, surprising his servant by getting to his feet, stretching, and fetching the tray himself. The miracles didn't end there. "No offense to Gaius' cooking, but I'm sure the palace kitchens have it beaten. Take a drumstick."
Merlin nearly choked for the second time that day. "Er. What?"
"Go on," said Arthur impatiently, like it hurt him to have to insist on being nice. "There's far too much for one person to eat on their own, and why waste it?"
The warlock stared at the tray. For one thing, he knew for a fact that Arthur had no problem throwing things out if he didn't want them. For another thing, there wasn't a huge difference between this and what the prince normally ate, maybe a littleextra to compensate for his recent absence. Definitely not so much that Arthur couldn't finish it off himself.
Then again, he was awfully hungry, so perhaps he shouldn't complain.
"All right, then," he said, and relieved the tray of one drumstick.
When Gaius came back and allowed them to leave - Arthur had resolutely refused to let Merlin anywhere without the physician's clearance - they spent the rest of the day on the practice field. Leon had taken over most of the knights' training, but now Arthur was back and eager to return to duties. Well, that duty, anyway.
Merlin watched from the sidelines, glad for a chance to laze in the sun for once. It was warm today, despite the autumnal season, which for him meant comfort and for the knights meant additional sweat. Arthur strained them to a hitherto unseen degree. Merlin suspected he rather enjoyed leaving his subjects with aching muscles and bruised limbs.
"Could've been a bit nicer with those swords," he commented when it was was over, feeling remarkably sorry for Sir Nathaniel, who'd been whacked round the head twice with the hilt of Arthur's sword. Helmeted, yes, but still.
"It's not my job to be nice," snorted Arthur. "My job is to keep them alive. No one they meet in battle is going to be nice about it. Come on, I'm roasting in this armor."
They reached the mercifully cool armory, and Merlin slid the chainmail over Arthur's head. The prince stretched, glad to be free of the heavy burden.
The chainmail could use polishing, Merlin noticed. It still had blood on the sleeve where Arawn had cut Arthur, and there were several other nicks in the metal. Strange, how Arthur hadn't once complained about it.
"I'm having dinner with my father tonight. I'll ask one of the servants there to tend to me for the evening."
"I'm not an invalid! I'm perfectly capable of getting a bath ready and fetching your nightclothes. Those aren't near as heavy as this damn armor, and you let me take care of that!"
"That's different," claimed Arthur in the superior tone that welcome no argument - the one that Merlin usually argued with anyway. Arthur must have realized that mistake, because he amended, "I didn't think about the armor. I am thinking about you dragging yourself to my chambers when there are dozens of servants who haven't been sliced open recently who can do it instead. And what I'm thinking is that one of them will do it, not you."
Merlin rolled his eyes. "Really, with Gaius handling my drinks, it's not like I haven't had a rest today. I'm fine. Besides, you're supposed to be the one telling me to get to work no matter how many hours it's been since I've slept or eaten or sat down, remember?"
Arthur crossed his arms. "You know what, Merlin? For once, you might be right. Clearly I've become too soft on you. Tonight you're not only to ready my bath, you're also going to tidy my chambers, they've been woefully neglected since you... left. In a timely fashion, of course, because I won't be kept up all night thanks to your lazy work. Go on, Merlin, what are you waiting for? Is that enough, or shall I find more for you to do?"
"No need, Sire," said Merlin quickly, all too aware that Arthur would name more chores if he challenged him about it. Arthur got that look on his face, the one that wasn't quite a smile but meant the same thing. He doubted, then, that he prince cared if any of that got done on time. Except perhaps the bath.
They parted ways, Arthur to join his father, Merlin to return to Gaius.
The physician's chambers were empty when he entered, but it was hardly a moment later when Gaius came bustling in, arms full of books with aged and damaged covers. He appeared to struggle under their weight, hoisting them up in an effort to make it more comfortable.
"Here, let me." Merlin took four large tomes from the stack, and together he and Gaius manhandled them to the workbench, where Merlin came close to smashing a vial with pale blue liquid. "What do you need these for?" he huffed.
The books all but tumbled out of Gaius' arms, as gracelessly as Merlin's had. "It has been brought to my attention that my knowledge of magical creatures is not as keen as I would have believed," said Gaius, a frown flitting across his face.
Merlin countered it with a grin. "You didn't do too bad, though." He nodded to the book, still open on the workbench. "You found it in that book of yours."
The serious look on his mentor's face did not lessen. If anything, it became wearier. "After days of searching, Merlin, and even when I discovered it in that book, I came no closer to knowing if you were alive or dead. These books are more current; they have more information. If something like this should happen again..." He trailed off, and with no more warning than a deep, meaningful look, he pulled his ward into a hug.
Caught by surprise, Merlin didn't return it at first, but then he found himself remembering how desperately he wished to see Gaius again while he was held captive by Arawn. He brought his arms up to pat the physician's back awkwardly, much the same as he had done to Gwen. However, this was less an action of disbelief and more one of immense, calming relief.
"Well," he said when the moment and the embrace were over. "I'd better go... polish some armor or something." Arthur hadn't told him to do that, but he knew it needed to get done, and he had time to kill. It was too early to start the bath, and there was no way he was really going to clean Arthur's chambers tonight. "After that I'd better go meet Arthur. I imagine he and the king will be done eating by then."
"Yes, I imagine so." Gaius took him briefly by the shoulders, smiled, and said, "I'm glad you're safe, Merlin. Promise me you'll stay that way."
"I'll do my best," promised the warlock.
Back in the armory, he polished both by hand and by magic. Which, in terms of progress, meant that by the time he had finished shining the helmet to perfection, the rest were already stacked neatly into place. He'd only done the helmet by hand to kill time, anyway, and by now he reckoned Arthur would be waiting for him.
They met outside the throne room. The prince's disheveled appearance suggested he hadn't been treated to same heartfelt "welcome back" as Merlin. "He congratulated me on my success," he said in response to his servant's questioning look. "And then he told me it wasn't my place to care about a commoner's life." Merlin waited for the inevitable denail that Arthur cared, but it didn't come. Arthur fell quiet, lost in thought.
They reached his chambers, and Merlin realized it was the first time they'd been there all day. He tried to imagine the state of the room waiting for him inside. Clothes strewn about, the bed made clumsily or not at all... Arthur made it sound like there had been no one called upon to do things like clean his room, even in the circumstances of Merlin's presumed death. The thought cheered his slightly.
He opened the door and, by force of habit, let Arthur in first. It wasn't the disaster he'd anticipated; it was't a disaster at all. Everything was pristine, picked up, and in its proper place. Merlin felt almost disappointed. Gods, was that cinnamon he detected in the air?
"Looks like you kept organized," he commented, inspecting the pillowcase on the four-poster bed. It looked spotless, though he knew there had been a stubborn stain on it last time he checked. He'd worked for ages to get rid of it, to no avail. And he had magic, for goodness' sake!
"Nice, isn't it?" said Arthur, sounding as impressed as Merlin was disgruntled. "I wonder who did it. Perhaps I should hire them instead."
"You like it, then?" drawled a lilting voice behind them. "I took the liberty of cleaning up. There was not much else to do, considering how painfully long it took your royal highness to arrive."
Beside him, Merlin heard Arthur's sharp intake of breath. He was jealous; he found it difficult to breathe at all, and felt rather as though he had been punched in the stomach.
He knew that voice, knew it from days upon days of hearing none that one.
"Whatever is the matter, little sorcerer? Farwolaeth got your tongue?"
Merlin revolved slowly on the spot to face the last person he ever wanted to see again, much less so soon. He addressed the man, conjuring up the calmest voice of which he knew himself capable.
"Hello, Arawn."