It took only an hour to find Merlin.
It could have taken much longer, but the guard at the gate mentioned to Arthur that he saw the servant leave the city in a rush, and so Arthur didn't waste time searching within the walls.
And then the smoke rising into the sky had been an indicator of sorts that something was going on.
They found Merlin looking like he was hugging the ground; stomach planted into the grass and dirt and his arms stretched out to either side, sleeping. Near him were several smoking trees and scorch marks and one tree that had been felled.
Arthur had a lot of questions. Questions about how and why Merlin had run all the way out here just to collapse. Questions about how he'd managed to light the woods on fire and burned his hands on it, for Arthur could see that Merlin's hands were raw and red. And once he thought a bit more about it, he had some questions about why in the world someone would want to possess Merlin in the first place. He had questions about why a sorcerer in Merlin's body wouldn't attack with magic when he was being force-fed a potion.
Yes, he had a lot of questions.
But as he knelt by Merlin's side and watched Gaius take his pulse, Arthur decided not to ask those questions. He had a lot of reasons for that, too.
For one thing, Merlin would probably lie. He did that a lot—poorly, but they were still lies. He decided not to ask because he might not like the answer, and Arthur didn't really want to have to deal with that. He'd already considered killing a friend, saved the same friend, and condoned the use of magic, all within the space of a day or so. Arthur decided not to ask because Merlin didn't look up to doing any answering. And, perhaps most predominately, he decided not to ask because as they knelt there, Merlin's eyes fluttered open, and they were shining with moisture, and he looked up at Arthur and Gaius, whispering, "Thank you…" before he closed his eyes, letting himself relax.
So, instead of asking, Arthur stood up and wiped his hands on his shirt. When Gaius started to ask Merlin to stand, Arthur shook his head. "I'll carry him back, Gaius, in case he's injured," he said, and looked around. "And we should probably get some water to put out what's left of these fires before Camelot burns down."
He'd gotten a few days off and something for the pain of the burns. Gaius had wrapped his hands in some soft cloth after putting some ointment on them. The sting didn't disappear, but it lessened, and for that Merlin was grateful.
He lasted until evening, alone in his room, before he'd insisted that the silence was driving him mad and said he'd like to talk to someone.
And he couldn't even explain the joy that being able to give an order gave him.
Arthur came in and sat in a chair next to Merlin's bed. "Of course you wanted to talk to someone," he teased fondly. "When do you not want to talk?"
"Well, I haven't gotten to really talk to anyone for more than a week," Merlin told him, sitting up.
"Lie down; Gaius said that medicine will make you sleepy." Arthur resisted the urge to ask exactly what had happened.
Merlin did as he was bid with less fuss than he usually made about following orders. Looking up at Arthur, he blinked his blue eyes and said, "I haven't thanked you or Gaius, have I?"
"Yes, you have." He smiled. "I'm not sure you were awake though."
Merlin thought about it. "What happened?" he asked. "How did you know? About the potion and… whatever happened?"
Arthur settled back into his chair and began the story, explaining how he'd noticed Merlin's behavior changing after the sorcerers, but that he hadn't sought out Gaius until the wall. He told Merlin about the black eyes. He even apologized (in a roundabout, Arthur way) for shoving Merlin. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to mention that the potion had been magical, so he left it unsaid. Maybe Merlin would get it anyway.
"The potion drove the sorcerer from your body, and since he couldn't enter mine or Gaius's, and couldn't flee back to his own… He died," Arthur finished lamely.
Then he turned his eyes back to Merlin.
For a moment, there was silence similar to what could be heard at a funeral.
And then Merlin whispered, "His name was Orson."
Like opening floodgates, that one sentence started the downpour, and Merlin told Arthur. He told him about how terrified he'd been, about how Orson had wanted to kill Uther and Arthur (but he didn't say how, knowing that dragging Morgana into this would just cause problems for everyone, mostly him), about how he couldn't move or talk or even breathe without the instruction of another man who'd stolen his free will.
Arthur didn't know what to say to that.
"I'm sorry," he at last decided on. "He's dead now."
Merlin looked up at him, something like anger in his eyes, and he burst out with the unexpected sentence: "He wouldn't have had to be killed. If his family hadn't been killed, if he hadn't wanted revenge so much, if we hadn't gone to attack the sorcerers with no warning at all… It wouldn't have happened, any of it, and he wouldn't have to be dead."
"Merlin… This man… He… This sorcerer, he took over…"
"I know." Merlin covered his eyes with his hand briefly, looking older. "I know. I know it best." He looked at Arthur, the anger back. "But that man was in my head for almost a fortnight, closer than he had any right to be, and I could see so many of his thoughts. He was grieving." The way he said it, one could tell that Merlin knew what grieving felt like. Merlin's voice cracked and dropped so low as to be almost inaudible. "He was hurting."
Ignoring the pain in his hands, Merlin used them to help turn himself over onto his front, getting more comfortable. All the anger was gone. "I'm sorry. It's not like I'm not glad he's gone… I'm grateful, so grateful, to you and to Gaius… It's just…" He stumbled over his words for a second longer, and then gave up and miserably buried his face in his flimsy pillow.
Arthur, for once, inexplicably knew what to say. Leaning forward, he patted Merlin's back, his hand landing on the clean, non-scorched shirt.
"It's alright, Merlin," he said gruffly (trying not to sound toocomforting, lest Merlin misconstrue his words as the worry of a friend). "It's alright."
Merlin, for his part, just rested there, breathing hard into his pillow. He didn't cry – he thought he'd forgotten how – but just buried his face deeper and clung to the moment, trying to find peace in it. Not working, not being ordered, not having to do anything but lay there, listen to Arthur's words, and heal.
A/N: Well, what did you think? I kind of like the last part. Only one more loose end to tie up… I'm sure you can guess what that is?