A/N: As promised, here is the final chapter. I hope it answers all the questions you may have had after the last one (and if not, there's still the epilogue to come...whenever I finish writing it). Thank you all so much again for the fantastic support and kind words you have sent me since I began this fic...so many months ago. Without you, I would probably have given writing up as a bad idea! Whether you have followed, favourited or simply read my work, you've made me feel so glad I joined this fab little community we have here.
And on a personal, though still related note, I'M GOING TO SEE COLIN IN THE TEMPEST TOMORROW! Sorry, just couldn't keep that one in, I'm so excited...
Disclaimer: Merlin - the one currently purring in my lap - says I own him...but I think that's just because he's begging for food. The TV show doesn't eat (and if it did, it wouldn't like cat food), so I won't ever own that.
:O)
Chapter 25
It was at some point in the mid-afternoon by the time Arthur came out of the impromptu meeting he'd been obliged to attend, after Lords Ackerley and Blaxton had snagged him on his return to the castle (and had immediately made him feel guilty for not granting his time before then to what had now become a pressing matter). Arthur's stomach reminded him audibly that he had missed lunch. His first instinct was to make his way back to his chambers and see if anything was still edible of the no-doubt sumptuous lunch George had left for him a couple of hours ago, but his second - and overriding - urge was to make the trip he'd been planning since before he woke up that morning.
Not wanting to face the painful confrontations (that he was almost guaranteed to have at his destination) on an empty stomach, and having the inspired idea to kill two birds with one stone, Arthur about turned and made a quick detour to the kitchens.
It was therefore armed with a covered silver platter and a half-eaten apple in his other hand that the King awkwardly knocked on the oak door before him; toeing it open to the throaty utterance of 'Enter' that he heard.
The old physician was sitting at a table, resting his elbows on it as he leaned over a large and well-thumbed tome; his white hair draped over and through the hands interlocked on his forehead. For the first time in a while now, he was alone in the room, the permanent guard over the man's ward being rendered unnecessary. Now, the only reason the knights need visit the physician's chambers for any length of time, was to have their training wounds seen to. There had been a spate of those in the last few days, with all the 'therapeutic' sparring his knights suddenly seemed a little too enthusiastic for. Rather than annoyed, Arthur had been envious; having had very little energy since the assassination attempt with which to expunge his anxiety in a similarly satisfying way.
He stood a moment on the threshold, silently shifting his weight from foot to foot; feeling like he was that seven year old boy again, who had just been yelled at by his father for dropping his sword in practice and needing to hear wise words spoken by a person who wasn't expecting him to have the skills of someone ten years older. And also a hug. With Gaius, there were always hugs, and not the quick, one-armed, non-embrace of a pat on the back, or a well-meaning but woefully inadequate shoulder squeeze, but a proper, two-armed hug; for as long as HE needed it and by someone who treasured the boy he was, not the future king he needed to be. The kind he had - for a long while now - only been a witness to, as they were bestowed on his manservant, when they'd returned from a quest during which they had defied death and probability yet again. Yes, he could admit now that he had been jealous (though Guinevere did make up for the loss to a certain extent), but he was equally glad that his friend had had that at least to come home to; when his master either didn't know or couldn't bring himself to admit that he owed his continued existence to the man he'd been too afraid to call 'friend'.
Some friend I've been! If anyone deserved the transfer of Gaius' fatherly gestures from me, it was Merlin.
Arthur sighed and was instantly greeted by the physician's cloudy gaze, as his old eyes adjusted from magnified words to the distant face of a King.
"Sire," he greeted, his voice quiet and croaky from disuse, and - Arthur suspected - lack of sleep.
The King took that as the cue to reveal his purpose for being there, and advanced a couple more steps before stopping again; unsure whether to assume his presence was a welcome one.
"Um, I thought you might like some lunch," he said, raising the silver tray a little higher, like the proverbial white flag it was intended to be. There were no empty dishes nor half-eaten food on the table, so Arthur was hopeful that he was not the only one to have worked through lunch, and therefore his offering would not be rejected.
He was rewarded with the formation of crinkles at the sides of the old man's eyes and the sound of two pebbles rattling in a tin cup that was his half-hearted chuckle, and Arthur quickly closed the distance between them; pulling out the stool he found under the table so that he could sit opposite his childhood comforter. Taking the lid off the tray, he immediately picked up a slice of still-warm bread and a chunk of cheese (knowing the physician would have too much decorum to presume to help himself to the food before his King did) and bit into them. Gaius watched him for a couple of heartbeats longer before doing the same.
While they ate in a slightly stifling - though companionable - silence, Arthur let his eyes wander over the things in his immediate surroundings. He tried to decipher the nature of the book Gaius was reading, but like most of the items of information in the Physician's chambers, they made as little sense to him as a woman's mind did to an adolescent, and so he abandoned the task. The rest of the table was covered in the usual plethora of nick-knacks, tools, containers and herb remnants, and Arthur pondered for a moment whether it had been the physician who had nurtured his ward's terrible housekeeping habits or the other way round.
Returning his scrutiny to the plate, his left eye was snagged by a glint of silver, and moving his head in that direction with a hint of foresight, his two eyes together confirmed what one alone could not. Arthur swallowed hard, as if by doing so he could suppress the guilt that was currently scraping at the walls of his stomach, along with his now curdling bread and cheese. He subconsciously pulled back an inch or two from the gleaming hunks of metal, and Gaius - noticing his movement and apprehension - followed his gaze.
Clearing his throat loudly, the old man dropped his eyes back to the book (though by then it was clear that he wasn't reading it, and probably hadn't been from the moment Arthur stepped into the room) and said, "I believe those are yours, sire." His voice - like the room all of a sudden - had turned cold; his words sharp as stalactites.
Arthur didn't bother trying to smother the wince and flush to his cheeks. I deserved that. He couldn't bring himself to look back at the items sitting there on the table; like a severed head. Not that he was spared any blame by avoiding them, but if he didn't look, he could at least breathe and keep the nausea somewhat at bay. He felt eyes on him and glanced up to find the physician studying him; an unreadable expression on his face.
"You might want to know a few things before you use them again, though," Gaius said, his tone the same as the one he used for phrases like 'Arthur, why did you climb that apple tree when your nurse placed a perfectly edible bowl of fruit in your chambers this morning?' And Arthur's face bore the same mixed expression of contriteness and resignation that it had done after that disastrous escapade.
Even though his father's voice screamed in his mind that the physician had forgotten his place, if he thought he had the right to lecture his King (as Arthur knew the man was about to do), he gave no indication that he was not listening. Of course he was never going to use those...'things' again; the thought of merely touching them sent shivers down his spine. What had he been thinking?!
With no preamble, Gaius launched into his diatribe (that was quite obviously planned and was simply awaiting the perfect opportunity to be executed). "I've been doing some research into the origins of these...'items'," he began, indicating them with a flippant flick of his finger, but not deigning them with a look. "They were created by a sorcerer named 'Adhemar'."
Arthur put every effort into not reacting as he had been taught to the word 'sorcerer', and to instead show that he was keen to listen and learn - without prejudice - from now on. Even if some thought his open-mindedness a bit too late.
"According to the archives, dated back to the early days of the Purge, your father had him imprisoned for attempting to cure his niece of a particularly severe bout of Ignis Sacer. He was sentenced to death by fire, as was his brother, who had asked for his help to save his daughter's life. In exchange for his brother's freedom and the rest of his family being spared for harbouring a sorcerer, he agreed to perform a singular act of sorcery for Uther."
At this, Arthur frowned and leaned away from the old man, as if distancing himself from his words would prevent their implication from sinking in. Did his father really do this? Was he truly such a hypocrite as to have used sorcery for his own gain when it suited him, while spouting its ills to the masses? But the more he thought about it, the less reason he could find for Gaius to lie. He'd never lied to Arthur before (apart from all those times he'd said Merlin was down the tavern when it was quite clear now that he wasn't); not about anything important anyway. And he had never tried to slander Uther's name; not even when he was falsely accused of sorcery or had his skills questioned in light of Edwin Muirden's supposedly superior ones. He was loyal to the crown - first to Uther and then to his son - and following the recent fiasco surrounding his kidnapping, Arthur was determined never to let his gut-led trust of the man to waver again.
Arthur's voice - as pinched and uncertain of wanting to know the details as his face showed - quietly asked, "What did my father have him do?"
Gaius looked down at the table for a moment, seeming to be as reluctant to divulge the information as Arthur was to receive it. But Arthur knew that while some things were better left unsaid, most truths had to be heard - uncomfortable as they were - if he was to make the decisions worthy of a King.
Finally, Gaius raised his head again, looked directly into the eyes of his monarch and with a small sigh said, "Although, like all sorcerers, Adhemar had varying levels of ability in a number of areas of magic, he specialised in enchantments of the mind. If he so wished it, he could enchant a man to forget who he was, believe he could fly, or hate another man enough to kill him."
Arthur's eyes grew wide with horror at the very idea of someone having such power over another, and how it could be abused (and not just by the one who wielded it), but before he could muse too deeply on his dark thoughts, Gaius continued.
"The manacles had been made by a gifted - though not magical - blacksmith. Uther had Adhemar imbue them with an enchantment - or more likely, a few of them - to have the effects he desired. The manacles work by binding a sorcerer's magic to himself. If the sorcerer tries to use his magic for even the most basic of spells, his magic is reflected back on him at the same strength that he cast it, though I suspect that the enchantment actually amplifies what was input; making the output a great deal worse. And of course the stronger the sorcerer, the greater the rebound of his magic on himself."
Arthur closed his eyes and breathed out heavily through his nose; the guilt he had felt before he had entered the room increasing ten-fold, as he asked himself for what seemed the hundredth time what had possessed him to so much as touch the loathsome things. Never mind place them on his friend. The justifications - that he simply hadn't known at the time what the manacles would do, nor how powerful Merlin was - sounded pathetic enough in his own mind. Not even he was enough of a prat to speak them aloud. He opened his eyes again to find Gaius' fixed on him, and filled with an odd mix of sympathy and satisfaction. Arthur knew though that the physician would not feel this way for having brought him pain. Gaius had never been the sort of man to gain vindication from seeing a wrong-doer punished. It was enough for him to see that his King had the care and understanding to realise the gravity of his own act...and to regret it.
In a voice rough from the turmoil his throat muscles only just held at bay, Arthur prompted, "You said 'effects' - plural - so what else did my father wish for the manacles to do?"
Gaius grimaced; his face seeming to go greyer and more wrinkled than Arthur had seen it since the man had discovered the cuts his ward had inflicted all over his own body. Arthur knew that he was going to like what he heard next even less than what he'd been told so far, and he mentally braced himself for it as the physician drew a deep, calming breath.
"Uther did not just want the sorcerers he caught to be subdued. He wanted them to believe that they were everything he believed them to be. Evil and worthy of hate; deserving death. It was his wish that they should spend their last days on this Earth wracked with remorse for learning magic, and filled with despair. So this was the purpose of the other magic Adhemar infused the Drýcræft Gebinden with. And it was a self-perpetuating enchantment." At Arthur's questioning frown, Gaius elaborated; to the King's growing horror. "The longer the manacles are worn, the more potent their effect. It is not inconceivable to imagine that if they were worn for long enough, the bearer need only be given the means and they would...well, let's just say that if the sorcerer did escape - unlikely as that may be, with the manacles preventing them from using their magic (and the metal is too durable to be removed by force) - they would be of no threat to anyone except...except..."
"Except to themselves," Arthur finished, softly; pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't need to look at Gaius' face to know he was nodding in an agreement that had been too difficult to voice.
Arthur glared at the manacles; a look of revulsion on his face. He had never felt more at war with his father's methods and teachings. How could Uther have done that? Created something so vile and abominable that a man would hurt himself when using a power that came as naturally to him as taking a breath, and then made him want to kill himself for doing so. Arthur clenched his hands into fists; fighting the desire to grab the cursed metal contraptions and hurl them as far as he could from the top of the tallest tower. But then he remembered the last event that had taken place on that same tower top - the event that had started off this whole, horrendous business - and he instantly sobered; shivering as if he had been drenched by a bucket of ice-cold, murky water. He hadn't even needed to lift a finger to send his friend to the brink of despair; never mind employ the aid of magic-binding devices to achieve the result.
Dare he call himself a friend, when that was what he did to one?
Unlike Gwaine, the physician had not sought to lay blame for what had happened to his ward in Arthur's lap; at least not in a perceptible way. There had been small glances Arthur had caught and in his shame turned away from, in the days since he had woken to find himself surprisingly alive. And they weren't even something that Arthur could label with the words 'your fault'; more 'disappointed' and 'thoughtless', with maybe a 'stupid boy' thrown in for good measure. But that didn't stop Arthur from experiencing remorse all the same. And now the thought of the manacles not only affecting Merlin's magic but his mind - reinforcing and quite likely increasing all those thoughts of self-hatred that had already guided his hand more than once to shorten his own life - made Arthur wonder if he was indeed any better than his father. At least with Uther, the torture had been short-lived; not being one to suffer the presence of a magic-wielder in his precious kingdom for too long. A day or two at most, for the platform to be raised, and a pyre or axeman's block to be set up. None had been granted the reprieve of a trial when it was the King's decree that their guilt was irrefutable.
Not so with his son. For nearly two weeks, Arthur had forced Merlin to endure the pain of having his magic rebound on him (and with Merlin's unsurpassable level of power, the agony would have been greater than all of the manacles' previous wearers put together), as well as have his mind punish him in ways his body could not. The thought of what he had done had Arthur hastily scanning the room for something appropriate to catch the returning version of his recent meal, but finding nothing in sight that could serve as a vomit vessel, Arthur was forced to soothe his stomach with closed eyes and quick, shallow breaths. Leaning towards the tabletop, he dug the fingers of one hand into his knee, using pain to divert attention away from his rolling midsection; the other hand held to his mouth, in case he was unsuccessful.
When the nausea had abated to occasional spikes and hisses in his insides, Arthur opened his eyes to find Gaius' wrinkled and liver-spotted hand departing the steaming cup he had placed before his King. Arthur's nose wrinkled as it was assailed by the scent of lemon balm and mint, but he grabbed the cup anyway and took a large swig; cringing as the liquid scalded his tongue and throat on the way down. Placing the cup back on the table, Arthur looked up to see the physician watching him with a reproving eye as he settled onto his chair again, and he nodded his thanks to the old man.
Arthur's eyes dropped to his fingers as they clenched and tugged at each other in his lap, but still unable to look the guardian of the man he had hurt in the eye, he addressed the area in front of him, in a thick and cracked voice.
"I'm sorry, Gaius. I didn't...I mean, I shouldn't have...well -"
"It's alright, Arthur," Gaius cut in quietly, and the younger man looked up to see a small, proud smile sitting unforced on his old friend's lips. "I understand. And much as I'd like to, I can't blame you."
One side of Arthur's mouth twitched upwards sadly; wishing, but unable to concur with the physician's sentiment.
"You were guided by equally misguided concepts."
Arthur's heart panged and he caught Gaius' steady gaze, like a fish on a hook. Unable to look away, for fear the heaviness multiplying in his chest would burst forth and allow the fluid gathering behind his eyes to drain out, Arthur said (his lip wobbling slightly), "But what do I do now, Gaius?"
The physician sighed and reached a hand across to give the King's forearm a quick squeeze. "Start as you mean to go on. I've said it before, Arthur, but it's worthy of repetition: don't let fear be your driving force, as your father did." He held up a hand to forestall the remark that was bound to accompany the indignant frown creasing the younger man's forehead. "You are better than that, Arthur, as I know Merlin told you many times before. Love: that is what your subjects most admire and wish to emulate in you. Lead them by example, Arthur. Forgive. Accept. Grow. And above all, respect what those who serve you so willingly - and at no small cost to themselves - give, and you will deserve their loyalty and trust. These things must be earned, not received by right of birth. Merlin freely gave you his loyalty, from the first time the two of you met. But with some hard work on your part, you will be granted trust...if you are willing to try."
Arthur huffed ironically. "And how do I do that, Gaius? How do I earn trust? All those years I trusted him, and I thought he did me, yet all along he kept such a huge part of himself secret. And then when I discovered it, I punished him by caging and torturing him."
The physician smiled cryptically and raised an enigmatic eyebrow. "Now what sort of teacher would I be if I gave you all the answers? There are some questions you have to figure out the answer to for yourself, or you will learn nothing. Knowledge must be earned too, sire. Besides," here he patted Arthur's hand and the familiarity was comforting, "I think you already know the answer to that question. You just have to trust in yourself to see it through."
"I was never worthy of his friendship, Gaius," Arthur muttered weakly. "Whatever he offered me, I squandered it or took it for granted, and then laughed at him for it."
Gaius frowned at him; dismayed. "Nonsense, sire! Merlin understood your predicament and he was patient, sire. He knew one day you would be ready to learn the truth and to accept him."
Arthur huffed ironically. "Seems his patience ran out though, didn't it?"
One of Gaius' eyebrows deepened its frown, while the other was raised, like a whip about to be brought down on the rump of a stubborn and disobedient dog. "I won't pretend to know exactly what lead Merlin to do what he did, sire, but I'll tell you one thing: it was never one reason nor one person alone. And it was something none of us could have anticipated or perhaps even prevented, so it does nobody any good to dwell on it. All that matters is that he did not succeed and that all of us will do everything in our power to ensure something like this does not happen again. And not by using force to prevent it, Arthur." Gaius nodded towards the manacles, to which Arthur blushed and shuffled in his seat.
Gaius released his arm and stood up slowly; allowing each kink in his spine to straighten out and each muscle to unknot. "And now if you'll excuse me, I must see to my afternoon rounds. Thank you for the food, Arthur; I had quite lost track of time and with...well..." He glanced across at the closed, small door at the back of the room, a sad look falling over his tired features before he turned back to face the king. "It's easy to forget to prepare food when it's only for myself."
The old man shuffled over to the stool by the main door, where his medicine bag slouched, and lifted the long strap to loop it over his crooked shoulder. He looked back to the King, still sitting hunched at the small table and staring down at nothing in particular while his mind staggered from thought to thought.
"Stay and...finish your tea, Arthur."
By the time the King looked up again, he was alone in the room. Absentmindedly, he reached across and brought the cup to his lips. He grimaced at the coolness and taste as he took another large swallow; his eyes drifting over the cup's rim to the small door his departed host had regarded, with the same melancholy slithering over his throat and chest.
Arthur stared at the picture of a plant, pinned on the wall of the humble room so long ago that when he lifted a detached corner, he could see a paler shade of stained plaster the same shape and size as the parchment beneath. Either the hand that had drawn it had not been particularly skilled, or it was the strangest specimen of the plant kingdom that Arthur had ever set eyes upon. In fact, had he seen a 'Mandrake' (as the untidy scrawl had labelled it) in person - or worse, been handed one as part of a meal - he would likely have chucked it at the head of the one who gave it to him. Or used it as ammunition against cheeky manservants; though that would probably amount to the same thing, given a certain servant's track record at giving him things dubiously entitled 'food'. Arthur wrinkled his nose at the drawing and turned to find the next item that would snag his interest and hold back boredom for a few minutes longer; one hand clasping the wrist of the other, behind his back.
Unfortunately, he'd become as familiar with the four walls and their contents as he was with those of his own chambers (considering he'd had no idea of this room's existence seven years ago), and so there was nothing to be seen that he hadn't seen numerous times already. Stopping by the desk beneath the window, he looked down at the bunch of fading purple flowers, and his eyes were naturally drawn to the tankard of water they sat in. A momentary smile shaped his mouth at the combined gift provided by two well-wishers. No doubt Gwaine had been smug about the excuse to hastily drain the vessel of its original contents - in front of a glaring physician - so as to spare Gwen a lengthy search to find something better to contain her offering that she hadn't thought to bring a vase for when she'd picked them from an obliging field.
They were wilting now; a small puddle of spent blooms beginning to accumulate around the base of the tankard. Not that it mattered, when the intended recipient was not in a position to appreciate them, and in fact hadn't been since before the flowers were picked and the ale poured.
Arthur sighed and looked back over his shoulder at the bed in the centre of the room; a small frown forming a faint 'V' above his nose. But of course the man on the bed had no idea that he was silently being chided for spending too much time unconscious again and could therefore not grant the King his favour in asking what was wrong, or whether he could do something to help. Anything really, as long as it got the conversation started. Instead of just lying there, looking pale and frail; like he wouldn't have the strength to hum the first line of his favourite ditty, never mind hold the length of conversation Arthur knew was well overdue (and which he now thoroughly regretted having failed to summon up the courage to have before...all this happened).
It still hurt Arthur - deep down in the core of his soul where no-one, not even Guinevere, could reach - that his friend had kept such a huge part of himself hidden. But the more he had pondered, fretted and lost sleep about it, the more he had come to realise that Merlin had never really lied. He couldn't have lied, because he was never directly asked if he was a sorcerer. He may have been accused of being one - more than once - but Arthur couldn't actually recall a moment when Merlin was asked the question "Are you a sorcerer?" nor given the chance to confirm or deny the accusation. Someone had always stepped in - himself, Gaius or whoever - and defended him. Whether it was because they didn't believe the truth, or feared it, had become blurred over the years; unimportant. There had even been a couple of times when Merlin had proclaimed the truth...loudly and publicly. And again, it had been others - not the secret warlock - who had shouted the denials. Because even if what he said was true, Merlin's life had come to mean more to the deniers than the truth. If the truth meant his death, then they coveted the lies, for their role in continuing his existence.
If anything, Merlin had been inadvisably honest with him over the years they had known each other.
"Prat!" "Ass!" "Clotpole!"
He had said the things that Arthur needed to hear, even if he didn't want to. He had been the most candid of mirrors; showing Arthur what he needed to see, even if in his mind he saw something more gilded, or less worthy. Merlin had filled in the gaps of the sketches Arthur had drawn of his world, because there were many things he had learned to gloss over. The details Merlin provided gave the completed pictures a vibrancy Arthur had been unaware existed until then. And when his vision had begun to blur, it was Merlin who gave him the much needed whack over the head to clear it again.
What sort of a King would I be now, if not for him?
Arthur had never liked the night before a battle. There was too much time to worry about his men, to mentally tear apart every plan and question every decision he'd ever made. So many times he had paced away the night, craving only the dawn, when there would be no more time for doubts or changes or making impossible wishes. Because once the sun rose, all he could do was hope for the best, and that any errors he'd made or aspects he'd overlooked didn't come back and haunt him. That was why he wanted - no, needed - Merlin to wake up now. If this agonising wait was over, there wouldn't be any more room for self-doubt.
He was not afraid. Well, not exactly. Not of talking to Merlin, anyway. Because Merlin was his friend, and friends did not fear one another. So why did he feel the need to shield himself with humour and lies when he spoke to his friend? He was only deferring the inevitable if he thought he could keep his true feelings - his vulnerability - hidden, especially from the man who had not left his side from almost the day they had met. If he could face a Questing Beast, dragon, or army of immortals without allowing fear to stay his sword, why did he find it so damned hard to show concern, admiration or gratitude for the one who had faced all those challenges with him and whose only weapon had to be used with discretion, for fear of being killed by those he defended? Was it truly a weakness to show that he cared and could be hurt?
Merlin had earned his honesty, and not just because he had saved the life of his King more times than he cared to count. Nor was it because he had shown more loyalty and bravery than the fiercest and most devoted of his knights, and was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to spare the life of another. No, it was high time Arthur acknowledged the fact that he shared a kinship with the strange little Escetian. It was something that for too long he had either not understood or when he did, declared as untrue. But no more.
Wake up, Idiot, so I can let you know that I do care and how sorry I am for the pain I've caused you. I need to thank you for always being at my side, because I lied all those times I told you I didn't want or need you there. It is I who has always been the liar in our friendship, and I don't want to be one anymore.
Open your eyes, Merlin, so you can see the King you have helped me be. How can we work on that destiny of yours - together - unless you get up, you lazy sod? It's my destiny too, you know, and I need your help to achieve it, so...so you need to get well again. Please? There, I've done it - I can be polite - so now you have to do as I say!
Merlin's slowly rising and falling chest and soft breaths seemed almost a treasonous refusal of his master's heart-felt and desperate pleas. But they were all the response he had received since the first time he had blundered rashly down to the physician's chambers to see for himself that the old man had not been lying about his ward's condition (to prevent his King's recovery from taking a backwards step). For words did not carry the same impact as sight. And though he had afterwards wondered how the hell he was going to get back to his own chambers on legs that refused to bear his weight another dizzying step, the relief at seeing the sluggish chest movements beneath a blood-stained bandage, and feeling the weak but regular pulse beneath greedy fingertips, had given Arthur back his own breath; calmed his skittish heart.
Arthur recalled the conversation with Gaius that had followed on that day. And like the one that took place scarcely an hour ago, the knowledge he had gained still sat like a rich and heavy meal in his stomach, and Arthur knew that just as when he partook of such food, he would be kept awake long into the night; plagued by indigestion and regretting his lack of self-control.
"He's doing fine, Arthur," Gaius said, though there was something in his tone that reminded the King of all those times Merlin had blatantly covered up an injury or mistake. And Arthur set no more store by the guardian's words than he did by the ward's.
The old man stood with arms folded, in the doorway of Merlin's room; glaring pointedly at his royal patient for leaving his own bed to sit by his servant's. And when it became clear - by the steady and brazen way the King returned his gaze - that he was not going to follow his physician's orders any more religiously on this occasion than the previous ones, Gaius let out a loud, suffering sigh and sat on the stool, on the opposite side of his ward's bed.
"As well as can be expected, anyway, for a man who was half-stabbed by a non-existent magical knife."
Arthur's face grew paler than it already was from his own convalescence, and his eyes widened as he voiced the first of many questions that the physician's statement had sparked to life in his mind. "Half-stabbed?"
"Yes, sire" Gaius replied, and then leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his knees, he steepled his fingers over his lap and looked into his ward's comatose face. "Merlin tried every spell he knew to heal you, but each one failed because your wound was too deep and your life-force almost spent. His only options left were to sit there and watch you die (something it is not in his heart to ever allow) or to-"
"Take the wound on himself," Arthur finished with a groan; gripping his forehead and closing his eyes. He recalled hearing of such things that healers with magic could do, but had never really believed anyone would go to that length to save the life of another. "The fool!" he muttered. "What was he thinking?"
"Well, sire," Gaius began, an acerbic bite to his tone, "I suppose he was thinking he'd rather not see you die!"
Arthur shook his head and said (a little louder than he'd intended, but he could feel his anger rising and didn't really have the strength or inclination to contain it), "And you think sacrificing himself was a good idea?"
Gaius didn't say anything for a while, though he didn't need to, when his face hid nothing of the war that waged on it. On one side was his loyalty to the King; the boy he had helped birth and bring up. On the other was the son of his friends, whom he had sheltered, mentored and grown to love...and who was the hope of all those - like himself - with magic. It was the epitome of the impossible choice, and Merlin had made the same choice Arthur knew he would have made without hesitation: to save the life of his brother, whatever the cost.
"Of course not," Gaius muttered bitterly. "But you are the King and, well...when the silly boy gets an idea in his head, it's rather difficult to talk him out of it."
Gaius' voice had withered and broken over the course of his defensive reply, and seeing the bleak look that fell over the man's face had immediately doused the flames of Arthur's ire; leaving his chest a burnt-out hollow. He was only too familiar with the painful results of Merlin's rash, spur-of-the-moment decisions, made without thought for the people who would miss his presence more than it was in his nature to accept.
Arthur sighed heavily and rubbed at his temples, where a growing discomfort had suddenly decided to turn itself into a headache. "So we're right back to where we started: Merlin still places no value on his own life." He didn't bother trying to keep the frustration from his voice.
Gaius hummed, but not in agreement. "I'm not certain that's true, sire."
Arthur looked up sharply from the spot in his lap he had been studying avidly; hope dawning in his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"For a start, I said 'half-stabbed', because that's literally what he did." At Arthur's confused frown, the physician ploughed on with his explanation. "There are two spells Merlin could have used, in order to take your injury on himself, and they would potentially have very different results. The first allows him to transfer the whole wound; the second, only to share it."
Arthur's frown smoothed out and his eyebrows arched up as comprehension began to take hold. Gaius nodded, with a content smile for the King's conclusion.
"When I examined him, I found that though the wound was in the exact same place as your own, it was not as deep. And as you know, there is only a small trace left of your injury, sire. It is my belief that Merlin took on half of the wound, making yours shallow enough for his spells to heal you, and with every intention of healing his share of it afterwards."
"W-well why the hell didn't the idiot do so, then," Arthur spluttered with disbelief, "if you think he doesn't mean himself harm anymore?"
"Ah well," Gaius replied, pausing to glance at the bandages wrapped tightly around Merlin's wrists, hiding the badly burned skin there. He sighed with resignation before returning his reluctant gaze to the King's demanding one. "His body and magic were already significantly weakened, and I'm afraid that casting the spell to share your pain before healing you of your half of it just about finished him off."
Arthur blanched at this, feeling suddenly light-headed. When Gaius - with Gwaine's unnecessary and quite frankly contemptuous commentary - had informed the King of all that had occurred from the moment he'd lost consciousness, Arthur had been rendered speechless for a full ten minutes. Or, more to the point, all that Merlin had suffered in order to save his life, thanks to a combination of the manacles and his innate stubbornness.
When he had finally forced his voice back into use, to ask the questions that burned on his tongue, what was left of it was barely loud enough to be heard by a sharp eared rabbit; never mind an elderly man and an angry knight who didn't want to listen. He had had no idea how violent or painful the reaction would be to the wearer on having the devices removed, but then - he reminded himself - any sorcerer he'd seen subdued by them had been executed wearing them. The key was not even required as a rule, when the metal bands could easily be slipped over charred and withered hand bones or from wrists parted from the corpse by the same axe that had removed its head. Only when they needed to be placed on their next victim did the manacles need unlocking.
Gaius had told him how close they had come to losing Merlin, through a combination of blood loss and dreadfully low energy reserves. He had been barely alive when Gaius had recovered enough from being flung away and knocked unconscious by the outburst of Merlin's suddenly-freed magic. Between them, a frantic Gaius and dumbstruck Gwaine had managed to staunch the blood flowing from the stab wound that Merlin's spell had created, stitched it closed and stabilised him sufficiently to move him back to his own bed. But that did not stop the young man from spending the next couple of days worrying all his friends sick that they wouldn't get the chance to both scold him for his stupidity and admire him for his bravery in preventing the assassin from succeeding on his second attempt.
At least, that was the story Gaius and Gwaine had concocted on the spur of the moment, when word was spread that Merlin was lingering at death's door once more. Thankfully, fewer questions had been asked regarding the King's speedy recovery. Arthur supposed that most were either too glad of the result to question the method, or assumed that some form of sorcery was involved. But since suggesting the Royal family was in any way associated with such practices had been tantamount to treason during Uther's reign, discourse on the matter had so far not reached Arthur's ears.
Noticing the King's change in colour and the fact he was starting to sway slightly, Gaius hastily suggested, "Sire, perhaps you should lie down for a bit?" And then with a more admonishing air, he added, "You are still supposed to be recovering yourself. Merlin may have been able to stop you losing anymore of it, but there isn't a spell in existence that can replace the blood you'd already lost."
Arthur closed his eyes and shook his head; raising a reassuring hand, even as he fought against both a dizzy spell and his aching head. "I'm fine, Gaius." He ignored the physician's sceptical snort as he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth enough times to feel the thuds of his heart slow to something a lot less swoon-threatening.
Eventually, he opened his eyes to see the physician still looking at him; worry darkening his grey eyes. Arthur forced as genuine a smile as he could manage to sit on his lips, just until the concern faded from the old man's face, before he let it fall away again.
After a minute or two of silence, Arthur ventured, "Do you really think Merlin might be feeling better - about himself, I mean - just because he didn't take the whole wound?" His eyebrows raised with the hope that fluttered in his chest, like a moth latching onto any light source, in its desperation to find the moon.
Gaius gave him a small smile, filled with as much optimism as he could muster. "Who knows how he might be feeling, sire, now that you know of his secret, have not yet condemned him for it, and have been on the receiving end of its more beneficial aspects. If the son of Uther can be convinced to see the good in magic, then I believe an all-powerful warlock can be persuaded to see the good in himself." Gaius' look turned shrewd. He raised his brow, like a knight's fist holding a gauntlet, ready to throw it to the ground. "There's only one way to find out, sire, isn't there?"
With an exasperated sigh, Arthur grasped the back of the chair that sat a pace away from the bed and dragged it closer. The resultant scrape of worn wood on stone made him shoot a glance at the silent patient; one eyebrow lifted in expectation. But the sound had not roused the raven-haired man in the slightest, and so with a huff of annoyance, Arthur flopped onto the chair; wriggling his behind deeper into its embrace as he settled down to wait until either his servant stopped being such a stubborn sod or his guardian returned and chased the foolish King back to his own chambers amidst lectures on the importance of proper rest
Arthur couldn't disagree that he had been tiring more easily in the last few days, though he was making a steady improvement; able to stay awake later and later in the evening, without the need for a mid-afternoon nap (in his bed when he decided to listen to Gaius, at his desk when he usually didn't). He was therefore just beginning to doze off - his head having sunk further and further forwards until his chin was nestling in the ties of his tunic - when a change in the monotonous rhythm of sounds in the room startled him back to wakefulness. He rubbed his eyes to clear the last of the lingering fog before turning his attention to where the interruption had come from. Merlin was smacking his lips, and his respiration was no longer so deep and slow. Like he was about to...
Arthur yanked his feet down from where they'd been crossed on the bed; allowing the chair's two front legs to become reacquainted with the floor with a resonating 'thud'. He leaned forwards in nervous anticipation; his face only a short distance from Merlin's as the other man smacked his lips again. Arthur looked up; his eyes darting around the room and he cursed when he discovered Gaius' efficiency lacking for once. Leaping out of the chair quickly enough to shove it back with a cringe-worthy screech, Arthur scooted out the room; cursing again when he almost fell down the steps to the main floor of the chambers in his haste.
Less than half a minute later, he was bursting back into the room; breathing a little heavily as he placed the clay cup on the table by Merlin's bed. He filled it from the small jug his other hand held, and then set it beside the cup; flopping back in the chair and bracing his elbows on his knees. Arthur looked down, absently noting the floor's desperate need to be swept as his hands raked through messy blonde locks.
A prickling sensation at the top of his head made him look up suddenly...straight into the pair of blue eyes regarding him. For a moment, he returned the gaze; too many words crammed in his throat for even a single one to be released. Distractedly, he reached for the clay cup and brought it to his lips; his every movement followed by the steady blue gaze, and as Arthur took a large gulp of water, a single, raven eyebrow arched up.
Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but the only noise that came out was something redolent of a draft squeezing through the gap of a door with unoiled hinges. Arthur lowered the cup with an apologetic smile and held it out to Merlin. The dark-haired man tried to push himself up far enough on one elbow so that he was in a better position to not simply give himself a bed bath, but with a pained whimper he stopped; hand reaching instead to clutch at the bandaged area of his chest.
"Here, let me," Arthur muttered gruffly, and placing the cup back on the table, he stood and carefully pushed Merlin's upper torso forwards to bolster his back with an upended pillow. The King placed the cup in his servant's hand as he sat down, and Merlin stared at it a moment, as if unsure how it got there or what to do with it, before he started to lift it.
On seeing, however, how shaky his servant's hand was, and doubting the vessel would arrive at its destination with much - if any - of its contents, Arthur rolled his eyes and exhaled loudly as he grabbed it back again.
"Are you always going to be this difficult, Merlin?" he said, though the note of fondness in his voice wasn't particularly well hidden anymore, as he brought the cup to Merlin's lips and held it there while the younger man took several desperate gulps.
Throat freshly moistened, Merlin managed to mumble a raspy "Thanks", when Arthur took the cup away. The room became quiet once more, and both men took greater interest in the bed's covers than in allowing their eyes to meet.
Finally, when the silence had turned into a roaring wave in their ears, Arthur decided to break it...at the exact same moment as Merlin did.
"How are you feeling?" they chorused. Arthur grinned. Merlin blushed, and averted his gaze again.
"I'm fine, thanks to you," Arthur said, trying not to let the unspoken reprimand overshadow his gratitude. "You?"
The object of his scrutiny plucked at a loose thread in the blanket; his eyes downcast. "M'fine, sire," he replied quietly and then winced when he shifted his position slightly and pulled on the stitched skin beneath the bandages.
Arthur rolled his eyes again and grimaced. "Yeah, right, of course you are. I thought you might be done by now with the lies, Merlin, but I guess I was wrong." He tried...he really did, to keep the contempt from his voice, but he couldn't help feeling the stab of disappointment - accompanied by its partner, anger - in his chest.
"I said I was fine," Merlin said defensively, but still he would not meet the King's eye.
Arthur sighed, shook his head and ran his hands through his hair irritatedly. "We've got to stop doing this, Merlin."
"Doing what?" Merlin mumbled noncommittally after a second or two, though there was a hint of genuinely not having a clue what Arthur meant, as well as interest in where the conversation was headed.
The King's lips twitched, as if he had just reminded himself not to smile, and instead frowned as a means of forcing his face not to betray him.
"You getting hurt saving me, and me worrying over you."
He let the statement wriggle and squirm in the air for a moment, like a worm on a hook, before he raised a challenging brow; hoping the bait would be taken. He had to keep a firm grip on his features when Merlin raised his eyes to his; his mouth opening and shutting a couple of times, making him look like the hungry fish Arthur needed him to be (and supposedly replaying the King's words in his head to be sure he hadn't misheard).
"You were worried about me?" Merlin's voice, while rough and thin, like one of his homespun and worn-too-many-times tunics, was somewhat strengthened by incredulity.
Arthur pursed his lips and looked away from Merlin. He could think of a hundred reasons why he should retract his statement, or smother it in dismissive banter, but only one why he should not. And looking at Merlin's almost pleading stare for vindication of past hopes and dreams, Arthur did not need to waste any more time ruminating.
"Yes." His voice when he spoke was small, hesitant, but as soon as the single word floated away from him, like smoke from a blown-out candle, Arthur realised how truly he meant it. And his heart swelled with relief. Merlin's next question, however, caused his stomach muscles to clench.
"Why?"
Must I really spell it out to you? Do you still think so little of yourself? And it was Arthur's turn to look incredulous. Until he remembered all the times he had scoffed a reply; quashing similarly-phrased appeals for merit from his servant. He began to shake his head but then stopped; realising that the gesture could - and, knowing Merlin, would - be mistaken for a negation of his confirmation.
Therefore it was with tightened fists, a determined pout and fast-beating heart that he said, "Because, Merlin, you're my friend, and I can't keep nearly losing you."
Merlin said nothing, but continued to stare at him, his face blank and hard to read. Arthur swallowed hard, a sudden and unexpected feeling of nervousness clawing at his stomach. How ridiculous! That the truth can be harder to give voice to than a complicated and badly constructed lie. But it was not like he was alone in committing that sin. Perhaps he had - up until that point - been giving a bad example, to a vulnerable and easily mislead victim of his own lack of self confidence? If he was to be the leader everyone said he either was (because they were afraid to show their true opinions) or could be (because they hoped and willed him to be so), then he had to lead by example. A good one.
"I'm sorry, Merlin."
Dark eyebrows almost touched a raven hairline, and Arthur felt ashamed that his words could incite such disbelief.
"For what?" came the whispered reply. It was as if they were passing a ball to one another; each standing either side of a high wall. Arthur was thankful that so far, the ball had not been dropped and allowed to roll away, as it had been in every one of their more recent conversations. At least if Merlin was willing to stay in the game, Arthur might have a chance to redeem himself in his friend's eyes.
"For...not trusting you." He paused, wondering whether to allow all the answers to Merlin's question to escape the habitual confines of his head. But before his courage could fail him again and clamp his mouth shut, the words spilled forth. And like grain from a split sack, they would not stop. "For not being there. For allowing you to face danger and grief alone. For hurting you with my fears, my anger and my misunderstanding. For not showing you how important you are to Camelot and to...well, to me. For being my father's son. For...for being...a prat."
"You think one sorry covers all that?"
The small, upwards quirk to Merlin's lips made Arthur's heart soar, and taking it as his cue to drop at least some of the uncomfortable seriousness of the conversation, he ventured, "Hey, don't push your luck, Merlin. Those stocks have been standing empty for far too long."
Merlin lifted a hand to his chest, over the site of the vicious, half-passed-on knife wound. "You would punish an injured man?!" he said, in a mock-shocked voice.
"Weeell," Arthur drawled, "I might give you a few days to get your strength back first."
"How generous, sire!" Merlin replied sarcastically.
Arthur's face split into a full blown grin, already revelling in the direction the conversation was headed. This was much more like things should be between the two of them! "I thought so, yes. You're lucky; I could have you -"
"Burnt at the stake? Beheaded? Banished? Pick a 'B'."
Arthur faltered; his ribald reply caught on the nail of fear and disappointment sticking out at the end of his tongue. Please don't do this, Merlin, not when we were making progress at last. "Th-those aren't the normal sentences for being insolent, Merlin," he said; a slight quaver in his voice as he desperately tried to keep the mood light.
But Merlin wasn't having any of it. With all trace of mirth now washed from his features, and in a low tone, he muttered, "They are for my kind. For sorcerers."
And suddenly Arthur felt an overwhelming combination of anger and determination rush through his veins. I've had quite enough of this nonsense, and it's bloody well going to end right now! "You know what, Merlin, I could just have those stocks moved to this room. I'm sure we could round up a long line of people only too willing to forego waiting for you to recover for presuming to tell your King how to run his kingdom!" Arthur raised his eyebrows, not entirely certain his threat was in jest.
Merlin's face scrunched up with confusion. "I don't underst-"
"What I do with sorcerers in my kingdom is for me to decide, not you, Merlin," Arthur broke in and glared - not all that playfully - at the warlock.
The younger man's jaw dropped open and closed again several times, as if he was trying to chew a soggy leather shoe. "B-but the law..?" he said faintly.
"I am the law!" Arthur countered, frowning fiercely. "And it's up to me to decide if, when and for whom I should break it."
"And the council? The people?"
"Need never know," Arthur replied firmly; staring pointedly at Merlin.
Merlin's eyes widened with disbelief. "But that's treason!"
Arthur had to clench his fists at his sides to stop himself from cuffing the man on the side of the head. "No, it's called 'helping my friend keep his secret'. Because, let's face it, you're terrible at keeping them on your own." He quirked an eyebrow up, and held it there a few seconds; watching Merlin's face avidly for a reaction to his taunt.
When the warlock opened his mouth again though, Arthur couldn't suppress his stomach's roiling at what he said.
"But I'm dangerous; a threat to everyone. I've killed people, and might do so again. You nearly died because of me!"
And suddenly, Arthur's hold on his anger slipped from his grasp, like the reins of a rearing, unbroken horse. He leaned forwards, unconcerned with the fact that Merlin shrunk back a little, fear quickening his breaths and widening his eyes. It was all Arthur could do not to grasp his friend's hunched shoulders and shake him hard, until all the nonsense his mouth kept spouting fell onto the bed beneath them and slunk into the darkest recesses of the room where it belonged
"Now let's get one thing straight, Merlin, before I assign you to clean out every latrine in the castle with your own comb. I did not nearly die because of you - that was Odin, or Morgana, or whoever decided to pay someone to kill me; take your pick. You. Saved. Me! With magic. Again. And I'm grateful. So will you stop being such a Clotpole!" Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur beat him to it. "And before you tell me that that's your word, let me remind you that I'm the King, and I can bloody well take it if I want to! As for whatever threat you think you pose, I'm willing to take that risk. Do you think I don't feel guilty, or ever forget any of the people I have killed? Or worry about sending my men into battle for me? Or lie awake at night thinking about how the families of all those who've died attacking or defending me are going to survive the next winter without their fathers or sons to provide for them?
"I cannot disagree that magic is dangerous, but no more so than the people and creatures you fight with it. I, for one, feel much safer knowing I have you not as my enemy but as my friend. It is my friends for whom I fight...and yes kill. But it is a worse crime to stand by and let my enemies hurt my friends. I have no wish for you to be my enemy, Merlin, so if you hurt one of my friends again, I will string you upside down in the dungeon by your toenails!"
"B-but I c-could never...w-would never -" Merlin stuttered, gulping continuously to try and moisten a throat made dry again.
"But you did, Merlin. You tried to kill my best friend." Arthur could almost see the wheels and cogs gathering speed in Merlin's head as his face rumpled further and he slowly shook his head in denial.
"I'M TALKING ABOUT YOU, DOLLOPHEAD!" Arthur shouted with exasperation.
After slowing his breaths and uncoiling his shrunken torso little by little - either because he was finally beginning to comprehend or because the position he'd forced it into was starting to cause him pain (Arthur hoped it was the former), Merlin said hesitantly, "S-so you'd harbour a sorcerer?"
"MERLIN!" This time he actually raised his hands in a phantom hold of his servant; his fingers curled in on themselves as they dug into imagined skinny biceps. "What is it with you? When I don't acknowledge our friendship, you get upset, and when I do, you won't let me. You're such a bloody girl, Merlin!"
"Am not!" Merlin mumbled, pouting at the same time as his shoulders finished unfurling and he shuffled back into his pillow disgruntledly.
"Oh yeah?" Arthur replied, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair with one eyebrow arched sarcastically. "I bet if I looked under your floorboards, I'd find a dress and girdle stashed away."
For a handful of seconds, Merlin looked shocked and scared, and Arthur's heart began to quicken its pace again with concern that he might accidentally have stumbled on a secret he'd really rather not be privy to. But then Merlin appeared to come to a decision, shrugged his shoulders, and - attempting to sound nonchalant - said, "Go ahead and look if you like."
With a relieved sigh and abrupt desire to childishly call his friend's bluff, Arthur slipped off the chair and onto his knees. Holding Merlin's gaze until the last second, and forcing a blank expression onto his face (despite the nervousness he saw twitch his friend's cheek and clench two fistfuls of blanket in his hands), Arthur bent down and took a closer look at the floor beneath the bed.
Surprisingly, it wasn't the pit of lost souls that Arthur had expected it to be, and he mused that unlike most people, who hid things under their bed in an effort to give the impression that the rest of their room was tidy, Merlin was content to leave his mess for all the world to see. Therefore, apart from a sea of dust, an odd sock that looked like it could have given any one of Gwaine's a run for his money, and a screwed up piece of parchment, it was barren of anything incriminating.
Still, he had to go along with this game they'd started, if for no other reason than it might help lift Merlin's spirits enough to keep him from crawling back into the dark cave where he had stored all his problems - including himself - for too long. Ducking his whole head under the bed, Arthur intended to keep it there only a minute or so - just sufficient time to make Merlin wonder what he was up to. However, once they'd adjusted to the darkness, his hunter's eyes couldn't help noticing one particular floorboard that was more scratched along the edges than its neighbours, and with a suspiciously convenient, finger-breadth sized missing knot. With his curiosity warring against slight trepidation that he was about to discover something about his friend he might instantly regret - even more damning, perhaps than his magic - Arthur reached out, thrust his finger in the hole and pulled the board up.
He was almost...almost disappointed when the contents of the secret storage space turned out to be nothing more incongruous than a book, a wood carving of a dragon that seemed strangely familiar (though he couldn't place why), and a staff which he did recognise as being the one belonging to Lady Sophia. He suppressed a shudder at the memory - only recently revised (by Merlin) to something even more sinister than he remembered - of the woman he nearly eloped with. Reaching carefully past what he hadn't known at the time was a magical weapon (though how he could have missed it, he couldn't for the life of him fathom, given the blue stone and the runes scrawled on the thing), he picked up the book; drawing it and himself out from under the bed. Arthur created a small dust cloud when he shook his head, but he paid it no heed as he sat back on the chair and plonked the tatty book on the bed beside Merlin. He looked up into the other man's eyes for any signs of distress at the discovery, but Merlin's face remained blank; reactionless. So he opened the book and began to flip through the pages.
It was a very old and worn book, with metals clasps and reinforced corners. As Arthur flipped haphazardly through its pages, his eyes roamed over the delicate leaves, trying to pick up the odd word here and there to ascertain its purpose. He couldn't understand the writing, it being one that neither he nor anyone else in Camelot had been legally taught for more than two decades, but he did recognise it. Arthur looked up through his messy fringe to meet Merlin's eyes.
"You said no more secrets and lies, Arthur."
He could tell by the waver in Merlin's voice that his heart and stomach must be going through the same fearful dance as his own, though for different reasons. The other man looked at him impassively; one side of his mouth twitching up briefly, tentatively, and Arthur knew, with an epiphanic jolt, that this was his friend's mask of silent appeal for acceptance. And so trying to force his skipping and twirling innards to go against their instinctive need to flee or burn the magical book, he continued leafing through it.
Taking a little longer to peruse the exquisitely illuminated spells and potion recipes, his eye was snagged by a familiar scrawl in the margins. 'Don't forget to remove afterwards!' was scribbled next to a picture of what looked like a glowing pouch with runes drawn on and around it, while 'Doesn't work, use potion' was scrawled next to an illustration of an old man turning into a younger one. Having heard the stories of Merlin's heroics now, it only took these one or two tiny sparks for Arthur's memories - of the events the notes referred to - to ignite. A smirk appeared unbidden on his face, when it occurred to him that even someone who was so powerful, he could virtually bring a man back from the dead, could make mistakes and have problems mastering his craft.
Arthur shoved the book away from him and into Merlin's lap, before sitting upright and leaning back in the chair. Folding his arms and crossing his feet on the edge of the bed again, he flicked his chin in the direction of the book and said, "Show me."
Merlin's eyes widened comically and he gave Arthur his 'are you serious' look, to which Arthur rolled his eyes and said drolly, "Yes, Merlin, you have my permission," before muttering only slightly under his breath, "not that you ever cared for it anyway!"
Merlin shot him a minute glare before raising his fist to his mouth and noisily clearing his throat. Arthur appealed to the Gods for the patience to not hit a melodramatic, if injured man with his own magic book.
"Fromum feohgiftum on fæder bearme. Fromum feohgiftum."
Arthur stared at Merlin's slightly trembling hand; his pulse and breath gradually returning to normal as...nothing happened.
"Umm does it usually take this long, Merlin, or are you out of practice?" Arthur said snidely. At Merlin's confused and worried expression, he continued in a softer, less scornful tone, "It's okay, you don't have to try to impress me, you know."
"Wouldn't dream of it!" Merlin growled out of the corner of his mouth, and then closed his eyes. With a frown - that Arthur hoped was in concentration rather than pain - Merlin drew a deep lungful of air and then repeated the strange words; his voice louder, more commanding.
And there, floating and revolving in the space between the two men and a foot above Arthur's head, was a large, glowing, transparent ball of energy; streaks of white eddying over its surface. It was only when his mouth suddenly felt dry that Arthur realised his jaw had dropped; so mesmerised was he by the benevolence and beauty of thing that Merlin had created and - now that Arthur thought about it - encompassed so much of himself in. If Merlin was to lose his corporeal form, to move on to another plane of existence, this was how Arthur imagined he would look: so strong and yet fragile; pure and innocent, yet old and wise. And he wondered how he could ever have felt the merest sliver of a threat the last time he had encountered it. It practically screamed the words 'protection' and 'guide' at him.
"It was you!" he breathed, when he managed to find his voice again. "In that cave, with all those spiders."
It was Merlin's turn to roll his eyes. "Yes, Arthur, I already told you that. Or did you think I was lying again?"
Arthur shrugged, though still unable to take his eyes from the spinning, swirling bubble of Merlin-ness. "Seeing is believing, Merlin. And to be honest, it sounded a bit far-fetched, even for one of your stories."
"Thanks!" Merlin said, with a sarcastic grimace, which then morphed into a wince.
Tearing his gaze away from the light ball, Arthur noticed that Merlin's arm - still outstretched and held palm up (as if there was an invisible tether between it and the manifestation of his magic) - was no longer simply trembling but shaking, like it held a great weight. There were also beads of sweat dotting his friend's forehead, which - like the rest of his skin - had paled at least one shade closer to snow.
"Umm Merlin, maybe you should-"
Before Arthur could complete his sentence, he was interrupted by a loud rattling sound coming from the direction of the desk. Two pairs of eyes turned simultaneously - trepidation making their necks move slowly - towards the sound. The tankard was visibly vibrating; its base creating a staccato drum beat on the wood that was growing louder and faster and causing the flower stems it held to shiver; rapidly undressing them of their faded, purple attire. With a suddenness that stole the breath of both friends in a loud gasp - one with shock and the other with pain - the tankard exploded. The King's well-honed reflexes came into effect as he dived forwards to shield his friend from the worst of the shrapnel that went shooting in all directions; wincing when one particularly sharp shard sliced through the tunic and skin on his left shoulder. Arthur glanced down at the tear and angled his head to get a better look at the damage, which thankfully was fairly minor and would probably stop bleeding shortly. He thanked the Gods (and anyone else who might be listening) that Gwaine had happened to have one of the tavern's cheaper clay drinking vessels that day, and not the usual, more expensive metal ones.
Arthur slowly lifted himself off Merlin, noticing as he did that the magical ball had disappeared. Merlin looked, if anything, a little paler; more drained. The dark-haired man's eyes seemed slightly out of focus, and blinked several times, as if he was fighting to not succumb to dizziness. Arthur gripped the arm nearest him.
"Are you alright?" they chorused; Arthur looking into Merlin's pinched face, while Merlin stared at the blood on Arthur's sleeve.
Arthur looked at the bloody patch, pulling the fabric away with a grimace to scrutinise the wound. He wrinkled his nose in dismissal. "It's just a scra-"
He got no further. The door flew open and banged against the wall hard enough to make it shudder and swing back on itself. Gaius stood in the doorway; his hair in disarray and his eyebrows vying to be the first to make good an escape from the top of his head as he took in the scene before him. The two younger men looked back; their cheeks flaring red and their tongues tied as the old man's goggling eyes eventually came to rest on his ward, and widened to the point Arthur was sure his sockets would lose their tentative hold of his eyeballs any second.
"Merlin!" the physician said, his voice full of wonder and joy and his face about to break into a smile until something at the back of his mind reminded him of the noise that had made him hasten to the room, and the mess he'd first spotted when he got there. Though his eyes remained wide, his brows fell into an accusatory glare. "Were you doing magic?" he barked loudly.
Merlin's blush returned full force and he looked away, stammering, "Umm, I...well, not exa-"
"You stupid boy!" Gaius cut across his feeble attempt at an excuse. "Your magic is as badly abused as the rest of you. You should not even use it to light a candle, never mind whatever tomfoolery did that!" He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the flower and pottery debris on the desk. "Showing off again, no doubt," he added acidly.
While Merlin continued to avoid his guardian's reproachful glare, Arthur held out his hand in an appeasing gesture. "It's my fault, Gaius, I asked him to." He caught Merlin's eye as his head turned to him; a small smile of gratitude curling his mouth for a second.
Gaius' jaw snapped shut, and neither of the other two men could make out the words he grumbled under his breath as he tutted and shuffled over to sit down on the bed, opposite Arthur (though it certainly sounded like it contained the words 'young', 'foolish' and 'idiots'). Still keeping his brow cocked in a one-sided glare, which the physician now aimed solely at his ward, Gaius proceeded - without any care for the man's disdain for fuss - to check Merlin's pulse, temperature and the state of his injuries.
The room had gone uncommonly quiet while the physician completed his examination. To Merlin's utter embarrassment, Arthur sat forwards in his chair, watching Gaius' every move; grimacing when the bandage on his chest was unwrapped to reveal the ugly red line embellished by even uglier black stitches, and surrounded by slightly swollen, puckered skin. Thankfully, there was - as confirmed by Gaius' commentary - no sign of infection and the physician seemed to think the wound much improved since his last check. Which was apparently further evidence that Merlin's magic was busy applying itself to the task of healing him, and therefore should not be siphoned away for the sake of 'performing party tricks'.
Arthur was privately grateful he had not been conscious to see the cut's original state, if this was what it looked like at the well-on-the-way-to-healing stage. And then he remembered that he had sported the exact same injury, only worse, and he decided to relegate further thoughts on the subject to the part of his mind where he put things he hoped never to be vexed by again. But they were nothing compared to the heart-clenching guilt he felt at seeing Merlin's uncovered wrists (after Gaius had rewrapped his chest and moved onto them). The flesh there was still raw, shiny and littered with blisters and skinless patches. Arthur swallowed hard, but forced himself not to turn away. He needed to embed the image in his memory; another reminder of a bad decision he had made and wished never to repeat.
"Are you in any pain, Merlin?" his guardian asked, after recovering his wrists and as a signal that the examination was over.
Merlin, still a little piqued at having been forced to endure it (and with an audience to boot), mumbled gruffly, "I'm fine."
"Merlin!" Arthur growled and glared at him warningly.
Huffing in resignation, Merlin reluctantly said, "Fine! My chest's a bit sore. Happy?"
"Ecstatic," Arthur replied, completely poe-faced.
"I'll get you something to relieve the pain, and some ointment for your wrists," Gaius said. "Anything else?" Merlin shook his head.
Having finished annoying his ward, Gaius' eyes trained on his other patient, and he immediately spotted the bloodstain on Arthur's tunic.
"What happened, sire?" he asked; his voice more suspicious than concerned, since the blood was not spreading further and the King did not seem bothered by it.
Arthur spared his shoulder a quick glance before looking away again. "Oh that; it's nothing. Just a small accident."
Gaius tutted and rolled his eyes; grumbling about young people who expected him to keep their blood inside them, when they did everything to help it escape. "Well stop by on your way out, sire and I'll clean it for you. It doesn't appear to need stitching."
"Thank you, Gaius," Arthur said, reaching out and grasping the old man's shoulder in as tight a squeeze as he dared, given the age of the bones underneath; all his relief, gratitude and remorse flowing out through his fingers. "For everything."
Gaius held his gaze for a good few seconds, seeing again the thoughtful, sensitive boy he'd helped nurture, and the wise, humble King Merlin told him he'd glimpsed now and then. Gaius nodded back and smiled, echoing Arthur's sentiments in his own tired eyes.
When he spoke, his voice wobbled with barely contained pride. "You're welcome, sire." Then clearing his throat pointedly, he stood and glared down at his ward. "Now you -" he jabbed a finger sternly towards the invalid, and Merlin shrunk back into his pillow, eying the digit as if he expected it to shoot something unpleasant into his face, "- need to rest. I'll bring you up some broth and then you'll go straight back to sleep, young man."
Arthur smirked at Merlin's cowed face, at which the warlock glared. "Do as you're told, Merlin," Arthur tried and failed to look serious. "I expect you back at work in a week."
"Two weeks," Merlin snapped back, folding his arms and sticking his chin out rebelliously.
"Eight days," Arthur countered, mirroring Merlin's pose, though having the advantage of being able to sit further up in his chair to add an air of superiority to his argument.
"Ten days," Merlin replied, his mouth turning upwards and staying there.
"Nine," Arthur said, his lips doing the same.
"If you two boys don't mind, I'll be the one to decide when Merlin is ready to return to work, not your silly haggling. And you," Gaius turned his glower towards the King, who leaned away from it, as if he faced an experienced and very angry swordsman, "need to rest as well, Arthur."
Merlin sniggered, but managed to coax his features into the picture of innocence when Arthur raised an accusatory eyebrow at him.
The King rose up from his chair, holding onto the back of it so as to prevent the wave of vertigo that washed over him from soliciting more disapproval from the grumpy physician. "Right, well, lots of important Kingly things to do, and with my manservant out of commission..."
"I thought George was 'the most efficient servant' you've ever seen?" Merlin said with a look of feigned confusion, though he had to fight to keep the smug grin from his face at the way his friend's nose wrinkled in disgust.
"Merlin," Arthur grated warningly.
"Shut up?" Merlin offered.
"And..."
"Umm...do as I'm told?"
"If that's at all possible," Arthur muttered, with little hope for the result.
"I can give it a go," Merlin replied, with a twinkle in his eye as he nestled down further into his blankets.
Arthur was on his way to following Gaius out of the room when he heard his name called by its remaining occupant, so he paused and turned around.
"Thank you."
Arthur frowned, uncertain why he should be receiving thanks after all he had done to not deserve any.
"For what, my friend?" His voice was husky and retained not an ounce of his earlier ire or jocularity.
"For saving me," Merlin replied; voice thick and eyes glassy with tears his ducts strained to hold onto.
"It's what we're here for, Idiot," Arthur said. And with a brief nod and smile, he turned back to the door and used it.
"Prat," came the last word he heard, followed by a loud sniff, as he pulled the door to and descended the steps.