22. Habitual

Summary: "Any other pressing injuries to tend to before you take it away again?" Merlin jokes, and I look up from the healthy-if-skinny-looking ankle to meet his smirk. It's already pulling down at the edges, though; probably in reaction to his last few words.

I am at the edge of the water, moving to shed all articles of clothing when I first hear the twig snap.

The next sound is more of a crash, a second later; my hands freeze at the hem of my coat, and I immediately unsheathe the sword at my belt as I whirl around to face the unknown enemy.

Of course, its only Merlin picking himself up from the ground. I can feel my face flush immediately, maybe at the prospect of almost being caught naked or maybe from the underlying fear that it had been a dragon.

I disguise it with irritation before he can notice. "Do you ever just do as you're told?"

"Arthur! Fancy seeing you here—"

"I can't rid of you, can I? You're like a nasty little wart that's grown right between my toes."

"Sounds like you know from experience."

I move to stand crossly in front of Merlin, who is still sheepishly wiping dead leaves from his backside. He looks ready to laugh, though. "I asked you to go hunt for mushrooms, and you—what? Spy on me, behind a tree, instead?"

"But look," Merlin says, obviously missing the point, "I've found some!" He empties his bulging pockets a little, cradling the stools with his long fingers.

I blow out a breath of disbelief. A half hour of privacy—that was too much to ask, apparently, even after days of spending every living second with him and the rest of the company. "Fine. We might as well head back, then." I immediately walk off.

"What?" Merlin puts the mushrooms back in his pockets, skipping to catch up with my brisk pace. "Redney said an hour, right? Why do we have to return before then?"

"It's Sir Redney, to you," I correct, ignoring how he rolls his eyes. "And we're returning because I was looking for a wash, but since you can't seem to leave me alone for more than two minutes at a time I'm giving up the notion."

Merlin halts in his tracks, and after a sigh I stop as well, looking back at him. "In that case," he shrugs, an indecent smirk on his face, "I'll leave you to it. You need a wash . . . little lordling."

That horrible endearment will never cease to infuriate me—and somehow he knows that—so it's no surprise when the insolent boy takes off running and I take off chasing him a second later. He's hooting, calling me fat and slow, but obviously doesn't remember this terrain when we traveled through it a few hours or so ago. The second he veers to the left I know I've got him.

A rather large cluster of rabbit hills is up ahead, complete with softened dirt under the snow and pesky holes in unassuming places. Merlin is oblivious; he immediately trips at the first hole, barely scrambling himself up again in time to miss my pounce, and starts stumbling through them. Ignoring my laughter as I pursue, until I shout, "You look like a newborn colt trying to race!"

"Oh really?!" he calls back, "Better than a—"

I never find out, for with an audible "oof!" Merlin twists his ankle on another rabbit hole and sprawls to the ground. I lunge forward before he can get up, laughing in triumph, holding him down with my weight, wrestling and grabbing his flailing arms, pinning them down—

And then after a split second I realize what I've just done.

It's all too familiar: Merlin squirming below me, out of breath, my hands pinning his arms easily into the forest ground. His eyes, just like before, widening.

I jump back like I've been shocked, feeling Merlin's dread echo my dread. Dread, probably as we're both remembering me stuffing that rag in his face months ago, until he passed out from the fumes.

He sits up, looks away from me, takes to staring out into the trees. I ignore the faintest glow fading from his sleeves. "Let's head back then," I say, going for flippancy, and he answers with a shaky nod. I stand, waiting, growing restless when he doesn't move, just continuing to stare out at nothing.

Its becoming a pattern: Merlin stays silent, Merlin acts miserable, I manage to distract him, Merlin starts to seem happy, and then I manage to remind him all over again somehow and the useless cycle continues. Exhausting, at this point.

But I hold back any callous retort about laziness or not having all day, instead sighing and holding a hand out. Merlin looks up at it, inspecting it like I might be about to give him a disease, and then dubiously drags his gaze up to my face. Raising an eyebrow.

"Just take it already," I roll my eyes, shaking it at him. Finally he shrugs, and it's understandably easy to pull such a thin thing up—

Before Merlin promptly stumbles straight into me. "Ahhhhmy foot," the idiot sorcerer wheezes, and I groan an, "Of course," before assuming the injured comrade position. Another reminder of that night, I realize, though not one of such a literally pungent nature.

We hobble a few paces before he stops altogether. "Arth-Arthur, wait, stop. Stop," he says, hopping on one foot almost.

"What?" I snap.

"It would take forever to get there on flat ground; we're in the middle of a rabbit den," he says, shaking his head. "You need to—to let me. Aliesan a little back. All right?"

"Right," I say, nodding my head, and then ease him back to the forest floor. He sighs in relief, holding out his hands instinctively before I've even joined him on the ground.

We clasp hands, Merlin's eyes locking with mine, before I mutter quickly, "Ic alīesan ēow anweald don mīn ferð."

I feel the characteristic burn through my veins, completely used to the sensation now. But Merlin still stiffens, his eyes darkening a molten gold, and I quickly center my thoughts. Heal, I think simply, and the power bound inside me releases in small measure, directed down from my heart to my arms, from my arms down my palms to his own. When I release his hands they go straight to his ankle, shrugging off his boot and wrapping around the already swelling skin.

With another flash of his eyes Merlin lets go; I watch in fascination as the slight swelling immediately goes down, the discoloration fades in a moment. His time working in the infirmary has done him credit.

"Any other pressing injuries to tend to before you take it away again?" Merlin jokes, and I look up from the healthy-if-skinny-looking ankle to meet his smirk. It's already pulling down at the edges, though; probably in reaction to his last few words.

"We'll see," I say, and, never one to wait on Merlin, stand up abruptly to leave. I hear Merlin hobbling to get his boot back on and catch up, and I smile while the boy can't see.

The walk back to our temporary campsite, where Redney and three other knights wait, is full of Merlin glancing not so subtly at me, and me very blatantly ignoring him. I can feel the uneasiness Merlin is emanating, echoing my indifference.

Halfway there, the boy explodes. "What is with you lately! Does it really require you so long to take it away again?"

He wrenches at my arm, or else I would continue to ignore the idiot, so I reply rather patiently, "What kind of a recruit are you, Merlin?"

That stops him in his tracks. "Sorry?"

I grin at his confusion, crossing my arms. "What kind of a fool reminds someone to disarm them of their only weapon? Hmm?"

Merlin blinks; in an instant his expression morphs from nonplussed to defensive. "I was just asking," he glares, brow pulled down. I throw my head back and laugh.

But when the camp is in sight I sigh; quickly go through the now practiced notion of cutting Merlin off again. A small, faraway island on a calm lake. A golden sword pulled into its scabbard. EMRYS.

Merlin sighs next to me—a forlorn, regretful gust of breath reminding me how aware the recruit really is, of the power but most especially of the lack of it—and I ignore the sound. But as we approach, and the lack of movement in the camp begins to seem odd, Merlin distracts with the question: "Why did you wait so long? And how do you take it, in the first place?"

Asking incessant questions is a good sign, though I can't help still getting irritated. "You think I'd tell my own recruit that?" I scoff.

"It's not as if I could use the knowledge against you," he answers.

I shrug. "I waited because you're not quite so insufferable to be around, when you've got your mag – the weapon," I quickly correct, shrugging again.

"My magic, you mean?" Merlin says boldly, though he retreats when I immediately step toward him.

"You can't say things like that," I remind, hoping such a thing can be impressed to his regularly un-impressible head. Meanwhile, something starts feeling off. If he could just stay quiet for a moment—

Apparently not. Merlin puts his hands on his hips. "But you almost just said it—" he counters, cutting off finally when I put up a silencing hand. I squint at the camp for a while, at the stillness of it again, and this time the appropriate warning bells finally go off in my head.

"Merlin, something's—" I start until I hear a scuffle, neck snapping forward just in time to see a tall man bag Merlin's head and draw the strings tight. Definitely not enough time to stop whoever is behind me, though I manage to struggle against the head bag long enough that finally, with the blunt edge of a sword, I'm knocked out cold.

I wake to the sensation of my backside being lit on fire.

A/N: Don't go crazy worried about Arthur now, he's our narrator so he'll have to live! Lol. Tell me if you have any guesses on what happens next! I'm hoping to post the next chapter as soon as possible so no one's left hanging too long.

(SIDE NOTE: You guys are the most loyal, enthusiastic, dedicated bunch of reviewers on the internet! Recruit and LifeIndeed seriously don't deserve you. Every time I post a chapter I really just can't wait to hear from you, its my excuse ;) Let me know if you ever need anything, would like me to read anything of yours, or just want to chat - seriously. To you lovely anon followers/readers, maybe I'm getting greedy but I'd really love to get to know you as well. This site is just full of wonderful people!)

catherine10: I'm really glad you thought so - obviously in light of this new event there might be complications in getting to the front lines of course! Thanks for reviewing :)

fairygoatmother: Mostly bitter, though, wouldn't you say? Lol, I'm glad you're liking it regardless of your confused emotions! My updates should hopefully continue to be a lot sooner, so you'll get to feel confused more often ;) As always, I appreciate hearing from you!

Just A Reviewer: I had to build and sleep in a snow cave as part of a Wilderness Writing class I'm in! It was mostly cold, though, rather than exciting...I'm a bit of a wimp when it comes to camping. I'm glad you're good with the grey, we're going to keeping getting along in that case! All I can say is Uther and Nimueh have a complicated past directly involved with the claim - and yes, to battle they go, though maybe not the one they expected in light of this chapter's end. You have not seen the last of Morgana by a long shot, don't worry! Thank you for your well-wishes, I hope the rest of your week goes just as well, and thanks for leaving another one of your awesome reviews!