37. Infirmary

Summary: I hear the signature chortling of Merlin himself, Gaius laughing along as well, and think to immediately plow my way through to see him alive and well. Until I remember I'm the one who put him there.

"My lord, have you seen . . . oh my . . . oh Gods, is he, my lord? Is he . . . ?"

I hear the steadily higher-pitched voice distantly as it squeaks out words, the world a giant smear around me as I listen. It sounds like the serf Gwen. I can't figure out the question, though the answer seems rather important.

Some time later an arm pulls me to my feet, wraps my own arm around a sturdy pair of shoulders before leading me somewhere, a tent I think. I'm sat down and a face peers close into mine. Scrutinizing something, I suppose.

"He's got battle shock," the soft, emotionless voice says, and an older voice somewhere out of my blurry vision replies, "Give him a strong tincture—peppermint, make sure to include."

The face moves away. In its place I see along the opposite tent wall a boy is resting in a bed, and an old man stares down at him in worry. It's not till I identify the boy as Merlin that everything else comes crashing back.

Gwen, seeing us initially and running for help. Leon and another squire, taking Merlin and myself to the infirmary tent. Edwin, and now Gaius, here with us both.

I stand, possibly too abruptly for my spinning head, and demand, "Tell me Gaius. Did I kill him."

He jumps, turning back to me with both imperious eyebrows raised. "Gods save me, you scared me my lord," he sighs, putting a hand to his heart. And then his eyes move back to Merlin on the bed. "He's fine, Arthur. Just fine. Only—worn out, if you understand, magically." He looks back up at me, a strange look on his face. "Are you alright?"

I blink, not understanding. Gaius huffs softly and leaves Merlin's side, hands gently pushing my shoulders down back to the cot. "Deep breaths, my lord," he says, eyes impossibly kind. Its only then I realize how shallow they are, and make an effort to pull in a large lungful of air. It catches in my throat, though, hitching. I try again, searching for strength in the the old man's gaze, but the gentleness in it only makes the hitching worse.

"I hurt him," I admit out loud. The words come out in a gasp, my mind re-envisioning the way Merlin's body began to shake, the sound of his cries, the echo in my mind of all-encompassing pain—

My burning eyes begin to leak. Through the blur I can see Gaius move to sit next to me, and gently he moves my head to rest against his shoulder. I let him. "Its not your fault, Arthur," he says, patting my back. I shake my head vigorously against his shirt, disagreeing. The hitching grows worse, turning into sobbing, and shakes my whole body as I can no longer ignore the growing fear. All of this is my fault.

As if knowing my thoughts, Gaius continues, "Its not your fault, none of this. And Merlin knows that. He's said the same to me."

"If I hadn't—If I hadn't—" I can hardly say around hiccuping, but Gaius doesn't let me continue.

"Someone else would have captured him. Someone else would have been his guardian. You know its true. And even if you could have prevented this, my lord, sometimes . . . there are times we must accept our regrets for what they truly are: a way of mourning." I lift my head from his shoulder, a little confused but mostly angry.

"I don't pity Merlin," I argue.

"No. But you regret the loss of his innocence—and of your own. Just as Yilgrid seeks revenge for Sir Foehart's death, instead of letting herself grieve. Which in turn takes away her capacity for the very thing she thinks she's lost: love." Gaius lets out a bone-weary sigh, one that hangs heavy on his shoulders. "Obsessing with our regrets does likewise; it takes away our ability to change. Either way we can never truly move on, and accept our losses, until we allow ourselves to grieve."

"Does the lordling still require the tincture, sir?" Muirden interrupts, and I hastily wipe all evidence of tears from my face.

"No, thank you Muirden," Gaius replies, and the recruit bows his head shortly.

Gaius's recruit. I've forgotten that until now, that the old man himself is a guardian. Which could mean either that his advice is well-founded and sincere or I've made yet another detrimental mistake. "So he'll be alright then," I say once Muirden is once again out sight.

Gaius nods. "The first time is always worst. He'll come out of it by nightfall."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, relief pulling at the corner of my mouth. Gaius smiles back.

But my mind flashes back to another memory. "Has my father said anything?" I ask, worried that he would throw Merlin out, insist he was a waste of the physician's time if the boy only needs rest. My blood boils at the thought.

No, I realize then that I simply wouldn't let him.

Gaius shakes his head. "He is busy, I'm sure, as preparations to leave for Ealdor are being finished. They'll be out by noonday, apparently."

"Which is why I've come."

The voice is Leon's, who enters the tent just then, and he meets my gaze with a strained smile. "How are you?"

"Shouldn't you be on your way?" I ask instead of answering.

"I am, though I hoped to see you feeling better before we headed off." He bows his head. I manage a half-smile back, eyes flicking back to Merlin for a moment. Leon notices.

Something softens in his eyes as he steps to me, squeezes my shoulder with a reassuring hand. "It happens all the time, Arthur." He nods at Merlin before locking eyes with me. The words are supposed to be a comfort, I can tell, even if they are the opposite, so I nod back. The gesture seems to satisfy my old friend. He clasps my shoulder once more and says, "I'll see you soon," before leaving the tent.

I spend the remaining hours of the morning doing Merlin's usual tasks: polishing my training armour, sweeping out our living quarters and taking the wash to Gwen. When Gwen sees me her eyes go wide, and before I can process more than the smell of clean laundry and curly hair tickling my nose I feel her flinch her arms back from around my chest.

"I'm so sorry my lord, I don't what I was thinking, I'm sorry, for some reason I just, I don't know," she babbled against the hands on her mouth, staring down at my feet in apology.

I sigh. "Thank you for getting Leon," I say, cutting off any more of her useless apologies, and the serf girl's eyes go round as supper plates. But I can't help but say it; I was of little help to Merlin, out of my mind, when she noticed us and ran for help. "Here's the washing, for Merlin and I."

Of course, that's the part that almost makes her faint in disbelief.

When I return it's to find both Edwin and Gaius hovering near where Merlin rests, and for a heart-dropping second I fear the worst again. Panic sets in that something went wrong—the claim overdid itself, damaged Merlin's head permanently, sucked too much energy from him—until I hear the signature chortling of Merlin himself, Gaius laughing along as well, and think to immediately plow my way through to see him alive and well in the sick cot.

Until I remember I'm the one who put him there.

"A pheasant, I know . . ." he is saying. Awake before noonday, much less nightfall like Gaius assumed.

I quietly slip back out of the infirmary tent, wondering what to do now. The chores are finished. Training with Merlin is out of the question. Seeking out Foehart and Yilgrid for company has not been an option for months, now. Sword practice, perhaps, though it seems a bit tedious on my own.

My legs end up taking me where my mind refuses to stray regardless: to the border of the Inner Circle, ignoring the tell-tale smells of dinner wafting nearby, and heading for the south post.

I wouldn't have made it to see the party leaving for Ealdor, if it wasn't for the commotion happening. Upon nearing I hear shrieks piercing the air, not unlike the ones Merlin cried out earlier this morning, though these seem to be a bit more contained. And then I can see—Uther, standing over a small, crouched figure.

Morgana lifts her head up to him, defiant still it seems, and I can just make out her plea: "My lord. Do not go, please."

"You have said very little to convince me otherwise," my father sniffs, and she grits her teeth. The other knights of the party wait out the exchange nonchalantly.

"I will die, my lord. Please. Do not do this."

She throws her head back, spine arching with another shriek, and then falls to the ground on her face.

"Stay and die here, then. Is that what you wish?" he spits down at her, before marching stormily back to his horse. The party starts on their way again, leaving her in the dust as they salute the watchers of the south post and head through to the Outer Circle.

She crawls off to the side of the path, dress dusty, unaware it seems as I slowly approach. "Morgana," I say, and she lifts her head. I'm surprised to see tears streaming down her cheeks and yet the slightest of smiles gracing her lips. "What is it? What happened?"

"Nothing a remedy of Gaius's won't fix," Morgana shrugs, a bitter smirk tugging at her mouth. I offer a hand up and she takes it without hesitation, accepting as well the hand I put around her waist to help steady her as we walk.

"Where's your shadow?" she asks after a minute, frowning, and I stare at her, uncomprehending.

"Sorry?"

"Your shadow, your recruit, your Merlin, of course," Morgana huffs. "He's always trailing behind you, especially when you're in this do-good mood."

"You'll see him," I say, and nothing else.

"Good." She smiles, and I raise an eyebrow at her. "I'm going to live longer than I was about to a minute ago, Arthur," she defends upon seeing it, "so I'm in a rather kind mood myself. Don't get used to it."

We make it back to the infirmary tent eventually, Morgana heavy-lidded and exhausted—magically, as Gaius puts it again. "Here, lay down my dear," he says, and then mutters quickly under his breath, "the Gods willing there's not any more traumatized children coming here at the rate they have been."

Merlin is laying down with his back to us, asleep again. "What's he doing here?" Morgana asks, drowsy where she now lays as she blinks her eyes over to Merlin.

"There was . . . an accident," I say, the farthest from the truth.

But Morgana's eyes are already shut when I look back at her. Its a surprising sight. Her features are relaxed entirely, now baring much more resemblance to those of the childhood friend who tricked me into all sorts of trouble out of Yilgrid's watchful eye. Proud and dignified in all things, but caring at heart. Her father lead the front line, away for months; her mother disappeared when she was only eight. Through all that she stayed strong, resilient. Until the grief of Sir Gorlois's death finally broke her, corrupted into her first act of magic.

I turn to leave, only to freeze upon seeing Merlin. Wide awake and looking at me, sitting up. His face is expressionless; I have no idea what to make from it. Its not angry, or hateful, or worst of all, defeated. But I can't have been so easily forgiven. "Merlin," I say, taking a step closer, and he watches me move closer without comment. "Merlin I . . . I thought you would still be asleep."

"So did Gaius," he nods. An uncomfortable silence stretches.

Then we both open our mouths to speak at the same time:

"Merlin, I need to—"

"Arthur, I'm sorry—"

We both stop, staring at each other incredulously. "You're sorry?" I scoff, disbelieving. "Merlin, look where you've been all day!"

He rolls his eyes, of all things, and swings his legs off the bed. "When did you get so noble?"

"Nothing I did today was noble."

"Just like any other day then." He hops to his feet, grabbing me by the sleeve and taking us outside the tent. I follow, still slightly shocked, and manage to get the first word in where we stop.

"Merlin," I start, not sure what I'm about to say, only seeing dark bruises under his inquisitive eyes that I bet I put there. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to, but there was—"

"Arthur, shut up," he answers harshly, and my mouth snaps shut. "Don't waste your breath. I know you're sorry." Then Merlin bites his lip, looking down. "I'm—I'm sorry. And don't protest, I am. Earlier, almost all of it, I was so stupid yelling at you like that in broad daylight, and you even tried to stop me. But . . . especially about you not having a mother. I didn't mean it."

I have to shake off the dust from this morning's earlier events to remember. "You were right though, Merlin," I shrug once I have. "I don't."

Real pain flickers in his eyes. "But, Yilgrid . . ."

Ah. Now I understand. "Is obviously not my mother," I assure him, also adding, "and any choices she's made in the past few months aren't your fault. Or mine."

Saying those words I can suddenly testify to the truth of them. For months I've told myself to hate Merlin for it, yet really blamed myself for what he's made Yilgrid become—but it was her choice. She chose hatred for Merlin over love for me.

"I didn't say that," he defends, though I can tell he's as surprised as I am by my words.

I smirk. "You think too loud."

Merlin scoffs, but can't keep back a wry grin himself. "Fine, if you say so. " Then his expression sobers. "Has the party already left?"

I nod, smile fading as well. "I watched them go. Morgana got out of it, whatever pain she paid for it, but my father left anyway without her, so she'll have to follow. He seems very set on this mission."

"That's because he hates Kanen even more than he hates—well, me, for instance," Merlin says matter-of-fact-ly.

I raise an eyebrow. "And how are you so sure of that?"

He puts up two hands in defense. "Don't ask me to compliment your father. I won't."

"I'm not, I'm asking you to explain yourself."

"Fine." Merlin sighs long-sufferingly. "Think about it this way: what reason would he have to hate Kanen?"

I stare at him, uncomprehending. "Because he attacked us?"

Merlin scoffs. "Because he attacked you, of course!"

For a fleeting moment it makes sense, too much, the strange way the warlord acted when I first woke up from my injuries. Then the words he murmured in my ear just hours earlier come to mind, telling me that I had done well in punishing Merlin. Finally receiving his love, after my life was at stake. Finally earning his approval, in the very act of the worst thing I've ever done. It leaves the simple truth: my father loves me, in some way, and perhaps he does want many things for me.

Just all the wrong things.

"That's not important." I shake my head in an attempt to clear it, turning around and heading back toward the infirmary. "You need to get some rest."

He harrumphs, following, and as we enter the tent again says, "I can't, not when Uther is heading towards—"

The scene inside of it dries up the rest of the words in Merlin's mouth.

A/N: Hello again! I hope you've been having a magnificent past few days, I know mine have been pretty great. Arthur and Merlin of course have seen better days, but they're at a point where friendship wins out. Which will be important in the events to come! I really appreciate everyone who's been following along still, started following, been reviewing each update, and just started reviewing. Seriously, you are too kind and sometimes when I feel unmotivated/down I just read some of your comments and they put a big sappy smile on my face XD THANK YOU

catherine10: I'm glad you loved the chapter despite its horrific content, lol, and no of course I knew you were complimenting the story. Sorry if I ever over-explained myself. That's great that you enjoy reading suspense, because I love writing it ;)