8. Lower Cannon

a. Protection for the lower arm.


Season 3, Episode 13: the Coming of Arthur (Part II).

For all of you out there at home, fighting this virus, this chapter is for you. Stay safe.


Merlin was on all fours in the corner of their shelter.

"Having a little lie down there, Merlin?" Arthur said, a jab that Merlin would hopefully take as a hidden apology.

"No," came the immediate answer, Merlin whipping around to face him.

"Good. Because the time for sleeping is over."

I'm sorry for treating you so badly, and refusing to come to your aide, and for leaving my kingdom behind when it needs me.

Merlin must've heard. "You seem… better."

Arthur was back in full armour, having dressed mostly himself with Gwaine's reluctant help after a few complaints. He knew his week of mourning his sister—after so long of mourning her loss in such a different way—was selfish, was cruel, and was exactly what Morgana was hoping he would do. His father could be dead, and he was in the mouth of a cave as his kingdom burned. Merlin saw that all. Arthur took a long breath.

"You're hopeless at a lot of things, Merlin. Well, most thing, in fact. But very occasionally, quite by accident, you say something useful."

"Really?"

Come on, Merlin, really. "Yesterday, amongst all your gibberish, you said something that, if I didn't know you, I'd be completely fooled into thinking you were..." Don't make me finish this.

"What?"

Arthur averted his eyes. "Wise."

"Nah." Even as Merlin said it, his eyes seemed a bit brighter.

Then a rustle. Someone attempting to be quiet but going at too fast of a pace to really cover their tracks. Or someone in pursuit.

Arthur grabbed onto Merlin's shirt and dragged him to the entrance of the cave, his sword at the ready. Whatever instinct had him inching toward whoever was about to ruin their week of hiding from Morgana and her wicked, reaching reign had him also keeping his manservant close to him. His fist could feel the hammering of Merlin's heart.

The footfall grew closer, closer.

Gwaine, Merlin, and him advanced, hiding themselves behind an outcropping.

Then lashing out, sword behind his grasp but only barely, he was face to face with-

"Guinevere!" Arthur choked, his adrenaline draining out of him. "Sir Leon."

There was a second-long embrace and an armour-jarring handshake, but then there was Elyan, sword out of scabbard, running at top speed. His instinct had his hands full of Gwen and Merlin now, pushing them forward back into a run even before Elyan started to shout.

"We've been found! They're almost upon us!"

Arthur let go of Merlin. "Find Gaius," he said, tumbling over his words as he sent him off with a shove. "We need to get out of here. Run!"

Darkness was fast approaching. The valley—dripping moss and wet leaves and too slippery to stand ground and fight—surrounded them, towering over them as a reminder of their one route to escape was through. The rocks were too steep to climb up. And Merlin hadn't followed.

Arthur's mind processed their odds as black-clad, faceless men filled the exit to the valley. They were outnumbered, trapped, and—

"Look out!"

Rocks, the immovable kind that land with a crack that shakes one's soul, rumbled off the ledge in tens and hundreds, filling the static space between Arthur and the enemy soldiers.

The voice that shouted warning appeared overhead, their features barely recognizable in the gathering dark. Please let it be Merlin.

He squinted. Not Merlin. "Who is that?"

Gwaine let out a relieved laugh. "Dunno, but I'm liking him already."

Guinevere recognized them first. "Lancelot?"

Lancelot's face appeared as he leaned. "We need to hurry."

Arthur craned his neck one more time. Come on Merlin, where are you?

Don't make me make the decision to leave you behind.

At Arthur's signal, they all took off at a sprint, Arthur feeling the unfamiliar clang of armour not put on by Merlin, the small group making good ground as they followed Lancelot and the stranger above them. The valley was behind them in minutes, and the rocks held fast. The soldiers would have to reroute to find them again—it could take a full day, and they had lost their scent.

"I take it that rock fall wasn't an accident," Arthur said, assuming he gave a smile but not completely sure. He slammed his sword into the dirt. Merlin's bloody neckerchief, he better be safe.

Lancelot shook his head, clasping his tall, broad-shouldered friend on the back. "This is Percival. It was his strength that brought them down."

"Your Highness." Percival nodded reverently, his voice so much softer than Arthur would have imagined.

"Arthur." Lords, if they were going to all die together, he might as well die with the thought he was among friends who fought with him because they wanted to, not because he'd behead them if they didn't.

He smiled, reached out an armoured arm and Percival took it, smiling too.

Like they hadn't nearly died.

"Arthur it is."

After a moment, when Arthur was really truly sure they were still alive, he pulled his hands through his hair. He looked at Lancelot and Percival. "What on earth were you doing here?"

"Er—"

Arthur could have torn his hair out. Merlin.

"I sent for him." The boy shrugged, looking out of breath and sweaty to the point his nearly-grown-back hair stuck up in odd places and his shirt was almost black instead of blue. Somewhere, he had picked up a sword and he wore it on his belt.

"Well, we owe you our lives. Thank you."

Thank you came out easier with another smile, a shake with Lancelot. A whack to the back of Merlin's sweaty head.


"Are you sure we are safe here?" Gaius voiced as the group made their way up the last hill and into the wide oak door of one of the castles Arthur knew by heart, one of his childhood playgrounds and practice halls.

"This castle belonged to the ancient kings. It'll do for a while," he said.

"Can't be worse than the cave," Elyan said, pointing his torch at a cobweb thick as mud.

"Search the place, see what you can find." Arthur couldn't respond to Elyan. He wasn't completely sure if it was better than the cave. Morgana played here once too.

Merlin followed him up some chamber stairs, grabbing wood from dusty stock piles and from broken legs of chairs. He placed them all in the hearth, lighting it after Gwen lit the candles surrounding the center of the circular room.

Then Arthur remembered.

Tall, gangly Morgana and stocky, ten year old Arthur hold a council meeting, the old circular table just high enough for their knobby elbows to rest on, all official-looking. Morgana, her voice low and echoing in the large room, leaned in closer as Arthur sat across from her, eager to hear her tale.

"Come and join me, Arthur. This table belonged to the ancient kings of Camelot—can't you feel them in this space? They still haunt their chairs, eager to serve their leader with undying loyalty and honor. A round table afforded no one more importance than any other. They believed in equality in all things. That means they would follow a woman, or a man, or a fairy, if they fought well enough and their cause was just."

Oh, how Arthur wanted to be one of those men.

"Would you follow me, Arthur? And pledge your loyalty to me around this table?" Morgana said, arching one of her eyebrows. She put her dulled-edged sword in the middle, pointing directly at his little fast-beating heart.

"Yes!" he had said so proudly, puffing out his chest. He thought he could feel the ghosts of loyal men around him then, proud of him for being brave and loyal and full of the purest honor a boy of ten could ever hope to call his own.

"Good. And I pledge my loyalty to you around this table too."

Arthur could feel the ghosts, stronger now than even then, when his imagination wasn't tied down by the rules of his father.

A clatter resounded as Gwaine set down a cloth-full of weapons for all to see.

"Must've been left by bandits," Gwaine said, but the way he spoke made it sound like he hadn't quite convinced himself that was the answer.

Come and join me, Arthur. This table belonged to the ancient kings of Camelot—can't you feel them in this space?

Arthur looked at the table, covered in its old worn cloth. As if it was waiting once again for him to test if he was loyal, brave, honorable.

If he would pledge his life with those whose cause was just.

And if his sister was not at the table, then so be it. She chose her side.

Arthur would choose his.

He took a firm hold of the cloth, and with a tug it revealed the table just how he remembered it.

"Here!" Arthur watched as all the heads in the room turned to him. "Come and join me."

Gaius was already sitting, joined by Gwaine, Elyan, Lancelot, Percival, Leon, Gwen. Merlin hesitated, but when Lancelot motioned for him to take his place, he did.

Arthur rapped his knuckles on the stone surface, using the dull pain to drive the rest of Morgana's speech into his head. All the good things she had said, all the history she had so effortlessly memorized.

"This table belonged to the ancient kings of Camelot. A round table afforded no one man more importance than any other. They believed in equality in all things. So," he didn't know how to continue without her guidance. "it seems fitting that we revive this tradition now."

He thought of Morgana, how she hid her hurt with hatred, and her weakness with a quick sword. He was taught to do the same.

"Without each of you, we would not be here," he continued. His eyes were inexplicably drawn to Merlin's face, who held a small grin. "My father has languished in prison for too long. Tomorrow, I make my bid to rescue him. Are there any around this table who will join me?"

An awful silence. The ghosts were restless around him.

Then Lancelot stood.

"You taught me the values of being a knight, the code by which a man should live his life. To fight with honour for justice, freedom, and all that's good. I believe in the world that you will build." Lancelot nodded a few times, his eyes never leaving Arthur's.

"Even though I was a commoner, a nobody, you were willing to lay down your life for me, Arthur." Elyan stood. "It is now my turn to repay you."

Leon stood grimly. "I have fought alongside you many times. There is no one that I would rather die for."

You're a good soldier. An even better friend, Arthur tried to say through his nod, his frustratingly wet eyes.

"I think we've no chance. But I wouldn't miss it for the world." Gwaine got up from his chair with a smirk.

"Your enemies are my enemies," Percival said, standing.

Gaius got up, folding his hands. "If you need an old man."

Gwen pushed up from the armrests and gathered herself for a moment, looking away from Arthur before meeting his gaze.

"You know the answer," she said quietly. And Arthur knew it, and he loved her even more for it even as his heart ached at the thought of her in harm's way.

He looked at them all—their grim-set stances, their hard fought scars and weapons and muscle, their eyes focused on Arthur with the kind of admiration he didn't deserve but was humbled he had—and the ghosts went away.

That left:

"Merlin."

"No I don't really fancy it," Merlin said.

"You don't have a choice, Merlin."

Merlin cocked his head a bit, shrugging in just the slightest way that Arthur knew he never really contemplated it, just like all the other times Arthur had him at his side when they knocked at death's door.

Merlin stood.

Arthur's lips quirked, and he gave Merlin a grateful nod that Merlin must have known was about more than just standing at his request.

He nodded back, just a twitch of seriousness and sadness that he tried to cover with a grin shortly after. He understood then, though Arthur wasn't sure when they had become fluent in each other's silent messages. Not everyone was yet, however.

"I want to thank you all for staying loyal to me in Camelot's hour of need. I'll do something that my father won't approve of." A proper thank you being only one of those things he would have loathed Arthur for doing.

By the hearth, he had each of his friends kneel.

He switched his sword around in his hand. With a breath, he began.

"Arise, Sir Lancelot, Knight of Camelot."

Lancelot stood. Arthur thought of how much it would hurt to lose him, how much he valued his heart that outweighed any nobleman he had ever met.

"Arise, Sir Gwaine, Knight of Camelot."

Gwaine stood. Arthur saw how his easy smile had become more pained, that this knighting was more than just a formality to him. He grasped his shoulder, and he felt the carefree man go stoic.

"Arise, Sir Percival, Knight of Camelot."

Percival stood. His old chain mail and minimal armour told Arthur enough about his background, and the gentleness that coupled with fearlessness shown through as Arthur held his gaze.

"Arise, Sir Elyan, Knight of Camelot."

Elyan stood, glancing quickly at his sister. Arthur saw him grip one of the swords his father had crafted at his hip, could feel how eager he was to show how much he had learned, how much he cared.

"Tomorrow, when you fight, you can stand proud knowing you are members of the most noble army the world has ever known," Arthur said to the men who bowed their heads.

He turned to face Merlin, who stood back just far enough that the firelight touched the tips of his boots and just warmed his face.

Arthur set down his sword.

"I'll find some mats," Merlin said in a quiet rasp. He turned too quickly for Arthur to translate his expression.


"There is a tunnel under the northern ramparts that brings us only a few paces from the entrance to the dungeons. It will be well guarded. So, if we're going to break everyone out, we must remain unobserved. We cannot let them raise the alarm."

All stood around the table once again, solemn as Arthur broke apart their plan.

"We need to take out the warning bell," Lancelot said. "That way the warriors have no mean of communication."

"Brilliant," Gwaine said. "But you'll need someone who knows the castle."

"I'll go." Merlin stood taller, eyes locked with Lancelot.

"Alright," Arthur said after a moment. Something… whatever it was, Gaius' face said he saw into it too.

The group broke apart, each to ready their weapons or minds. They were to leave at Arthur's command. But not without making sure two people were ready for this.

Gently, he took Gwen's arm in his hand.

"Stay here with Gaius," he said. She set jaw. "I want you to gather firewood and make bandages. There'll be casualties."

Just saying it made everything they were about to do more real.

"Alright," came her forced reply. She went to walk away. He caught her.

"Guinevere," he tried not to voice his hurt. This could be there last chance to say they loved one another, their most final goodbye. And Arthur was used to the thought of goodbyes being final, but it made it harder to breathe thinking of it when he looked into her eyes.

"They'll see," she whispered.

"I don't care. I want you to know...if I never see you again..."

There it was, his throat closing up with a hard knot, making it near impossible to inhale.

"You will. You will see me again. I watched you last night." She took his face in her hands. "You gave us hope, something to believe in. I saw the king you will become. I'm so proud of you Arthur."

She kissed him.


Arthur didn't have time to check with his second person. He had already packed their supplies, made food, piled more fire for Gwen and Gaius, and was ready with his new picked-pocketed sword at his side.

For everyone's safety, they started out at dawn, where the ground was just frozen enough that their tracks would melt away soon, and their sound would be minimal. Wet earth stuck to his greaves.

He'd traveled this route to the castle only once before, when he and Merlin had snuck off together on his birthday, the slap mark still prominent on Arthur's cheek from his father's scolding. Merlin had picked leaves along the way, chewing them in his mouth and then smeared them on Arthur's stinging face. The prince had nearly lobbed a slap at his manservant before he realized what Merlin had done.

"Feel any better?" Merlin had asked tentatively, still standing far enough out of Arthur's swinging reach.

"It… does."

Merlin had just nodded, staying just enough ahead of him that Arthur wouldn't be able to reach and wring his neck, but close enough that he could hear him if he decided to say thank you. Which, Arthur was fairly certain, he never did.

The guards on the castle wall rotated.

With a terse wave, his men were off, running through the last leg of forest and into the outer yard of the castle Arthur had called home.

They were inside without consequence, and one by one, Arthur waved them through the corridors and up the staircase lit by torches that made the large stones dance. He waved Merlin and Lancelot through last.

Good luck, both of you. I swear if you don't come back from this, Arthur voiced silently. Merlin gave a twitch of a nod. Lancelot stared solemnly.

Then they were gone.

Gwaine, Percival, Leon were already on their way to the dungeons and Arthur followed silently, refusing to let his shadow set him on edge. He checked each cell—old man, young man, beggar, lord—but his father wasn't in normal holding.

"He's not here," he hissed.

There was a clatter as guards filled the halls outside.

"I suppose this is where I come in?" Gwaine saluted.

Gwaine, playing bait with his swagger and his fast sprint, was back in moments. With useless swords, the knights moved as one. Smart, dodging and leading at Leon's call—the palace map ingrained in his mind. Their pursuers locked inside a cell, Arthur called them forward again, and they followed him up the next corridor, even closer to where he could only assume his father would be.

The second holding cells had ten of his knights, standing at attention the moment Arthur entered. Their red capes were battered and dirty. They looked thin, and worn, and Arthur laughed despite himself.

"Your highness!" came a cry, and soldiers crashed into his drawn sword.

As useless as it would be to fight immortals, his men did the same, throwing themselves at the black-clad men until Elyan cried out from a wound to the arm. Arthur risked a glance back, seeing the young man being swallowed by his comrades in a defensive position. He also saw a set of keys forgotten in the rush.

Arthur slid his sword on the table, looping the key ring and flung it at the bars. He didn't see if they were caught or not as a soldier took a swing at his ear. He blocked, but he could hear the ring of their connection even after he kicked the man backwards.

They kept coming, men worse than the ghosts and worse than his memory's of his sister.

Red swarmed him, and he was swallowed back just as Elyan was as the soldiers were pushed into the cell the knights of Camelot just vacated.

"Go, Sire!" Leon shouted over the din.

Arthur ran, leaving them all behind.

The furthest, deepest dungeon. Of course Morgana would place their father there, let him rot where there was no light. His hands weren't cooperating, seeing his father's face turned away from him, covered in grime and looking dazed. But at least he was alive. He shoved the key in, wrenching the door open.

"Father, we have to hurry."

"I'm sorry." His father didn't look at him. It made Arthur's heart clench. He didn't move even as Arthur unlocked his chains—excessive Morgana, don't you think?—and put an arm under his father's armpits.

"Please, Father. Now's not the time."

And he lifted, because he wasn't sure what else to do but carry his father out of his cell and take him to safety. Apologizing didn't help; his father's feet cooperating would help.

Besides, he would have to be more specific what he was apologizing for.


It wasn't long before his knights can't hold back the waves of Morgana's soldiers—enemy soldiers—and Arthur was forced to shove his father aside and draw his useless weapon once again. His muscles, shot from dragging Uther, protested as he clashed again and again with the living dead.

The warning bell tolls.

"What the hell are those two doing?" Arthur shouted, because if Merlin and Lancelot are dead, or they didn't make it in time, or they're lying injured somewhere unreachable in the castle walls—

A sword swung for the worried creases in his forehead, and Arthur's forced to rip at another black-clad soldier's chest without result. There wasn't hope if Merlin was dead, he thought, as much in the grip of the dire warning tone as his father. Merlin, walking into a deathtrap with no armour on, some sword he picked off of a dead man.

There were swarms of the soldiers, flooding down the stairs and from balconies and through hallways. They're backed against the wall.

Elyan's bloodstained the floor beneath their feet as he feebly tried to staunch his shoulder wound with a shaky hand. His sword had been dropped, but he still held himself overtop of the king. Gwaine fought in front of them, grimacing with each impact a sword made with his own. Arthur felt the soldiers press again, closing off the distance until he couldn't make a full thrust with his sword in any direction without contacting with an enemy weapon.

I can't die without knowing if Merlin is safe, Arthur thought suddenly. I don't want to die without Merlin at my side. It sent a spike through his heart.

"If we go down," Arthur shouted, his voice cracking with his effort to overpower the constant clash of metal. "We go down fighting. For the love of Camelot!"

His knights gave a battle cry.

But the soldiers pressed in closer, and Arthur felt his chain mail give way on his side, then his shoulder. Percival grunted as the tip of a sword ghosted over the bridge of his nose. Leon was practically standing on top of Elyan and the king now, hunched with one arm on the wall to steady himself, the other stubbornly, shakily in a defensive pose. Gwaine dropped to his knees, but Arthur didn't see where he was hit.

They were going to die.

Die like Lancelot, and Merlin. Merlin.

Arthur raised his sword one last time, ramming his body forward with no strength left in his arms. There were things he wished he could say, but his mouth didn't seem to work, nor his legs very well, or his eyes. The world tilted forward and he pitched through the front line with a low stab he knew would do nothing.

Then, a bright light.

A burning sensation sinking through his armour as fine ashes still alight with embers dusted the air. He breathed them into his lungs, and his throat burned. It coated his eyes, and he blinked and blinked to try to clear them. He would not believe he had killed a soldier until he saw it, embers or corpse, it didn't matter.

Another soldier lit and crumbled. Arthur was taking hitched breaths now, as were the others, coughing with hot tears streaming down their dirty faces. Leon was covering his mouth, Gwaine his eyes.

Arthur didn't dare take his gaze off of the ashes.

He caught a flake in his glove, watching it burn a hole straight through the leather and onto his skin where it seared the shape half the size of a nail head.

They had…they had won.

The knights took hold of one another, some arms draped around shoulders while others covered their faces from the raining ember. Elyan was picked up and supported between Percival's strong frame and Leon's. Arthur took hold of his father's arm, using his body to shield him from the burns that hissed on the back of his neck and ears.

"You're safe now, Father," he said, hardly recognizing his rasp of a voice. His father, curled into the tightest knot against the stone, looked up. Arthur sheathed his sword, took his father's hands, and helped him to his feet. His muscles spasmed, but he managed to keep hold of Uther.

Elyan, eyes still watering beneath closed lids and in between his friends gave a choked plea. "Where's Gwaine? I saw him go down, I need to know he's all right."

"'M still alive," came Gwaine's slurred reply. "N' that's Sir Gwaine to you."

Gwaine limped to Percival's other side, only accepting a guiding gait to steady him.

Dust replaced the ashes as they made their way farther into the castle; from the higher levels, destruction was still at large. Arthur felt adrenaline try to weakly revive his energy as he handed his father to Leon, and took off up the stairs at a sprint.

"Sire!" came Leon's echoing voice as he took the stones two, then three at a time. "Where—?"

But Arthur didn't wait to hear him finish.

More ashes coated his way, and he nearly slipped as his boots lost traction in the simpering piles that used to be men. Pillars were being toppled, and glass windows blown outward from the inside and just the opposite. Arthur followed the damage, drawing his sword in his blistered hands again.

There was screaming.

Morgana's screaming.

But more pain-filled, more awful than he had ever heard it in his lifetime at her side. He wanted to cover his ears, knowing he wished this sort of pain on her for what she had done to his people, his father, yet at the same time desperately wanting to run faster to come to her aid.

Arthur stopped tracking the rubble and ran toward the cries.

But they lashed to a stop, and a rush of silence met Arthur's pounding head so hard that he came to a halt as well. Ashes guarded the doorway he now stood before. He reached for the handles, yanked them open, realizing that most of the support had been destroyed as well. They opened.

Merlin on his knees, Gaius over him, Lancelot propped against the remains of a stone pillar. They all were coated in glass and ashes; Merlin wearing tattered cloth and Lancelot's hair still smoking.

"Merlin," Arthur said almost to himself, almost just to convince himself that his manservant had escaped death again. "Lancelot, Gaius, what happened? The bell—"

"I need to get them to my quarters, Sire," Gaius interrupted.

Arthur kept scanning the room. Morgana's screams, he had heard her—

When Arthur bent to Merlin's level, horror reflected in his eyes. They were empty, wouldn't meet his own, cloudy and wet. All too similar to when Arthur sat next to him after the slavers had hold of him.

Blood coated everything.

"Merlin," he said quietly despite the screaming in his head. Then he turned to Gaius. "Where is he hurt? Where is all this blood coming from?"

Gaius pulled back the tattered remains of Merlin's jacket.

His whole body was covered in burns, and there were seeping patches on his arms that made Arthur's stomach churn.

Merlin looked dazed.

"You're all right now," he said again, not as confident as he had said it to his father. "The soldier's are dust, and I have men searching the castle for survivors. Can you walk?"

Merlin didn't reply. Just stared a hole through Arthur's dented, armoured chest.

"Let's have you lazy daisy," Arthur added, a weak attempt to get a response.

Arthur couldn't suppress the tremor that went up his battered body as he lifted Merlin off of the ground and into his arms. Lancelot, gripping his side, tried to come to Arthur's aide but could barely shuffle along by himself let alone bear weight.

Gaius' quarters weren't far. Arthur forced one foot in front of the other, feet disrupting the piles of rubble and ash that lay in his path. Gaius hobbled beside him, holding Merlin's head from lolling.

Another step. Another step. He could make it a little longer. He would not drop Merlin, he wouldn't let him down.

Prove himself. Prove himself. Prove himself.

Arthur walked slowly. At one point, he kicked off a greave that was loose and it clanged to the floor. His leg didn't feel any lighter without it. All adrenaline gone, every last horror settling into his mind.

Prove himself. Prove himself. Prove himself.

When the last staircase that led to the last hallway arrived, Arthur had to lean on the banister and shove a foot onto the first step with the leverage.

His knees were giving out. Gaius must have seen this, too, because he started talking fast but Arthur couldn't understand him. The world was slowing down, and his lungs were getting sluggish with it.

Prove…

Strong arms on either side of him, someone trying to peel Merlin from his grip. If his arms would cooperate he would fight them, but all he seemed to have the capability of doing was just dragging in one breath after another.

The stairs float underneath him. He was picked up, like he had picked up Merlin, and Gaius' mouth was still moving.

He started to cough black, black spit—


Arthur woke to find himself lying on Gaius' patient bed, every muscle screaming and his breath feeling like it was coming through the thinnest of holes.

When he managed to pick his head up, he saw Gwaine.

"Arthur?" he said in a croak, not bothering to insult him. "Can you hear me?"

Arthur nodded.

There was a collective breath of relief that filled the room, then a chorus of coughing. Arthur peeled himself further off of the bed to find Gaius' quarters stacked with the men he had knighted at the round table.

Gwaine was perched at his bedside, sitting on one chair with his plastered leg propped on another. He was coughing into his shirtsleeve, which once white was now a matted gray. Once he could take a steady breath again, he smiled.

"We've been bothering Gauis with our lungs since you collapsed. S'why we're all holed up here together."

Arthur got a good look around him then, seeing Leon with his head tipped back trying to suck in air, his shirt off and replaced with thick sheets of gauze and bandages. Elyan lay on the floor, arm slung to his chest tightly. Percival's face could barely be seen under the immense amount of ointment on his nose and cheeks and neck. Lancelot was missing from the group, but in the silence Arthur could hear his soft voice coming from Merlin's closed door. Everyone was spotted with burns, their eyes red, and their handkerchiefs and shirtsleeves covered in soot.

Leon gave a weak salute. "We won, Sire."

Arthur tried to clear his throat. "We did." Then. "Is my father well? Where's Merlin? And Gwen—?"

Gaius' hand appeared on his forehead, cool against his skin.

"They are all alive, now tell me about how well you can breathe."

"I want to see him," Arthur rasped.

"Your father?"

"Merlin."

The old man nodded. "When he's ready, I'll move you all into his room so I have space to work. Patience, Arthur."

Patience turned the room silent, save for the coughing bouts.

Elyan woke an hour later, and needed the last of the battle retold to him. Gwaine spoke about it with a heavy, tired, scratching voice: about their first dissolving soldier, about the raining embers and Arthur taking off and not telling them where he was headed.

At this, eye glared at Arthur. "We would have come with you. We should have come with you. If what you said around that table was true…"

Gwaine started coughing again. Arthur looked away.


It wasn't until nightfall that Gaius opened the door to Merlin's room. All afternoon they heard Merlin's whimpers and hushed voices, never loud enough to make out. Arthur daydreamt about storming through the door and ordering Merlin to stop being such a self-sacrificing idiot. The reality was…he wasn't even strong enough to stand on his own two feet.

The old man helped each of the knights up and onto their own two feet or onto another's shoulder to move into Merlin's room, where he had set up thin cots of straw. Percival helped Gwaine in first, who greeted Merlin and Lancelot on the inside jovially before doubling over and hacking. Then Leon slowly made his way, arm wrapped around Elyan.

Arthur realized they were going to let him have the patient bed far too late.

"Gaius, how bad is it?"

Gaius looked up from the doorway. "How bad is what, Sire?"

Arthur motioned down his body. "Me. This, all. My injuries."

"You'll have to go slow, Sire. But I expect a full recovery. If you're asking to move down to your own quarters, though—"

"I want to be with my men."

Gaius gave a soft smile. "Of course, sire. But I'm not strong enough to move the bed into Merlin's room."

"I'll take a cot. I just…"

After what we've been through…

"It is often better for soldiers to be together for a period after trauma. I'll have Merlin move to a separate cot, and you take his bed." Arthur started to speak, but Gaius held up one of his withered hands. "He won't stand for it any other way."

Arthur was going to protest, but his first word sent his lungs reeling and he found himself coughing into his sleeve with Gaius' hand on his back, slowly rubbing.

When the coughing had ended, and he stopped shaking, Gaius held his arm as he made his way into Merlin's room.

"Now I'll finally have some elbow room to heal you all up," the old man joked, settling Arthur onto the edge of the only real bed. "I'll have salve for your burns in here in a few moments, and I expect all of you to apply it. No arguing."

Gwaine was muttering in the corner next to Merlin, who seemed asleep.

Gaius left the crowded room.

When he turned his back, Arthur settled onto the floor.

"Absolutely not," Leon said, pointing back at the bed. "You're to have the bed."

"I don't want the bed."

"Sire—"

"We'll rotate. Gaius said we'll be here 'till we stop coughing up gobs of soot, right? Then each day a different man gets the bed. Whoever Gaius requests." No one seemed convinced. "Well, let's have a vote then. Everyone in favor of sharing Merlin's bed, according to Gaius' medical reasons and not because of my status, raise their hand."

There was a general expression of dissatisfaction, but eventually, one by one, everyone raised their hand.

"Good. So we're all in agreement then. Elyan gets the bed first unless Gaius says otherwise. Then no one has to step over each other, and Elyan heals properly."

Percival and Leon helped the young man onto it, even as he argued that it should be someone else. In the scuffle, Merlin woke.

"S'going on?" he said. Gwaine had to lean in to hear him and amplify to the group.

"Nothing much, Merlin. We've invaded your bedroom, stole all your blankets, misplaced all your books, and now you've woken to us stealing your bed," Gwaine said, messing up his hair. Merlin smiled half a smile.

Then he coughed—and Arthur winced as his hands came away black.

The manservant's eyes went wide at the sight.

"It's the ashes from the soldiers. When they disappeared, they turned to embers and soot and we breathed it in. Gaius said it will be a while before our lungs get it all out," Leon explained, showing his own handkerchief in solidarity.

"Hurts like hell, but better out than in s'what I always say," Gwaine supplied.

Arthur leaned against the stone wall, the coolness refreshing his sore shoulder muscles. "How are you feeling, Merlin?" he asked, trying not to sound pointed.

"Better," Merlin whispered.

"He said better," Gwaine repeated.

"Ah. Then do you care to explain why you and Lancelot decided to not stop the warning bell, and go after the—"

"Salve. On every burn you can reach, and when you can't reach it one of the others will reach it for you. And don't ruin my stitching work," Gaius said loudly, passing about two bowls full of cream-colored goo.

Arthur took one, and decided his lecture could wait until the burns on his body stopped stinging.

The room—situated so that it went Arthur closest to the door, then Gwaine, Merlin, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan on the bed, and Leon on the other side—went studiously quiet as each man did as Gaius said.

"Reach my shoulder blade, will you Arthur?" Gwaine said, eyes averted. Arthur could tell he didn't really have practice asking for help.

Arthur took a handful of the salve and then passed the bowl forward. Then he dabbed what he guessed would be the right amount on the angry-looking welts across Gwaine's back.

"Did a soldier explode right on top of you, then?" Arthur asked. Gwaine shrugged.

"With my broken ankle, I couldn't get out of the way fast enough."

Arthur smeared some on the back of his own neck and shoulders, the fabric of his shirt sticking to his skin. Percival was placing more on his face and ears after Gaius wiped the old salve off. Merlin was staring down at his hands in his lap, and Lancelot looked as though he was deciding whether or not to talk to him.

"Pass it this way, Gwaine," Lancelot finally said, after two long moments of him working up the nerve. Gwaine handed the bowl to Merlin, who didn't take it, but instead Lancelot reached over him and grabbed it. "Thank you."

Gwaine returned to covering his burns. Arthur sat and stared at Merlin.

Who let Lancelot take his charred hands in his and place the salve on them with slow, gentle motions.

Merlin, he wanted to say. How did you get all of those?

But slowly, a memory resurfaced of him on his knees in an upper chamber room of the castle, and Merlin's hands were covered in blood and Arthur didn't know if it was his own or—

Gaius came back to take the empty bowls.

"What do we do now?" Gwaine griped, taking hold of a water cup placed at the side of his cot. "Stuck in here for the foreseeable future… and there isn't even anything to drink other than foul potions and water."

"You're a knight now," Leon mumbled. "Your drunken habits are frowned upon. Think of the code—"

"This is exactly why I hoped Morgana's men would have finished him off," Gwaine pointed at Leon. Elyan started to laugh, still looking up at the ceiling.

"This is cruel punishment, being stuck in a room with him," Arthur added, nearly forgetting Merlin's hands as he joined the verbal banter. "I should have agreed to take the patient's bed outside."

Lancelot, still holding Merlin's hands, shook his head. "I thought having a sword tapped on either side of your head would have put something between them." Gwaine snorted loudly, but in doing so he spurted water out his nostrils all over Leon.

Which sent everyone into a fit of laughter that turned quickly into wheezing.

He watched as Merlin started to laugh too, a tentative one, testing his lungs for the occasion. It was a laugh that was trying to chase ghosts away.

Arthur knew it. Because he was doing the same.

And he thought of how things would be different when these men reemerged into the world burned to the ground by Morgana's will, with men that cared deeply and fought bravely and were loyal to him when he needed them most. Which was in battle, but also now.

He would have never guessed he could have smiled so soon after he had almost lost his kingdom, his father; he had lost his sister, and he had thought he had lost Merlin.


Day two of their quarantine, Arthur thought he would go insane.

Day three, and Arthur was going insane.

Gwaine snored, Elyan spoke in his sleep about days in his father's smithshop, it was almost as if they were on rotation with nightmares and who woke who with screaming. Merlin stayed mostly quiet in his corner. Each day, Gaius would help him outside and they would speak quietly to each other before he returned with newly wrapped hands and an exhausted look in his eyes. Each day, more of Merlin's books left with him.

Arthur's body was starting to behave like a body again, not twinging at every movement, not shaking when he lifted even the smallest of objects. They all slept a lot, and Gaius would listen to them breathe often, his ear to a cone pressed against each of their chests.

Arthur would badger the physician about his father, and about whether or not Gwen had been retrieved yet. The answers were never straightforward, leaving Arthur with more questions than before. Once, he managed to be awake when Merlin was asleep, and he pulled Gaius aside.

"He's not getting better, Gaius." Arthur hoped he staved off the worry in his voice, but he had a feeling it was unsuccessful.

"Merlin's working hard, Sire."

"I just…" It would have been easier to have found him in the room… than slowly watching him…

Day four, Merlin never woke.

His thin frame was shivering, and despite Lancelot giving his blanket to him, it didn't stop all night.

Day five, Arthur spent the day heaving, feeling worse than any day precedent.

Day six, Arthur couldn't remember.

By day seven, when Merlin walked back into his bedroom full of smelling, bickering knights, there was something different about him. He didn't carry his hands quite so gingerly, although they were still wrapped in pristine bandages. His usual exhausted gait was back to the spring that Arthur would have thrown a goblet at.

"You seem…better," Arthur read off of him.

"You're hopeless at a lot of things, Arthur. Most thing, in fact. But very occasionally, quite by accident, you say something useful," Merlin said, his voice at normal, Merlin pitch. His lungs were clear.

Arthur would have breathed a sigh of relief, but his own lungs wouldn't have allowed it.

"Really?" Arthur said, and while his own voice still had its gravel, he was celebrating. Even if Merlin is the only one that survives this, it will have been worth it that he gets to live without fear of Morgana's reign.

"Yes," Merlin sat down next to him. Their beds had rotated again, and Arthur was in the far corner. Most of his knights were asleep even at full daylight. "You said back at the table, amongst all your gibberish, something that, if I didn't know you, I'd be completely fooled into thinking you were wise."

Arthur quirked his eyebrow, recognizing his stumbling apology in the cave, sounding different in Merlin's mouth but much of the same sentiment.

"What did I say?"

Merlin just shook his head, shoving him with his shoulder that didn't much budge Arthur but made Merlin bounce back onto the wall. Arthur fought down the urge to ask if he was all right.

"Clotpole," Merlin said instead.

Arthur rolled his tired eyes. "Tell me why you didn't go after the warning bell. Merlin, you don't even know how to swing a sword correctly. How many times do I have to tell you to not dive headfirst into danger?"

Merlin's bright face dimmed. "Its what you would have done."

"I'm a bloody trained warrior, Merlin. What are you trained in? Sopping up dinner spills and laundry. Not…" he wavered. "Was Morgana there? In the room? With you?"

Merlin froze. Then slowly, he said. "Yes."

"Did…I mean, was she…?" but he couldn't finish.

"She's not dead, Arthur."

Oh, God. He couldn't tell if his breath got shallower because of his bad lungs, or if it was because his sister was alive. That meant they were all still in danger.

"But her sister—" Arthur started.

"She's dead."

"How?"

Merlin's eyes were back to looking haunted. "I don't know."

Arthur found himself nodding even though he wasn't nearly satisfied. There were so many things he needed to ask but… somehow, he knew that Merlin wasn't ready to say more. And miraculously, Arthur understood.

"As soon as we're—" Arthur's voice broke and he started to cough. His eyes were watering, his raw throat feeling like he had re-swallowed the embers for the hundredth time over. His ears were ringing.

Merlin's hand was on his back. And the pain started to lessen.

Bloody hell, he had no idea how he had survived so much of his life without a friend like Merlin. Without Merlin.

His lungs felt lighter when he was done.

"You were saying?" Merlin asked.

Arthur thought. "As soon as we're out of here, and our lungs are better, I'm fitting you with armour and we're out to the practice fields for training."

"You have enough new recruits on your hands." Merlin motioned to the sleeping knights. "And I don't want armour."

"If you insist on constantly attracting danger—"

Merlin laughed. And it was clear, and good, and warm. "Things will be different now."

Arthur knew this. When he said it in his head, it sounded somber and heavy; when Merlin said it, it was full of hope.

"It will be."


Day eight and Arthur took his first deep breath.

The other knights did the same. Their spit came back with no soot; when Gaius listened to their lungs, he heard no rattling or hitching.

Merlin was fast asleep on the bed.

"He was so well yesterday! I don't understand," Arthur told Gaius. "He was lucid, and his lungs sounded so clear."

"He didn't sleep last night," was all Gaius said.

Day nine, and Arthur was already standing from his cot. "We ride out to retrieve Gwen tonight."

The others stood as well, some more unsteady than others.

Gaius tried to argue. "I don't think that is wise—"

"I'll ready the horses," Lancelot said.

"Food, provisions, I'll make sure everyone's supplies are full," Elyan said. Gaius was shaking one of his fingers at the young man.

"You're not weight bearing yet—"

"Finally, I'll bring the spirits!" Gwaine got up, hobbling, and clapped Percival on the back. Even Arthur caught a whiff of the stench that he stirred up doing so. "And a bath is in order."

"Now, Gwaine-"

"We'll have to find our weapons," Leon said. "I know the armory will be hard pressed, but we'll make do."

Arthur turned to run right into Gaius' glare.

"You're going nowhere, Sire. It's too dangerous, and your father—Your duties as prince may have been shifting as you rested."

The room cleared out around him as Arthur tried to process what Gaius was saying. His father, when was the last time he saw him? Eight days ago. He knew he wasn't well. He had handed him to his men, and he had ran after Merlin. He had promised him he was going to be fine. Was he fine? Was he still alive? Was Arthur not there when—

He knew he was spiraling, that his thoughts were tunneling even though he didn't have enough information to make conclusions.

Merlin's voice. "I'll stay with you, Arthur. Look at me."

Arthur looked at him. There were deep bags under his eyes, and he stood with a tired hunch. His hair stuck up where he had slept on it.

"Merlin."

"Breakfast?"

After they saw the knights off, newly fitted with Camelot-red capes, Arthur took Merlin up on his offer. They sat on the courtyard steps, the sun that Arthur had missed tingeing Merlin's pale cheeks pink. The manservant squinted one eye shut so he could look at him.

"Look at the state of your boots," Merlin mourned.

"Yeah?"

"You're not going to make me go clean them?"

"Have you lost your mind?" Lords and ladies, the kid had woken up from a comatose state only hours ago. Merlin was staring at him, one of his tired eyes twitching. That meant he wasn't acting Arthur enough for him. "Later today, I expect them to be flawless."

There, back to normal.

Now Merlin harrumphed. "Why? They're your boots aren't they? Thought you believed in equality now."

"I'm sorry?"

Merlin looked legitimately worried now. "At the round table, you said—"

"I know what I said, Merlin."

He gave him a friendly shove to be sure Merlin knew he meant it.

"How's your father?" Merlin asked, quieter now.

"I don't know." Arthur looked up at the castle, where his father would be in bed. "All this. Morgana… its hit him hard."

"Perhaps we're heading for a new time." How was his voice so steady when he said that? Arthur's stomach knotted the moment the subject was brought up. "You may need to take charge, become—"

"Who knows what the future will bring?" Arthur said hastily. He stood, feeling the healing burns on him stretch. "How are your hands, Merlin?"

Merlin held up his two wrapped hands and forearms, his fingers just barely poking out of the white fabric. "Probably not fit for shoe scrubbing quite yet," he said honestly. "But in good enough shape if you need to go on a walk."

How did he do that, know exactly what Arthur needed?

They walked for hours, until Arthur felt like he might collapse but the air that enters his lungs unburdened just felt so good, that it was almost as if he shouldn't stop just because he didn't need to.

They had reached the far gates, overlooking the rolling hills outside of Camelot's walls. The green was spotted with red capes in the distance.

Guinevere.

He knew Merlin saw them too, and he couldn't help but start off at a jog, then a run, then a sprint as his knights of the round table urged their mounts faster and they meet up in the middle of knee-high grass.

Arthur only waited long enough to help her down from the saddle before he had her in his arms. Their lips met, and then she pulled away, looking him over, asking too many questions for him to answer all at once, as always. He held her close to his chest, her chin resting against his working lungs, her hands holding his scab-covered neck.

The knights were all taking turns punching Merlin's shoulders, ruffling his hair, picking him up and squeezing him tight. Lancelot and Merlin's forehead's touch in a warrior's acknowledgement.

"Thank you, Merlin. I don't know how you did it, but thank you," Arthur heard Lancelot say.

"Eight days," Gwen scolded, pushing him away this time. "Eight days, Arthur. I didn't know if Morgana had won, whether I should go back by foot. I didn't know if you were still alive."

"I'm sorry—"

Arthur met Merlin's eyes for a moment. Then Gwen kissed him.

And the ghosts retreated.