**I didn't expect to have this bit finished so soon - originally I had it as part of chapter 7, and didn't want to wait to post it. So here it is! An extra little snippet to round out the previous chapter.

Arthur felt the breath whoosh from his chest as he laid back onto the sweet grass. He could smell mint and pine. Juniper, as well. Chamomile and herbs. Yarrow. It was soothing. It smelled just like Merlin. His infirmary. Close and warm. It felt like peasant stew to sooth a hungry stomach, and Merlin fussing over him, smiling and griping but still glad to serve him. To love him. It felt like coming home, safe.

The sky bled red above him, a blaze of sunset in midday. Arthur opened his mouth and tasted ash. It was beautiful, the streaks of color splashing painted clouds. The sky burned like fire, an undulating bed of coals cast across the heavens. Roiling waves of heat in the hearth, crackling and peeling. The bed of grasses rocked beneath him, a gentle susurration that belied the clash of war fading from his ears. He rolled his head to the side, his cheek pillowed on papery blue flowers. Water slapped the sides of the boat, calm. Soothing. Guinevere squeezed his fingers between her hands and tried to smile through the shine of water spilling down her cheeks.

Arthur tried to draw another breath as the mist closed around them, but it was too cold. He was cold. His chest may as well have been a stone effigy. He looked at the rising fog instead. Even through the chill, it comforted him as it billowed thick around them, blotting out all else. His fog. Merlin's fog.

Arthur shot up from his chair and then nearly toppled right over again onto his hearth rug. He stumbled himself steady, looked around in muzzy confusion, and then spun to find Merlin still holding the edges of the curtains he had just flung open. Sunlight haloed his hair, and stabbed Arthur in the face. Overly loud in the quiet morning light, Arthur demanded, "Where have you been? I looked for you half the night!"

Merlin hooked the curtain sash and then frowned over his shoulder at Arthur. "Why? Did you need something?"

Arthur eyed him once over, took in the muddy boots and the mismatched clothes – not the same ones he'd been wearing when he disappeared the night before. "Where did you go last night?" Arthur grabbed Merlin's sleeve and pulled it out so that he could get a better look at what he had on. "Are these even your clothes?"

"Of course not," Merlin replied, looking at him as if Arthur were the dim one. "They don't even fit right."

No, they didn't; they were too big, and not charmingly baggy the way his old servants' togs had been. "Merlin…" Arthur let him go and watched the awareness sink into Merlin's face that what he'd just said sounded absurd. "Where were you?"

"I went – " Merlin looked down, thinking. "I…walked for a while."

Arthur squinted at him. "It's not a hard question. You went for a walk in my gardens? Where's Gwaine?"

"I wasn't with Gwaine." Merlin's eye tracked across the floor, and then he shrugged. "Walked and then fell asleep."

Incredulous, Arthur asked, "Where did you fall asleep? You didn't go back to your quarters last night; I asked George."

Merlin appeared pleased. "Did you wait up for me?"

"Merlin," Arthur growled. He snapped his fingers in Merlin's face and snapped, "Focus. Where did you sleep last night?"

"In – " Merlin sucked on his teeth, forehead wrinkling as he realized that he couldn't seem to answer to that. "I – I must have been somewhere."

Concerned, Arthur asked, "Well, where did you wake up?" It may as well have been the same question, but he voiced it anyway.

"I…didn't?" Merlin pressed a hand to his chest and peered warily at his clothes again. Or rather, not-his clothes. "My trousers were muddy. I had to borrow these."

Arthur raised his eyebrows, waiting for the rest of the explanation so that saying that would make sense. Eventually, he had to prompt, "Borrow them from whom?"

Merlin shook his head. "Someone handed them to me? I had to wash up." He looked at Arthur, spooked. "It made sense until you asked."

Arthur nodded and held up a hand while he opened the door to holler for a servant.

The serving girl from the morning before appeared as if on cue, arms laden with linens, but stopped cold at the expression on Arthur's face. "Sire?"

"It's alright," Arthur assured her. "Set that down, and go find Sir Gwaine for me. Tell him it's urgent." Before either of them had turned completely away, Arthur called after her, "And if you see Sir Leon while you're about, send him up too."

The maid bent her knee briefly, and then hurried off with the linens clutched to her chest.

Arthur shut the door, rested his forehead on it for a bare moment, and then turned to find Merlin exactly where and how Arthur had left him. "Stupid question, maybe. Do you recall supper last night with the druids?"

Merlin swallowed, his throat bobbing at the force of it. "Yes." He moved when Arthur did, but only to sidle back from him and survey the room with a critical eye.

"What do you remember, exactly? Retell it."

Merlin's eyes flickered back to Arthur, over him once, and then danced around the outline of him. It was familiar, him doing that, even he did look distrustful of what he saw. His chest rose and fell too rapidly for him to be as calm as he appeared on the surface. Finally, he admitted, "I'm not sure it's right in my head."

Arthur nodded without lowering his gaze. "Does that happen a lot?"

While holding eye contact, Merlin lowered his chin a fraction. His hair fell forward around his ears, shaggier than he normally kept it. Like a hairy sheep in need of shearing. "If I'm being honest?"

Arthur watched Merlin's fingers creep over and start scrubbing his opposing forearms where he had scratched himself raw the day before. The marks from his nails had faded and he had discarded the bandages at some point during the night, but the pink rash still scored lines up his skin. "Yes; I expect you to be honest."

Merlin sucked in a few shallow, rapid breaths, but still maintained the outer façade of calm. "I don't know."

"Alright," Arthur answered, cautious and soft. "Stop picking at yourself, Merlin."

Merlin looked down, realized what he was doing, and lifted his hand deliberately away as if he had no idea how it had gotten there. He swallowed once, hard by the looks of it, and then looked at Arthur again. "You should ask George. He – I think he's been covering for me. But I don't know if he realizes I might…might not know that he does it. I'll order him to tell you anything you want to know."

With a nod, Arthur looked away and found himself contemplating yet another new ribbon tied to his dead table tree. He turned back to Merlin and traversed the handful of steps between them. "I don't want you to take this as a lack of confidence."

Merlin avoided looking back at him, and instead, trained his eyes on the cold hearth that he hadn't lit yet. "You don't have to order it. I know. You can't have a physician who forgets where he's been. Can't remember things right."

"No," Arthur agreed, his voice cracking. "I can't."

Merlin nodded, jerky and too quick. "I'll step down. I'll, um." The thickening of his voice seemed to take him by surprise, and he made an odd sound like he didn't want to sniffle and give anything away. "I'll…" His eyes darted around toward the ceiling as he asked, "Should I go?"

Arthur couldn't take this anymore, masculinity be damned. He reached out and thankfully, Merlin merely took the prompt and planted himself against Arthur's chest. He may have been unwieldy, all sharp points and spindles, and he left his arms dangling unhelpfully at his sides, but he let Arthur embrace him as if maybe he needed it. "You're not going anywhere," Arthur assured him. He hooked his chin over Merlin's shoulder and forced himself not to squeeze Merlin like a wringer until his insides crunched. "It's temporary. I'm not sacking you."

"I'm sorry," Merlin told him. That seemed to be a catalyst, and he sagged against Arthur, heavy and warm, and vibrating like a lyre string. "I'm sorry," he choked. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Arthur may have squeezed too hard after all, because Merlin let out a squeak of protest rather than more words. "Hush," Arthur implored, gentling his grip. "We'll figure this out."

"There's nothing to figure out," Merlin mumbled miserably into Arthur's shoulder. "Madness is in my blood, Arthur. We both know it."

"I told you no," Arthur ground out. "You are not mad. You will not be mad."

Merlin stiffened and shoved Arthur off of himself. "You can't achieve that by royal decree." He mashed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets and turned away so that Arthur wouldn't see why he had to swipe at his cheeks right after. He let out a shaky breath, stuffed up like his hay snuffles and then straightened, clearing his throat. "I hope I'm mad." He may as well have been talking to the wall, idle in a room alone. "Because if the things I see sometimes are sooth… I'd rather be mad than that."

Arthur inhaled sharply and looked away. He should have known that those – those visions didn't stop after that night on the floor in front of the hearth. Why would they? It was just that Merlin seemed to be so much better – so close to recognizable as himself. The last thing Arthur wanted to think was that those things he'd said that night were still swimming about behind his eyes, tormenting him while he bore it in silence. Alone. Arthur swiped his hand over his mouth. "Tell me what you See." When he received no response, he craned his head over his shoulder. "Merlin."

Still facing away, Merlin shook his bowed head. "No." It sounded like the word threatened to be something else, or not to come at all. He crossed his arms and rubbed them with his hands, then felt about his sleeves for a moment until he found what looked like a strip of linen from a wound wrapping tucked into his cuff.

Arthur frowned as Merlin took the scrap of salvaged cloth over to the dead tree he had once made flower and fruit just to annoy Arthur, and tied it to a branch. It was, indeed, a wound wrapping, stained pink with something that Arthur suspected had seeped from the welts on Merlin's arms the day before. Normally, Arthur might find that disgusting, but given all of the other strange things that Merlin had been doing lately, he merely watched, head cocked to one side. "It is a clootie tree."

Merlin twitched his head around to look at Arthur. "What?"

Arthur lifted a finger toward the dead branches spread over his table. "These are for protection, aren't they? Like what the druids put around sacred places."

As if he hadn't noticed the tree or its adornments, Merlin looked up again, the motion harsh like someone pulled on his limbs with string. "Sort of. They're usually to cure ailments. Pleas for succor." He ran one of the older strips of cloth between his fingers, the twist of his mouth puzzled, and then stepped back.

Arthur took in the slightly haunted expression on Merlin's face as he crossed the room to stand abreast with him. Without asking, Arthur took Merlin's hand and raised it between them so that he could push Merlin's sleeve back. The welts had faded and the rash appeared less angry than the day before. Nettle, George had claimed. And then Merlin nearly had a conniption over the idea that he hadn't taken the proper care in handling it. Did he even remember handling it? Because the way he'd mimicked back George's words the day before implied that he was accepting an explanation, not recalling an event. Arthur met Merlin's gaze, and then broke it to seek out the linen scrap that he had just tied to the tree branch. Arthur fingered the cloth, and the faint scent of camphor curled in his nostrils. Now that he was paying attention, Arthur swore that some of the other, older scraps came from the bandages that once wrapped Merlin's wounded shoulder. Most, however, he had no idea of their origins. Arthur shook his head at the tree, bewildered. "Did you realize you were doing this?"

Merlin swallowed. "Not exactly."

As Arthur had already noted, there were more than just scraps of cloth tied throughout the branches. He picked out one of the herb bundles tied with red string, and leaned forward to smell it. "Sage," he reported. "That one, I know is for protection."

Merlin tried to look at anything but Arthur.

There was a lot of sage scattered throughout the branches, actually. More of that than anything else. Some of it was dried and so brittle from hanging there so long that Arthur hesitated to touch it lest it crumble to dust in his fingers. All of them were tied with red string. Pendragon red – it was thread from the spindles and bobbins that wove various of the royal-colored cloths. Arthur frowned at Merlin, concerned. "What are you protecting me from?"

Evasive, and without looking at Arthur, Merlin replied, "I doubt it's any one particular thing. You attract all sorts of trouble."

Arthur regarded him dubiously. "Usually, when you brush me off with a ridiculous answer like that, it's because you're deflecting."

Merlin swung around to look at him, finally.

"Wood worms?" Arthur made a face at him and went back to examining the tree. "I know you, Merlin. You're lazy. You never do anything unless you have to."

"Rude," Merlin muttered. He looked at the tree too, though, as if it were a riddle of some kind.

"You didn't deny it," Arthur pointed out. "Just now. You didn't try to deny that these ones – " He poked one of the newer sprigs of sage. " – are to protect me."

Merlin sucked at his bottom lip and examined the tree offerings more closely. "I think I can't deny it," he admitted, but he also offered no further explanation.

When Arthur turned his head, he found the same faintly worried, unenlightened expression on Merlin's face as Arthur felt gracing his own. "You have been very strange of late," Arthur informed him.

Merlin gave him a look like Arthur had said something idiotic.

"Obvious, yes, I know," Arthur returned. "But now that I think harder on it, all of these slips you've had, and the way you've behaved…" He narrowed his eyes at Merlin, trying to find some indication of his thoughts in the stillness of his face. There was none. "You've not been acting like a madman," Arthur pressed on. "There's been purpose to it, every time you speak with another's voice." The offering tree drew his gaze again, and Arthur tipped his head back again to survey the collection of oddities spread throughout the canopy like replacement leaves. "I don't think this is random, Merlin. I think you're doing these things – all of them – for a reason."

"You're still holding my hand."

"Shut up and enjoy it."

"Now who's acting like a girl?"

Arthur peered at him from the corner of his eye, aware of the nervous edge to Merlin's sass. "I am tempted to say that this is connected to what happened on Samhain, but you slipped before then, at the wellspring."

"The whole hollow was a thin place," Merlin pointed out. "And close to Nemeton – the energy of the plains stretched into the forest in some places. Everything around would be sacred in a similar way. And it was nearly Samhain by then. Things overlapped."

"So you tapped into him, somehow," Arthur postulated. "Morgana opened the way when she spoke to me, and you were hovering right around the perimeter of the stone dance the whole time – you could hear her. So you weren't entirely in this world, and you were distracted. He must have latched onto you. And then when Meliot stabbed you – " He refused to refer to that incident as Merlin dying. " – something happened." Merlin crossed the veil, was what happened. "Like when I accidentally brought my father back to our world, maybe Myrddin somehow – I don't know – got stuck here with you."

Merlin regarded Arthur with a sympathetic tolerance that might have been insulting in another situation. "You're grasping straws, Arthur. And this isn't a haunting. It's nothing alike."

"No," Arthur agreed. "But it does remind me of what happened to Elyan when he disturbed the druid grave spring."

"That's still a haunting," Merlin argued. "I haven't seen anything like a ghost. Have you?"

"Not a ghost, no. But Wynn had something of Myrddin's – his magic, maybe?" Before Merlin's head shaking could graduate to more aspersions, Arthur pushed ahead. "You even said that Wynn did something else to you when she healed you. That it went wrong."

"I said maybe," Merlin corrected. "I don't know, Arthur – I hardly know anything about necromancy."

That he called it necromancy without Arthur actually prompting that indicated to him that necromancy was exactly what this was. Merlin knew things instinctively, after all, and like his mysterious propensity for languages, and his ability to read and write, it didn't always register with him that he shouldn't have that knowledge. That lent a chilling credence to his offhand comments. "Hear me out," Arthur implored. "Others have said that Wynn lived a life no longer her own. They all used almost the exact same words for it, too. What if that was literal? A remembrance of something that someone else said?"

Merlin goggled at him. "That's insane."

"Is it?" Arthur pointedly looked over Merlin's person.

"Either he was on the other side of the veil and I snagged him like a burr, or he was in some part of Wynn. He couldn't have been in two places at once."

"You've said that magic can have a mind of its own," Arthur argued. "You talk about it like it's a separate thing sometimes. If that's true, then he could be in two places at once because it's his magic in one of them, and him in the other."

Merlin shook his head. "That's not what that means. Magic alone is one thing, his magic is another."

"His magic was like yours," Arthur countered. "Innate, and elemental. It's a river, Merlin. It goes as it will."

"What are you even talking about, a river?"

"You have memories from someone else – someone who was repeatedly mistaken for you, apparently, before you were even born. There is a link there already – he had his fingers in all kinds of things to do with you. For god's sake, he even helped make you."

Arthur regretted that last point the second it left his mouth, but it was too late. Merlin's face shuttered at the reminder of how he may have been molded and manipulated to be who he was – of how it felt to be powerless over his own life. Of course, if tales be told, Myrddin helped make Arthur too. It was all kinds of bollocks all around.

With a sigh, Arthur held his hands out in supplication. "Just consider it. What if he wasn't actually mad?"

"You're mad," Merlin sighed. He frowned at the clootie tree for a while, and then remarked, "Your fingers are all wrong."

"What?" Arthur gave him a sharp look.

"You're supposed to thread your fingers when you hold someone's hand. Not just squeeze it like a sword hilt."

Arthur looked down, rolled his eyes, and roughly rearranged their hands. "Better?"

"Ow," Merlin complained, but it wasn't actually a protest; he only said it to be an ass. Arthur could tell.

After a while, Arthur ventured, "I meant it. We will figure this out."

Merlin dropped his gaze and sighed, his fingers tightening minutely on Arthur's. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I could hurt you. There's no telling what I might do if I can't recognize where I am, or who I am. Maybe you should – "

"Write you off like spoiled grain?" Arthur interrupted. "No. Absolutely not. You never wrote me off, even if you should have. I owe you that in return."

"It's not the same," Merlin argued. "You were the prince, and now the king. I'm not. I never was. I never – "

"My father once told me that while you're not worthless, you are worth less." Arthur didn't look at Merlin when he said that, but he could feel Merlin's eyes piercing him just the same. "I rejected that then, and I reject it now. The subject is closed. And if you bring it up again, I will lock you in the dungeons until you realize the error of your ways."

Merlin didn't quite snort, but it was close, and Arthur felt warmer than body heat alone could explain as Merlin briefly bumped their shoulders together. "Still just a prat," Merlin teased. "Bully your subjects enough and eventually you'll get your way."

"It's worked so far." Arthur let his eyes shut briefly as he scratched his thumbnail over his forehead. "There is one thing I can always count on with you. No matter what is going on, you will always put my safety and my life before yours. I don't always like that, but I can rely on it." He pulled Merlin around by his captured hand to face him. "Everything you do, even when you don't realize it, is in some way to benefit me. That's why I'm not worried the same way that you are." He gestured at the clootie tree. "You don't even know why you're protecting me this time; you just know that you need to. So you do it."

When Arthur pointed at the tree, Merlin followed his arm with his gaze, his face contemplative. The fact that he wasn't despairing or getting all wobbly-lipped anymore gave Arthur hope for his possibly faltering sanity.

"I trust you," Arthur informed him. He kept his voice soft because he needed Merlin know the importance of what he was saying. "I'm not in any danger, and neither is my kingdom. You would never allow it. That gives me liberty, Merlin. It frees me to consider you without worry for consequences. Do you understand?"

Merlin shook his head, but he also let out a long, resigned breath as he raised his free hand to brush fingertips over the end of one of his ribbons. It was his bad arm, and Arthur noticed the slight wince as Merlin reached the extent of how high he could lift it. It was much better than a month ago, at least. "Why are you so attached to me?" Merlin asked.

"This again," Arthur sighed. "I told you, I don't care if magic put us in a position to bond with each other. The reality of it is all that matters."

"I'm not fishing for reassurance; I just want to know why you're unwilling to consider that you shouldn't be so confident about me."

Arthur sucked on his teeth, fully aware that the reason would not be something Merlin wanted to hear. If he could distill the complicated feeling of his attachment down into one notion, then it was the same reason he had been so attached to Guinevere. So unable to let her go. Arthur liked the man he was when he was with them. He liked the kind of king that their proximity and their watching prompted him to be. It wasn't something from which he was prepared to part, now that he only had one of them left. But Merlin would mistake that again for Arthur using him to replace Guinevere, intentional or not. So all he said out loud was, "I'd be lost without you. Yesterday, I didn't even know I had a sword chest in here."

That time, Merlin actually did snort, his face lightening as he grinned at Arthur, cheeky and fond. The moment shattered as someone knocked on the door, and George pushed into the room, his arms laden with breakfast fare. "Good morning, my lords."

Arthur dropped Merlin's hand, and Merlin started grabbing things to throw into the washing basket.

"That is not at all suspicious," George informed them both. "Shall I allow you more cuddle time in the mornings?"

"Merlin," Arthur called. "Teach your servant to be more respectful of nobility."

Merlin gave him a droll look. "How would I know how to do that?"

"Good point," Arthur allowed. "Of course, your indolent ways would eventually corrupt poor innocent George, too."

"Be nice," Merlin warned.

In a deliberate parody of the previous evening, Arthur returned, "I'm always nice." He smiled at the now wary servant standing at Arthur's desk with the unloaded breakfast tray held to his chest like a shield. "George, we both think it's high time you confessed."

George blinked, paled, and raised his tray slightly higher. "I am certain I do not know what you mean, my lord."

"Yes, you do." Arthur pointed at the tray. "I'm not going to shoot you, if that's what you're worried about. I don't even know where he keeps the crossbows."

Immediately, George fumbled the tray and shoved it onto the desk behind him, upsetting the plates he had so carefully set out just a moment before. "In the armory, sire."

Merlin rolled his eyes and shoved Arthur into his comfortable fireplace chair as if putting him in an airing cupboard, out of the way. "George, it's alright. I know you've been covering for me."

"It is my duty – "

"I wasn't aware," Merlin interrupted gently. "Not all the time. I don't remember."

George studied him for the span of time necessary for Merlin to step up in front of him. "My lord, I – " He didn't seem to have the rest of that sentence planned out, and merely stopped speaking.

Merlin nodded. "I know. You've done what you should. You've been loyal. But Arthur needs to know what's been going on. I need to know."

"I would not speak ill of my lord," George protested.

"Then don't," Merlin replied. "Just be truthful." He extended an arm behind his back, at the clootie tree. "Do you know what I'm protecting him from? Have I told you?"

George stared at the tree, and then down, his properly clasped hands twisting until his knuckles bled free of color. "I would never have kept anything from you, my lord. I swear, I thought it was a silent understanding. It is not proper for me to say what you will not."

Arthur scooted to the edge of his chair and rested his elbows on his knees so that he could knuckle his chin while he watched this exchange play out. In an idle way, he acknowledged his gratitude that George lived up to his word in his service toward Merlin after all. It was everything that Arthur had wanted – to know without a doubt that someone regarded Merlin with the care he deserved, and chose to protect him first without question for what that meant.

Gently, Merlin told George, "Then I'll say it first. There are gaps in my memory, and other places where my recall doesn't match what really happened. I forget who people are, or mistake them for someone else. I don't always speak with my own voice. I don't always act as myself. You have been covering for me."

Voice small, and very much unlike the consummate servant that George always strove, obsessively, to be, he replied, "Yes, my lord."

Merlin exhaled in what seemed like relief to have it out. "I don't know where I went after the feast last night. Do you?"

When George looked up, it was at the offering tree. "You left the city, my lord. I lost you in the woods." He grimaced and hid his expression again by looking down, but he spoke past Merlin next, raising his voice to be certain that Arthur heard him clearly. "I tried to follow, sire. As you instructed. I should always know where my lord is. I am deeply sorry. I have let you both down."

"You haven't," Arthur contradicted, sincere. "You protected and served him to the best of your ability, even when that task became untenable. That is what I wanted."

George cast his glance aside in clear denial of that, but said nothing to outright contradict Arthur. It wasn't his right to do so, after all.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder at Arthur, upset in that amorphous manner of men who are not certain how best to address something. After turning back to George, Merlin repeated his earlier question. "Do you know what I'm trying to protect him from?"

Finally, George met his gaze, stricken and apologetic for that answer he was bound to give. "From yourself, my lord."

Merlin ticked his head to one side and then twisted again to shoot Arthur a questioning glance.

Troubled, Arthur returned it, but he shook his head. He couldn't imagine that meant what it sounded like. With a gesture to Merin to hold his thoughts, Arthur said, "Thank you, George. Gwaine, and hopefully Leon will be here soon. Go fetch enough food and drink for them as well."

Merlin examined George's person briefly, and then added, "Bring something for yourself too."

George startled back a step. "My lord?"

"You always wait until I leave on rounds to break your fast," Merlin replied. "But this might take a while."

"I agree," Arthur interjected, standing up. "You'll dine with the rest of us, George. No arguments. Send a note to Hubert to cover Merlin's tasks today, and then get what we need from the kitchens." He jerked his head toward the door. "Now. Hurry up."

As soon as George left – hesitant and slightly alarmed at the breakfast comments – Merlin turned to Arthur and said, "Alder is becoming a problem. Meddlesome old fool. He's got his fingers too deep into the boy about proper conduct to let him obey his conscience. Rules, and rules – as if anyone cares what Alder thinks. George can't be effective if all he's worried about is his father's criticism."

Arthur felt his eyebrows threatening to levitate. "Right. That's…great uncle you, I presume?"

Merlin blinked, face blank, and then let his eyes skew to one side. "That's unsettling."

Yes, Arthur thought. But what he said, was, "I've noticed that about the two of them. It's horribly familiar. Come here."

Merlin gave him a knowing look, but did as he was told without further comment. As soon as he came into range, Arthur seized him by the ears and held him in place, startled, eyes wide as he stared back at Arthur from a breath's space away. "Arthur? What are you doing?"

"Trying to figure out if you look different when you talk like him." Arthur tipped Merlin's face one way, then the other, and finally just stared him intently in the eyes for a while. "I doubt it's enchantment, but it's a possibility, I suppose." Arthur leaned even closer, mingling their breath, and just watched him for a while. Merlin's face remained his own, though, which should have relieved Arthur. Instead, it bothered him that he still couldn't tell when someone he loved might not be themselves, just from looking. "Can you….I don't know. Channel him? If I asked, could I speak to him instead of you? See what he looks like?"

"Stop," Merlin whispered. "This isn't funny."

"I'm being serious."

"You're being a horse's ass!" Merlin yelled in his face. He grabbed Arthur by the wrists but didn't try to pry him off as Arthur expected. "Do you think this is a game to me? A parlor trick?"

"No," Arthur simply responded. He narrowed his eyes at the frantic gleam in Merlin's.

Merlin bared his teeth and hissed, "I'm not your performing fool."

"No, you're not." Arthur stepped with him to conserve distance when Merlin sought to finally step out of his grasp. "My question stands. Could I speak to him if I asked?"

Merlin flared his nostrils, disproportionately furious as a cover for something wholly different than Arthur asking insensitive questions. "Let me go."

"Is it actually you that you're protecting me from, or is it him, inside of you?"

Something behind Merlin's eyes shifted; Arthur only noticed because he was so close. "I would die before I'd hurt you."

Arthur furrowed his brow, searching for what had changed. He couldn't pin it down, exactly; nor did he know what it meant. He only knew that he saw something different. "I know you would."

Merlin stood so stiff in Arthur's grasp that he'd started to shake at the strain of holding still. Or…no, Arthur realized. At the strain of not thrashing away from the exposure Arthur was forcing on him. The strain of allowing Arthur to look.

"What is this?" Arthur breathed. "I can feel it. Something… Merlin, what am I looking at?"

Some collection of words caught and garbled in the back of Merlin's throat, and he bared his teeth, his fingers tightening painfully on Arthur's wrists. It wasn't a threat, though. Somehow, Arthur could tell that it was, instead, a plea. Look, it said. See.

"You…" Arthur swallowed, his gaze flickering back and forth between Merlin's eyes, watching his pupils dilate. "You can't tell me," he realized. "You can't tell me."

Merlin caught his bottom lip between his teeth and blew out a shuddering acknowledgement as if it took all the effort he had. As soon as he did it, he made a pained sound low in the back of his throat and twitched all over even though nothing seemed to cause it. He grit his teeth, tendons standing out in stark relief down the length of his neck, but he maintained eye contact.

"Is he controlling you?" Arthur demanded. And then, louder, "Breathe, Merlin!"

The alarming paralysis broke, and Merlin gusted out a lungful of air as his knees gave out beneath him. Arthur managed to catch him before he bashed his shins on the stone floor, and then held him up by the armpits until he managed to make his legs act like something other than wet noodles. Merlin sucked in huge draughts of air as if something had been squeezing his lungs a moment before, and leaned the majority of his weight against Arthur.

"Merlin?" Arthur tried to catch a glimpse of Merlin's face, but his neck was draped limp over one of Arthur's arms at an inconvenient angle. "Talk to me."

"Stop," Merlin wheezed, sinking to his knees and dragging Arthur partway down with him, since he refused to relinquish the grip he had. "You're hurting him."

That gave Arthur pause. "Who?"

"The boy. You'll kill him. You have to stop."

Arthur swallowed like a throat spasm. Cautious, he asked, "Cousin Myrddin?" He peered down at the crown of Merlin's head, wary. That didn't sound like a vengeful spirit, or a mad ghost. It also wasn't enchantment. Or at least, he thought it wasn't. It was too clearly someone else speaking. "It's you. You're the one weaving protections."

"No," Merlin choked. "He'd never let me." His fingers hooked into the fabric of Arthur's tunic, curling like claws to anchor him there. "He would rather die than leave you exposed."

Arthur parted his lips, but said nothing.

"He cannot die. He is necessary."

"I don't understand," Arthur replied. "He's not in any danger from anything but you. You're the one causing this."

"I caused nothing!" Merlin insisted, struggling to hang onto Arthur as if that were what allowed him to speak with another's voice. "I only want to protect him – someone has to!"

"Then let him go!" Arthur yelled back. "Your enchantments worked. You saved him – your magic lived long enough in your sister to do its work. It's over now. You're not protecting him anymore; you're tearing him apart."

"You're not listening!" Merlin shouted back. "Just like your father. Too arrogant to see what's staring you right in the face!"

"Then enlighten me," Arthur snapped. "If it's so obvious, then tell me what I'm missing."

Merlin shoved Arthur in the solar plexus and then reeled back before everything froze. Literally. Arthur regained his balance and nothing – nothing was moving. Not even the candleflames on the desk behind Merlin. Behind Myrddin. "It's your fault," Myrddin spat. "You did this. He told you and you didn't listen. You did the exact opposite. Bloody, foolish boy! I gave him to you, I trusted you with him and you ruined him!"

Arthur's eyes grew wide in shock. "I don't – "

"Stop saying you don't understand!" Myrddin stalked up to him, twisting Merlin's face into expressions it had never worn before. Even the scent of his breath was foreign when he growled in Arthur's face. "I thought you were better, but if I have to choose between you, I am not choosing the son of Uther, oath-breaker. Emrys is worth more to Albion than any golden age. But you?" He scoffed and gave Arthur a disdainful once-over. "I can make another one of you."

The air actually snapped after that, and Arthur covered his head automatically as the wicks of the candles arrayed around the room burst, splattering hot wax and tallow through the air. Merlin staggered too, grabbed his chest, and then nearly cracked his skull on Arthur's desk as he fell back. Thankfully, Arthur lunged for him without thinking, and while they still spilled all over the floor, Arthur's backside took the brunt of it. The air tasted normal again, and birdsong filtered in through the stained glass windows overlooking the courtyard. Out in the corridor, someone marched past the royal apartment on patrol. Arthur breathed like a man running as fast as he could and pawed at Merlin enough to confirm that he had completely passed out before he clutched the limp form of him to his chest as if Myrddin might steal him again. By the time Leon came knocking and found them both there beneath the branches of the clootie tree, Arthur still hadn't managed to catch all of his breath.

TBC