On the fourth day Arthur walked into the ex-manservant's quarters, his eyes were finally open.

"Merlin!" He exclaimed, rushing over to his usual stool. "I was starting to worry."

"Where's Arthur and what have you done with him?" Merlin replied.

"Worry that you were faking, I mean. After all, you were the laziest servant I ever had." He laughed and for a second nothing had changed. "Merlin, about what happened..."

"I don't want to talk about that." Arthur was taken aback but nodded as Merlin continued, his tone shifting from serious back to nonchalant. "How are things?"

"Good, good." The king was still discomfited by the sorcerer's sudden outburst but recovered quickly. "Your mother's settled in well."

"I'm glad," Merlin said, his voice sounding distant. "No trouble with Nimueh?"

"She's been quiet. Everything has, actually. I think it's the first time this kingdom has really been at peace in... well, in forever."

"I thought as much. You look fatter."

The banter was there, just as Arthur remembered, but something felt off. Different. Whatever had happened to Merlin in the years since he'd left had created a chasm between them and Arthur didn't know how to fill it. He made some small talk and then excused himself, feeling uneasy.

The following week, Merlin began his physical therapy regimented by Alice and executed, surprisingly, by Percival. Arthur watched from inside the palace with a mixture of bemusement and sorrow. It was painful to see Merlin, the gangly figure that once seemed to run everywhere now unable to walk on his own; but the sight of him clinging to Percival's burly arm, like a lady on a stroll with her suitor, made it funny at the same time. The knight, to his credit, was surprisingly gentle. He scowled at anyone who offered more than a passing glance and kept at Merlin's pace, stopping often for breaks and catching him whenever he stumbled. Their walks often ended with Percival carrying the sorcerer back and although Arthur couldn't hear very well, he knew Merlin had some choice words for the knight about being toted around like a sack of grain.

Improvement was slow but definite. Merlin was able to walk for longer periods of time without reaching out for Percival's steadying arm, although he was exhibiting a heavy limp which seemed permanent. Alice demanded he perform strange dance-like, stretching movements with her in the training yard at daybreak, which Arthur surmised that he hated, but Percival always did them alongside the pair (looking more awkward somehow than either of them) and Merlin found that to be of some comfort. Within about a month and a half he didn't seem to need the knight's assistance at all but Percival always accompanied him anyway.

Contrary to Arthur's observations, Merlin did not recognize improvement in his condition and felt discouraged almost daily. He had gone, it seemed, from the body of a 26 year old to the body of someone as old as Gaius. More than that, he felt crippled. His leg ached all the time. The movement of his arm was restricted at the shoulder. He could barely walk without Percival's help and were it not for his magic he would be unable to reach things anywhere above his head with one arm. He didn't want to rely on the knight any time he left his chambers and so finally he took to using a staff for support, noticing dryly that he was becoming more and more like his aging spell had predicted by the day.

Mornings with Alice were almost unbearable. He hated getting up early- the cold made his injuries feel especially tender and an hour of weird poses and movements was humiliating, even though Percival was just as bad at it than he was. Worse than the exercise, though, was the space it created for his mind to wander. Being back in Camelot was hard. Every time he looked around the grounds he couldn't shake images of blood and death at his own hands and so he avoided everyone except Percival, who didn't give him the option.

In a bid to fill his free time with more than just morbid thoughts and stretching, Merlin began helping Alice with her physician's duties. She was pleasantly surprised at how much he had retained from training with Gaius, and between the two of them and their magic it seemed that Camelot had never been in better health. It was about a month since his return when he decided he would start making deliveries.

It would be a good source of exercise, he reasoned to Alice and Percival. Neither seemed convinced but he argued for it anyways and they relented. Unfortunately the knight insisted on coming along. Merlin didn't mind his company, but he had been looking forward to some time away from his two wardens.

Their first delivery of the day went smoothly and Merlin's trepidation eased. He wasn't sure what to expect but the patient hadn't said much at all- just "how do I use it" and "thank you". The next house, however, did not go as well.

Merlin knocked, pulling three vials from his bag. The dark liquid inside was meant to reduce swelling and pain, likely for a sprain or something similar. The door swung open and a woman regarded him silently, her face cold.

"Hi, I have a tincture of feverfew ready for you." Merlin held out the vials but the woman didn't reach out to take them. She smirked and her eyes were mirthless.

"How dare you show your face here?" The smile dissolved into a look that was nothing short of hatred.

"You'll watch your tone." Percival stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword, but a look from Merlin was enough to silence him.

"I'm sorry, have we-"

"The feverfew isn't for me, sorcerer." She snatched the vials from his hands, practically spitting in his face. "It's for him."

She shoved the door back so hard it bounced against the wall, affording a glimpse of a man no older than 20 curled up in bed. His face- what was visible above several thin blankets- was a network of scars.

"You did this to him." She pulled the door back again so the man, likely her son, was hidden from view. "You almost killed him and now-" she laughed, almost hysterical. "And now you have the nerve to deliver his pain medication to my door."

"I'm sorry," Merlin whispered, no longer able to meet her gaze.

"He needs this to get to sleep. That's the only thing he's able to do now, is sleep. And he screams about the black dragon in his dreams, begging for his mother to save him, and I can't do a thing because you're the king's pet sorcerer."

"I didn't mean to," his voice was barely audible and she laughed again, this time spitting at his feet.

"Don't you dare ever come back here again. The king may have forgiven you, sire, but we never will. Never."

"I'm s-"

The door slammed shut in his face and Merlin stood silently, his shoulders starting to shake. He let Percival lead him back to his room without another word.