How did Merlin always get roped into these things?
It was Arthur's idea to pretend to be out of Camelot – a circumstance that would have ordinarily given Merlin some extra time to himself – and yet it was Merlin who was running around even more so than usual, running around after Arthur, running around after Gaius, running around after the farmer they'd found who was starting to take his role of knight a little too seriously.
Arthur would say that it's because he was a servant and that he was literally just being made to do his job.
But Merlin was leaning more towards the Arthur was trying to make his life as difficult as possible option.
Anyone would think that the prince might be grateful that Merlin had offered up his own clothes to help him blend in – he didn't exactly have many to spare after all. But of course, they were too tight, too itchy, too unsuitable for the man used to castle life pretending to be a commoner.
Okay, so maybe he was getting more irritated than the situation warranted. He'd been Arthur's servant for long enough now to know that no matter how well-meaning he could be sometimes, the prince would never change his ways, so Merlin didn't know why it was annoying him so much this evening. Maybe he was just tired. He had been doing three times his usual work after all.
That would explain the ache that was starting to form behind his eyes.
And the reason why his guard was down as he entered Arthur's chambers.
It had been a few days since he'd needed to visit the room but everything looked to be where it should be. Bed made, clothes put away, papers cleared from the table, Arthur's belongings were neat and in place even though no one was around to appreciate it.
So it was easy to overlook the latch on the chest that hadn't quite been shut. The tiniest imperfection.
Merlin flicked through the shirts in Arthur's wardrobe as he debated which one to grab, his eyes squeezing shut as he yawned widely. He couldn't wait for the day to finally be over, he could practically hear his bed calling for him from the other side of the castle.
Arthur had only asked for a replacement for the one currently on his back, but as Merlin grabbed a few from the rail, he thought it safer to bring a selection rather than being sent back for more.
Arms full and bones weary, he turned to leave the room. All that was left was to grab two dinners from the kitchens, make it to the lower town and back and then he was free for the night. But as he neared the door he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
There was a slight chill to the room with no fire crackling in the hearth, but when the goosebumps on his arms started to form he knew it wasn't because of the cold. There was something wrong, he just didn't know what.
Changing course before he reached the door, he moved towards the table, lowering the clothes down, eyes glancing around in search of anything out of place.
The room was silent, not so much as a whistle of wind could be heard through the closed windows and he was starting to think that his mind was playing tricks on him when he noticed it. Such a seemingly insignificant change, very easy to miss, but there on the floor, a shadow was moving.
Merlin held his breath as he watched it grow bigger, watched it get closer, his whole body tensing in preparation. The dark shape blended in with the shadows cast by the bed frame as it creeped up behind him so it was hard to tell just how close this intruder was, but Merlin knew he couldn't let it get any closer. Not if it was a threat.
He whipped his head round, hands coming up in front of his body as if ready to protect himself and the figure in the shadows froze, his eyes widening for the briefest of flashes before straightening to full height, shoulders lowering in an attempt to look at ease. Merlin noticed as something shiny flickered in his hand one moment and was gone the next.
The man's half smile lacked all sincerity as he spoke. "Apologies, I didn't mean to startle you. I think I must be in the wrong room."
He stepped forward to allow the evening light filtering through the windows to hit his face and Merlin recognised him immediately. The man from earlier, the one who had talked to him as he was tending to Arthur's horse after the tournament.
A somewhat familiar face shouldn't put him more on edge and yet here they were. Self-preservation begged for him to edge backwards, to get as far away as possible, but he forced his feet to stay planted.
"These are the prince's chambers." He replied, his voice almost holding the confidence of someone who was actually supposed to be there.
"It must be strange, not serving him while he's away." The man stepped forward again, no longer trying to seem apologetic for being where he shouldn't. "Though I suppose it won't be long until he's back."
Merlin did move back now as the man edged closer, jumping slightly as he backed into the table he had forgotten was still there. Whoever this man was, he was prying for information about Arthur and it was making Merlin cornered and very uncomfortable.
"Unless he's back already? I'm sure you would be one of the first to know if he was, wouldn't you?"
Merlin swallowed against the sudden dryness of his throat. "He's still away, on a hunt."
"You're certain about that?"
Why did this man want to know where Arthur was so badly? Anyone who needed to know had already been told — his departure having been announced at court a few days prior — and anyone else would have gone through the proper channels to receive an audience with the prince.
Not sneak through his chambers like a thief, like a—
"You're the assassin." And the second those whispered words left his mouth he knew it was the wrong thing to say.
Myror's eyes narrowed as his grin grew wide and Merlin turned without thinking. His arm caught the pile of Arthur's shirts, knocking them to the floor in his haste and his hip banged the corner of the table but as he neared the door he reach out his hand, fingers so close to the handle and—
—He'd never felt pain like it. White hot, shooting up his arm and down his back. Blurring his vision as his knees buckled from the shock and hit the floor.
He squeezed his eyes closed as the pain forced him forward onto all fours— well, all threes. The second his right arm landed on the floor it gave out from under him leaving him half sprawled and desperately trying to get back up.
He couldn't hear Myror's footsteps over the blood pounding in his ears, but he felt as the dagger was yanked from his back, a breathless scream being pulled from his mouth in the same violent manner.
Hands grabbed him and turned him over, the now freely bleeding wound sending his vision white as it bounced against the floor. He knew he had to move, had to get the assassin off him, had to get the—wait, was that the dagger being held to his throat? The cool, wet metal resting under his chin made his body tense once more and as he blinked the room back into view, he flinched at just how close the assassin was, his face mere inches from his own.
"Where's Prince Arthur?" Myror leered at him, putting just enough force on the dagger to allow the sharpness of the edge to be felt but not quite cut its victim yet.
Merlin tried to think of an answer, anything that would buy him more time, but he couldn't focus. His head was throbbing, his heart was thumping, and the fire running across his back was leaving his whole body feeling weak and shaky.
"I know you know something." Myror lifted the dagger away from his throat and began to trail it down his torso, the pointed tip catching on his shirt a few times. "And I have ways of making you talk."
"Please—" He tried to push himself away, his hands scrabbling against the floor but Myror stopped him in his tracks, the dagger coming to a pause at the bottom of his ribs.
He glanced towards the door, desperate for someone to come walking in, but even he knew it wasn't very likely. The usual guards placed outside the door were elsewhere on other duties and no servants would be required to enter Arthur's chambers while he was away. The only people who would have been likely to enter were Arthur (in hiding), Gwen (doing said hiding) and Gaius (likely waiting for Merlin to return from his day of doing 'nothing').
"We'll be done long before anyone comes for you." Myror whispered menacingly as he tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade. "Now, where is the prince?"
Merlin's vision blurred again as the sharp point of the blade was pushed into his stomach, slowly, carefully, as if Myror wanted to prolong his pain and well, he could hardly be held responsible for his actions whilst he wasn't thinking straight…right?
All he knew was that one second the assassin had been leaning over him, a twisted smile on his face, and the next his eyes had glowed gold and any strength he had left had drained instantly.
—Oh yeah, and that assassin's make quite a dull thud when hitting a wall…and a floor.
There was a buzzing in his ears as he tried to sit up and he could feel his tunic growing wetter and more uncomfortable as it stuck to his back. The second wound on his stomach was also bleeding, but not as badly thankfully. It seemed Merlin's magic had kicked in before Myror had had a chance to inflict much more damage.
The assassin hadn't moved from where he was slumped against the far wall and it was hard to tell whether he was simply unconscious or…worse, but Merlin didn't fancy waiting around to see if he'd wake up.
Nausea rolled in his stomach as he pushed himself to his feet and his knees went out from under him again sending him stumbling into the table. He gripped the edge with both hands and let out a long slow breath, head spinning now that he was upright.
He had to get to Gaius – and away from the possible dead body – but first he had to stop the bleeding, or at least slow it down a little.
He'd probably tell Arthur later that he'd felt extremely guilty about ruining his shirt, but in all honesty he barely considered it for a second before bending down with a groan to pick one off the floor where the pile had fallen. The prince had enough in his wardrobe, he could spare one to help Merlin make it halfway across the castle without bleeding out.
Oh god— the physician's chambers really were halfway across the castle. He could barely see straight right now, how was he expected to walk straight for that far?
He legs felt like jelly and a worrying chill was settling under his skin, but he knew he didn't have a choice. He grabbed the shirt, did his best to press it against the wound on his back and practically fell out of the chambers.
Everything hurt as he dragged himself through the corridors.
He'd given up trying to put pressure on the steadily dripping wound in his shoulder. The awkward angle had been too difficult to hold for long and his right arm had now taken to hanging limply at his side, the muscles under his shoulder blade spasming painfully every time he tried to move it.
His left hand switched intermittently between pushing weakly on his stomach and practically clinging to the wall each time he stumbled. Someone was bound to get a shock in the morning when they came across the crimson smear of blood painting the path he had taken, but that was hardly his most pressing concern right now.
It was eerily empty as he walked. The castle walls were home to all manner of narrow corridors and rarely used hallways frequented only by the servants and as the majority of them would be in the banquet hall right now, waiting on the guests of the tournament, he should be able to make it back to Gaius relatively unseen.
His breath caught in his throat as he misjudged a corner, his good shoulder slamming into the brick and sending a shockwave of pain through his back, down his arms, leaving his hands shaking and his fingertips numb.
With his legs threatening to give way, he pressed his left palm against the wall, fingers scratching against the brick as if trying to hold on, and forced his knees to lock underneath him. His head bent forward to rest against his fingers, intending to take a slow, deep breath which came out more like a sob.
He wanted it to stop. This all-encompassing pain that wouldn't release its grip on him. He couldn't focus on anything else. He just wanted it to stop.
Gaius.
Gaius would make it stop.
But not if he didn't keep moving.
He had to get to Gaius.
It took more strength than he had anticipated to push off the wall and keep going, but his feet started moving, one in front of the other, muscle memory of his daily journey taking the lead.
The further he walked, the more he noticed the steady trickle of water that seemed to be following him. It was a rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound— the constant drip, drip, drip coming from somewhere he couldn't quite place, nearly lulling him to sleep.
He was so tired.
He stumbled on the flat ground that turned out to be a step and his hand slapped against the wall, stinging his palm, the sound echoing through the empty corridor. The torches lining the walls were all lit and the crackling, soft glow left bright spots in front of his eyes as he stared at them for too long.
The brightness filled his vision entirely for a brief moment and suddenly he found himself falling, hand once again trying to grip onto flat stone with no luck.
The ungraceful descent jarred every bone in his body and left a buzzing in his ears, bile rising up his throat as he hit the ground.
Everything hurt.
The tile floor was cool under his touch and as he let his head tip back against the wall he found he had no energy left to move.
But he needed to move, didn't he?
Wasn't he supposed to be going somewhere?
His eyelids felt so heavy, like someone was dragging them down, begging them to close. Maybe he should just—
"You there." Someone called out.
Or maybe they didn't?
The sounds around him were muffled, as if his head was underwater.
Just like when he was younger. He and Will would race to the lake flowing a mile from their village, both having to stop along the way as their legs ached and their lungs burned from running too fast. They would remove their shoes to soak their feet, splash each other when the sun was too high, hold their heads underneath to watch the tiny fish swim by.
There was one time he and Will— wait, someone was touching his arm. Why was someone touching his arm?
Was it Will?
.
.
.
Telling him he'd been under for too long?
.
.
.
They were grabbing him now, making him stand up.
.
.
.
.
Didn't they realise he was too tired to stand?
.
.
.
.
The floor was moving. It had to be. That's why he kept tripping on it.
.
.
.
.
.
"—almost there."
.
.
Stairs?
Where did the stairs come from?
.
.
.
.
There were no stairs in their home.
.
.
.
Oh god— did he make them appear?
No-one's supposed to know about his magic!
.
.
.
.
.
His mother wasn't going to be very happy with him.
.
.
.
He was so cold.
.
.
.
.
And tired.
.
.
Was someone holding him up?
.
.
.
.
Oh no.
Did he make the door appear too?
.
.
.
He was so very tired.
.
.
.
.
.
Gaius could hear footsteps making their way up the stairs just outside his chambers. Not gentle footsteps, mind you. These were heavy, clumsy, as if whoever was approaching had spent far too long in the tavern.
He rolled his eyes as he set down his book, leech tank still glaring at him from the corner of the room. He'd remained steadfast in his refusal to clean the damn thing. Merlin had some extra time whilst Arthur was away and Gaius was adamant not to let the boy off his extra chores that easily.
Though with half the castle gathered in the banquet hall and Merlin off doing goodness-knows-what for the evening, Gaius had revelled in the thought of a quiet night to himself for once.
Not anymore it seemed.
Having been the castle's physician for far too many years now, Gaius knew on instinct that these footsteps were not going to do him the kindness of walking straight past his door. And having been the guardian of a certain young sorcerer for long enough – who, thinking about it, did have the evening off – this was about to be a long, loud, night.
He got to his feet and shuffled towards the door just in time to hear a heavy thud from the other side. He sighed again as he opened it, expecting to see a glassy eyed boy smiling up at him clumsily from the floor. What he hadn't expected was to find Sir Leon doing his utmost to keep a pale, half-conscious Merlin upright, blood staining the front of his tunic.
"Sir Leon, what—" Gaius gaped, shocked at the sight of his ward. He moved into the room to clear the bed, allowing Leon the space to help Merlin inside.
"I found him in the corridor. I don't know how long he was there for."
He watched as Leon guided Merlin across the room before letting him drop down heavily onto the bed. The boy's unfocused eyes were gazing just past him and Gaius didn't like the way they stayed closed for longer each time he blinked.
"Merlin, can you lay down for me?" Gaius asked, voice gentle. He placed his hands on Merlin's shoulders in order to help him but the boy's sharp inhale of breath had him letting go with a frown.
"Uh Gaius—" Leon nodded to Merlin's back and when Gaius moved around the bed to take a look, his heart dropped into his stomach. The small patch on the boy's front had concerned him, but this? It was obvious where the blood had originally soaked into the material, the stain being the most prominent at the boy's shoulder, but then as it had remained stuck to his back the blood had run down his tunic to collect at the bottom where it was now dripping into the sheets.
Suddenly, Merlin slowly tilted to the side, whole body going boneless as he fell and it was only Gaius quick hands that kept him upright. He watched as Merlin's head rolled limply against his chest and immediately jumped into action.
"Hold him." He ordered Leon, only moving once he was sure the knight had a grip on Merlin's shoulders. There was a pile of cloths sitting on a stool in the corner of the room, ready for this very moment, and he grabbed them all, passing one over to Leon and instructing the knight to press it firmly against his tunic where the still bleeding wound seemed to be located.
Next he moved in front of the boy, placing one hand on his cheek in a gentle attempt at rousing him.
"Merlin. Can you hear me?" Gaius urged, smiling faintly as he felt Merlin's head nod weakly against his palm. "I need you to stay awake."
Merlin fought hard against the pull of sleep, eyes blinking rapidly in an attempt to keep them open, and Gaius patted his cheek reassuringly. This was definitely going to hurt and he needed Merlin to stay as calm and still as possible.
He loathed to damage the boy's shirt beyond repair but, he supposed, the blood seemed to have done a good job of that already. He had to rummage around his shelves to find a pair of scissors but once he had them in his grasps he immediately returned to the bed and started cutting the back of Merlin's shirt, a jagged line straight up the middle.
The material stuck to Merlin's skin and as he peeled it away, he heard the boy whimper, his back jolting slightly as if trying to move away but not really having the energy to do so.
"I'm sorry, I'm almost done." Gaius soothed as he carefully pulled the sleeves down Merlin's arms and removed the shirt entirely. The wound on his front was still bleeding sluggishly to match the bright red staining his back and his skin was frighteningly pale.
Merlin shivered as he was exposed to the cool air of the room and Gaius had no doubt that the blood loss was adding to his low body temperature. As he placed the back of his palm to Merlin's back and felt the iciness of his skin, he debated putting Leon to work to stoke the fire and heat the room, but right now he needed both pairs of hands.
Passing Leon a clean cloth he swapped places with the knight so that he could access the more pressing wound on his back. Wiping away the blood from Merlin's shoulder only allowed for more to bubble up and take its place and Gaius frowned as he debated how to tackle this.
Knife wounds were tricky. Without cutting the patient open it was impossible to know just what had been hit under the skin. Slicing through muscle and sinew, there could be several things the blade had struck and several reasons as to why the wound was still bleeding so much, but Gaius didn't have time to consider them. Had Merlin been brought to him sooner, there were many paths he could have considered, many remedies he could have tried, but with the state he was in, there was only one option that Gaius felt comfortable in taking.
Ordinarily he would let his patient lay down, but with the wound on his front complicating matters, he was doing his best to work around it.
"Merlin, I need to stitch these wounds closed." Gaius informed him as he rushed to his medicine bag to fetch a needle and thread.
He took a breath, bracing himself for the pain he was about to cause, and then began. His fingers were instantly slick with blood and the needle almost slipped out of his hand but he pinched the two sides of the wound closed and pushed the needle through the skin and out the other side.
The reaction was instantaneous. Merlin cried out pitifully as he tried to move away and it was only Leon's steady hands that stopped him from falling off the bed completely.
It had always fascinated Gaius how such a small needle could create such pain to those already injured. Surely the more overwhelming pain should overshadow it, leaving the stitches almost unnoticeable as they entered the skin. But no, without fail, his patients always felt each and every one.
The boy was shaking under his fingers, small tremors wracking his frame and Gaius forced himself to swallow down his guilt as he kept going. He always hated having to hurt his patients – he was a physician, it was his duty to help not harm – but this was different. It was always worse hurting the people he cared about most.
He worked as quickly as he could, closing the skin, tying off the thread where necessary. The blood had slowed noticeably and whatever was going on underneath the surface would be dealt with soon enough. Merlin's groans had become weaker by the end as if making any noise was taking what little strength he had left, and eventually the pain clearly became too much for him.
Merlin slumped forward without warning, head resting against Leon's chest and Gaius didn't even have to look at him to know that he'd passed out. He'd held on longer than Gaius had expected and as worrying as it was, the physician was glad it would at least give him some respite from the agony he was in.
Eyes flicking up and away from his work, Gaius watched as Leon fumbled through an attempt at keeping Merlin somewhat upright. The knight looked completely out of his depth, far more used to causing wounds than healing them.
"Is he—?" Sir Leon stuttered, unsure of what he was really asking but fearing that something terrible had just happened. He shuffled slightly where he was knelt on the floor as his strong grip kept Merlin from toppling.
Gaius rested his palm against Merlin's back, a small weight lifting off his chest as the rise and fall under his hand confirmed what he'd already assumed. In and out, slow and steady. He shook his head reassuringly in Leon's direction as he tied off the final stitch. "He's okay. I am going to need your help though, to get him lying down."
Between the pair of them, they manoeuvred Merlin so that he was resting on his back, Gaius guiding his head down gently to meet the pillow. It was unnerving to see the boy so still, so quiet, a glaring contrast to the normally excitable person he had to deal with. Usually, Merlin wouldn't let on to Gaius if he was hurt, instead he'd hide away in his room until Gaius figured out what was wrong. Usually, it was something small; cuts, scrapes, all manners of bruises from getting on the wrong side of Arthur during training. Not…this.
Peeling away the soaked-through cloth, he was pleased to see that the wound on Merlin's front had almost stopped bleeding entirely, the blood already started to clot.
Gaius was finishing up this second round of stitches when he realised that Sir Leon was still in the room. The knight was standing just off to the side, quietly watching as he worked but clearly unsure of his own purpose there. Knights may be considered more respectable than common folk like Gaius, having come from nobility, but having been the castle's physician for more years than he cared to remember and having treated all of the knights at one point or another – some all the way back to when they were little boys, too small to pick up the swords they now so casually wielded – Gaius was often the exception to that hierarchy. Right now, in these chambers, Gaius was in charge and Leon was clearly awaiting orders.
"Thank you for your help, Sir Leon." Gaius paused his work to look up at the knight. "But you can return to your duties now if you wish. I should be able to manage on my own."
Leon's eyes darted between Merlin and himself, and Gaius could read the hesitancy in his posture. Maybe the knight was wary about leaving Gaius without help but it was more likely a slight wariness about leaving Arthur's servant in such a dire condition. Also the possibility of dealing with the prince's wrath upon his return should anything bad happen because he left the room when he did.
"Are you sure, Gaius?" Leon asked, stepping closer to the bed to indicate his readiness to help.
"Very sure." Gaius smiled confidently – he really did need Leon gone for this next part. "I'm sure you're probably needed somewhere much more important what with all the guests we're playing host to tonight."
Leon hovered for a moment more before nodding goodbye and vacating the room and Gaius was glad to be left alone with his patient. Merlin was still shivering where he lay, tiny goosebumps covering his arms so Gaius grabbed the closest blanket and draped it over him, making sure it was covering him entirely. It was concerning, the state Merlin had gotten himself into, not to mention how he had ended up bleeding and passed out in Gaius' bed when he should have been off helping with the banquet or hiding away in the tavern.
No matter. The how and why could wait until after he was healed.
The stitches were doing their job, ensuring Merlin didn't lose any more blood now that he had precious little left to spare but the simple piece of thread would do little to combat anything bleeding inside. That would require something stronger.
Something forbidden.
Ensuring the door to their room was firmly shut, he peered along his shelves and picked up everything he needed. Yarrow, rosemary, feverfew, he made quick work of chopping, crushing, mixing them all together to form a milky white concoction.
The tome containing the spell he needed had long since been lost. During the Great Purge he had burned almost all evidence of his connection to magic – the only one he had been brave enough to keep had now been gifted to Merlin. But that was no issue.
He might have sworn off all magic but that didn't mean the spells weren't tucked away at the back of his mind for when he really needed them.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This wasn't the first time he had broken his oath and used magic to help save Merlin's life – and it was a constant worry of his that it probably wouldn't be the last – but it still felt just as dangerous every time.
But it was worth it.
"Seópan ærest wearð feasceaft funden. Drycræft ðurhhæle ðina wunda ond ðe geedstaðolie."
His magic rippled under his skin in time with the bubbling of the liquid and he felt the very essence of it change within his grasp. Peeking open his eyes, he watched as the bubbles settled, popping gently one by one until only the cloudy liquid was resting at the bottom of the pot.
His hands were steady as he poured the liquid into a small vial and steadier still as he gently lifted Merlin's head and encouraged him to drink it, heart sinking slightly as the boy failed to rouse at all from the movement. And once he had done all he could, he sank slowly into his chair at the side of the bed, ready for when Merlin would need him again.
The world came back into focus slowly, quietly. His body felt heavy, the remnants of the trauma it had suffered slowly ebbing away. As he worked his way up to opening his eyes, a small part of him was questioning why he wasn't in more pain – he should have been in more pain, right?
Another part of him was telling him to shut up because why the hell are you wishing it hurt more?
Opening his eyes was a challenge in itself, but once he did— once he saw Gaius there, squinting at his book in the low candlelight as he sat next to him, he instantly felt at ease.
He watched as Gaius yawned widely, his hand coming up to his mouth as he tried to stifle the sound it made, before rubbing at his eyes with a sigh. It instantly made Merlin feel guilty; how long had he been sitting there? All because Merlin had managed to get himself into trouble, again.
Gaius' eyes flicked up to glance at Merlin before looking back at his book as if on instinct, an action he had performed several times that evening perhaps, before realising that Merlin had actually been looking back at him.
"Merlin." Gaius gasped into the quiet of the room. He carefully closed the book and placed it on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay." Merlin replied, only to rethink his answer once Gaius raised his eyebrow at him disapprovingly. "It still hurts a little, but it's not too bad."
"Well, try not to move too much. You lost a lot of blood and you're probably still healing." Gaius spoke gently as he helped Merlin drink some water from a cup that had obviously been ready and waiting for him to wake up.
He leant back against the bed with a sigh, surprised by how much energy that simple act took out of him. He let Gaius pull the blanket further up around his shoulders without complaint, noting how little warmth it added to the chill that seemed to be clinging to him.
"Shouldn't it hurt more? I'm not sure I remember everything but I'm pretty sure I was stabbed. Twice."
Gaius' gave him an uneasy look before rising from his chair and moving over to the table to clear some of the vials and papers that were scattered across it. He looked exhausted and Merlin wished he could tell from the darkness outside the window just how late into the night it was.
"Yes, you were. And you're lucky Sir Leon found you and brought you here or it could have been a lot worse." He chastised.
"Leon?" When did Leon— no wait. That's not the point he was trying to make. "Gaius? Did you use magic?"
Gaius paused, his back still turned, and Merlin instantly knew what the answer was. More than that, he knew what a big deal it was. Sure, Gaius had used magic since Merlin's arrival in Camelot, but he didn't use it lightly. Years of being forced to hide it was hard to break and Merlin couldn't imagine what it had taken to use it this time.
"I stitched up your wounds so you'll need to be careful not to pull them out and make sure they stay clean." Gaius sighed as he returned to stand at the end of the bed. "But yes. I had to use magic."
"Thank you." Merlin said with deep sincerity, feeling his eyes well up with gratitude at what Gaius had done for him. Well, it was either that or the exhaustion that was making itself known again. Gaius gave a small smile as he gently patted Merlin's leg — a wordless response that still conveyed a thankfulness of his own.
Merlin yawned, feeling sleep calling him and he almost let himself drift off until Gaius spoke up, his voice holding more than a hint of disapproval.
"Though I'm not impressed that you somehow managed to get into trouble, again."
Ah, and the raised eyebrow was back.
"I'm sorry." Merlin had the decency to look a little ashamed as he bit his lip, debating whether to tell Gaius exactly what had happened. "I think someone might need to check Arthur's chambers."
"To find the dead assassin you left there?"
Merlin's eyes widened as he tried to swallow past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "You know about that?"
Gaius hummed in response. "You left quite the blood trail."
Merlin winced at hearing this. That probably meant that all manner of people now knew that the man had been found in Arthur's chambers and that Merlin had somehow been involved. He wasn't currently in the dungeons, however, and there was no knight posted at his bedside to ensure he didn't escape, so maybe he wasn't in trouble? With them at least.
"He's really dead?" He asked quietly, not entirely sure he wanted an answer. He'd hurt people before — bad people — whenever they'd tried to attack him or Arthur, but he'd never pushed them away with his magic with the intention to kill them. He never wanted to use his magic for that.
Gaius' face softened in understanding and he moved back over to the chair to sit back down. Gaius could always tell when he was worried or upset or overthinking something or other. It was an extremely annoying trait whenever Merlin was trying to hide whatever secretive act he was up to. But at times like this, he was so grateful that Gaius knew what he needed.
…The disapproving glare would no doubt return later, but for now he was happy to pretend it wasn't coming.
"He was going to kill Arthur," Gaius said softly. "Whatever happened, you saved the Prince's life."
"I was just getting one of Arthur's shirts and he attacked me and I— I didn't mean to. I promise."
"It's okay. As far as I'm aware, Leon assumed you must have pushed him off of you — without magic — when he was attacking you and I doubt Uther's even aware that you were involved."
Merlin let out a relieved sigh. He would have found a way to explain it all way, but it was relieving to know he wouldn't be bombarded with questions just yet. Arthur would definitely want to know more but at least he had time to come up with that excuse.
Oh god— Arthur.
Merlin shot upright. At least, he tried to. It was much clumsier than he intended.
"What—" Gaius jolted forward to halt Merlin's sudden movement, but there was no need as Merlin immediately clutched his stomach, falling back with a groan as he instantly realised how bad of an idea that was. He felt shaky all of a sudden as a pulse of pain seemed intent on making its way through his entire body. "Well, that wasn't very clever, was it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Merlin breath caught in his throat as he slowly released his hand from his stomach. "I just— I need to get a message to Arthur."
"Arthur? I'm sure Uther's already sent riders out to meet him. He'll probably be told about this before he even makes it to Camelot."
…Oh yeah. Way to almost blow the whole plan Merlin.
"I meant…Gwen." Merlin nodded against the pillow, trying his hardest to be convincing. "I need to get a message to Gwen. About…something."
Gaius eyed him suspiciously as his words came out in a slow, careful pace as the excuse formed in his brain.
"About…the thing I was doing…to help her…with…her chores." He chuckled nervously, hating the way the pulsing appeared to have reached behind his eyes and didn't want to leave. "You know, before all of this happened. I just don't want her to think that I forgot."
"Okay," Gaius reluctantly rose out of his chair once again, glancing between Merlin and the door. "If you promise not to move, I'll go and see her. What do you want me to tell her?"
Merlin paused as he tried to come up with a message that would explain to Arthur why he'd left him and Gwen without a royal dinner that evening without making it obvious to Gaius who the message was really for. "Maybe I should write it down."
He took the paper he was handed and wrote a shaky note letting Arthur in on what had happened. That the assassin was dead, that he had been slightly injured and that Arthur would likely have to compete in the final day of the tournament without his assistance.
It was a simple message – very light on the gory details – but it would have to do. His hand was cramping from the awkward angle his reclining position was forcing him to write at and the words were starting to swim on the page. Arthur would probably have complaints no doubt, but luckily for Merlin he would have at least another day before the prince 'returned' to Camelot to voice them.
He folded the paper carefully, probably more times than was necessary, and passed it back to Gaius. "Don't bother reading it. It's not that interesting."
Gaius eyed him carefully and anyone else might have mistaken the glance for him deciding whether to trust that Merlin would behave himself whilst he was gone. But Merlin had lived alongside Gaius for long enough now to read the man's expressions for what they were. The tightly pursed lips, the furrowed brow, the hesitancy to leave his side. He wasn't entirely sure of the exact state he'd been in earlier, but it had been enough to leave Gaius somewhat rattled.
"I'll be okay." He smiled tiredly around the softly spoken words that he hoped would encourage Gaius out the door. "And I promise I won't try to get out of bed."
It took a few moments for Gaius to nod, satisfied with his assurance. "I won't be long," he promised as he threw his cloak around his shoulders and stuffed the note in his pocket, closing the door behind him carefully as he went.
Merlin took a breath as he leaned further into the mattress, wincing slightly as the movement pulled uncomfortably at his stitches. He didn't think he could get up, even if he wanted to. He really was exhausted.
Though to be honest, he had been feeling worn out long before a crazy assassin had tried to kill him. As much as it pained him to admit it, working for Arthur could be an awfully tiring job. Not to mention adding his work for Gaius to his already long list.
Lying to Gaius about Arthur's whereabouts had resulted in double his usual workload since the tournament had started and even from where he was laying he could see the still dirty leech tank staring at him from the corner of the room. He honestly did feel guilty for not finishing everything but maybe, what with him being injured, Gaius would let him off just this once…
"What do you mean Arthur's competing in the tournament?!"
…Or maybe not.