A/n: Hey guys! My initial intro up here was "Guess who actually updated in a semi-timely manner? ME!" and then I went and me'ed it up with the chronic tardiness. Thanks to all of you who are still here with me and those poor ones of you who have stumbled in now too deep, only to realize how slow I update. Sorry! Hope you enjoy this chapter despite the wait!


A Criminal's Burial

Chapter 7

The sorcerer's lips thinned as he steadied himself. "Yes, and what's worse?" Merlin's face contorted in remorse. "I gave it to them."

Arthur's expression tightened in what Merlin interpreted as anger. Stumbling over his words, Merlin babbled, "I-I-I didn't know. I should have, I mean. It was a risk. I'm sorry. I wasn't sure if I'd m-make it h-here. I t-t-told th-the-them..." Merlin's stuttering ceased as Arthur crouched down and placed a reassuring hand on the younger man's thigh.

"Merlin, I don't blame you," the king reassured, looking up and catching his servant's blood-flecked eyes. "You've endured more than I've trained my knights for." His mouth curled into a small, sad smile.

The servant smiled, looking as if he were about to cry. Arthur didn't think he was a traitor even after all these lies. "I told them so I could tell you," Merlin said, voice gaining certainty.

"You did what?" Arthur asked, eyes bulging as he rose to his feet.

The question hung in the air for a moment before Merlin answered, "I told them about the tunnels. The ones to the north. We haven't repaired everything yet." The words 'after the dragon' went unsaid as they both grimaced. "It would seem like a weak point into the castle—it is a weak point, but it's easily defensible if you just—"

"—Station archers along the ramparts just outside the exiting buildings and send the ground soldiers into the forest towards the entrances," Arthur finished, impressed.

"Exactly." Merlin grinned, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. "And there are more patrols in that direction, anyway, so there's a good chance someone would notice...well, I am not sure how many men. It didn't sound like too many. I didn't catch all of it, but I figured it was safer to give them a bad plan than risk they came up with a good one on their own."

Arthur laughed at the bedraggled, self-satisfied loon smirking like mad before him. "You did well, Merlin," he said, beaming. After all, how many men—how many servants—could devise military strategy whilst being tortured? Tortured, he repeated to himself, eyeballing Merlin's tattered clothing. "You have done very well, but for now, you really need help." Arthur put a careful hand on Merlin's shoulder and gently squeezed.

Regardless of Merlin's weak protestations about how this was more important, Arthur insisted he had a full day until his formal breakfast with Staunton and made quick work of the younger man's threadbare, pilfered cloak. Once it was fully removed with some awkward maneuvering, Arthur cringed at his manservant's exposed stench but made certain not to utter a word about it. Catching sight of Merlin's now-exposed neck, Arthur was surprised Merlin could utter a word. The bright red handprints that were still clasped around Merlin's throat left Arthur breathless.

Swallowing thickly, Arthur diverted his eyes lower. Merlin's shirt, which was once a shade of blue or red, was covered in a base layer of dirt, stained with pockets of blood, and shredded to tatters. Seeing no other good way to remove the it, Arthur retrieved a pair of shears from a nearby bureau. Merlin flinched as they came into view, but did little to stop his king from cutting his clothing aside from looking away. He couldn't look at himself; he couldn't look at Arthur looking at him.

After he peeled the material away, Arthur sighed, "Oh Merlin." His whole emaciated chest was swathed in a thin coating of blood with dried smatterings caught in his sparse chest hair. Scores of small cuts and burns littered his chest, intensifying into what appeared to be whip lashes on his back and shoulders. A large scar—a burn, from the looks of it—stuck out on the center of Merlin's chest, and Arthur saw the pink, jagged edges of it, wondering how Merlin could have possibly sustained such an injury in his service. Taken aback, Arthur's eyes followed along the coils of bruises, remnants of chains wrapped too tightly around his body. Before he could catch a good look at Merlin's angry red ribs, Merlin's skinned arms slid back into place as if he were trying to keep himself together. Arthur saw the cuts on Merlin's wrists, which were situated between dark bruises, and stopped dead at Merlin's mottled left hand. Ghosts of pain coursed through his own hand as he balled it into a fist. "Merlin," Arthur began, voice faltering, "I need Gaius."

"But they can't know I'm here, that I'm alive. They'll kill me. Or worse, they'll change strategy and we won't have the advantage," Merlin protested.

Arthur turned, running a sweating hand through his hair, trying to compose himself before he spoke. He did not even know where to start with that one. "Merlin," Arthur's voice cracked, "If no one knows, you're going to actually die."

Though Merlin could not see his master's face, he saw how he leaned heavily against a bedpost and briefly swiped at his face. "Arthur..."

"No, Merlin, you're not going to do that. You're going to sit right there"—he stomped towards his washing basin Gwen had left for him—"and wash up if you like"—the basin dropped beside Merlin on the table as a bucket sloshed at his feet—"or eat some of this food"—he shoved the tray on the table closer to his servant—"or drink some of this water." A goblet and pitcher from the king's nightstand materialized before him. "You're going to sit right there and do one of those things while I go get Gaius. Is that understood?" The king asked, his hair sticking up in different directions.

Merlin swallowed as he looked away from Arthur's watery eyes to fixate on his clenched jaw. "Yes, Sire," he agreed, making a shaky move for the heel of bread on the tray.

"Good." Arthur nodded. "I am going to go get Gaius and talk to Leon and you are going to stay here until Staunton and his men are gone." By gone, Merlin was sure he meant dead.

"Stay here?" Merlin asked, waving the bread in a semi-circle to indicate the entire room.

Arthur gave him the same look that Merlin had come to understand as the precursor to the words, "Don't be an idiot, Merlin", but no such words came. Instead, Arthur said, "I am not going to risk dragging you halfway across the castle just to get you back to your chambers. I have no idea how—how did you get here? Are you sure you weren't seen?"

"Pretty sure, yeah," he replied, glancing at the cloak Arthur had dropped on the floor in typical Arthur fashion. "And I was wearing that"—he pointed—"If anyone saw me, they probably didn't see me."

Arthur nodded. He was going to have to operate on that assumption. After closing all of his curtains, Arthur went to his wardrobe, where he procured his black "sneaking around" cloak from the back. Donning it, he headed towards his desk, where he grabbed his chamber key from one of the drawers and a lit lantern from atop it. "I am going to go now, and I am locking the door on my way out," Arthur said as he brandished the small key. "You're going to be alright, Merlin." Flashing his servant a watery smile, he turned on his heel towards the door.

"Are you alright?" Merlin asked, still fiddling with the bread in his hands.

The king huffed a laugh at the absurd question before locking the door behind him, leaving Merlin in silence.


Not a full day ago—this morning, in fact—Arthur had stood here, outside Gaius's chambers, mentally preparing himself to deliver news of Merlin's death. Now, he stood frozen before the door, unsure if he should knock. The chamber was still lit despite the hour, and Arthur could hear a steady metallic scraping from the other side of the door. Though the physician was clearly still awake and Arthur should alert the man before entering his chambers unbidden, he did not want to alert anyone to his presence (not that he had passed a single person roaming the halls on the way). Well, Merlin never knocked, the king reasoned as he pushed open the door.

Gaius had not noticed the intrusion, even as the door clicked closed behind Arthur. Instead, he was wholly focused on scraping out some burnt substance from his large cooking pot from his place on his bench, back hunched and facing away from the door. Arthur could feel his muscles tighten, suddenly feeling overheated. He had done this to Gaius; he had made everyone grieve.

He took a step forward, and faintly asked, "Gaius?"

Though his voice was barely above a whisper, the old physician dropped whatever tool he was using into the pot and whirled around in place. Deep, dark bags had formed under his eyes and his mouth was turned slightly downward. It took him a moment to focus on the unexpected visitor before him. "Sire? Is there anything I can help you with?" In an instant, he was standing, preparing to fuss over the young king.

"Gaius, I—" Arthur started, unsure how to proceed. He really had not thought this far ahead. Averting eye contact, Arthur caught sight of the physician's chambers in general. Never before had he seen vials of dried herbs and potions so well-labeled, the tables so clean, the leeches so...visible...in their tank. "What have you been doing?"

The physician glanced around the room at his work. "Cleaning," Gaius responded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I did not know for certain you would be returning today, but I had extra breakfast made in case..." Merlin came home, Arthur mentally supplied. "It seems I have burned the lot, and I had better clean it out, though I likely will not be needing it..." he trailed off, eyes distant. "I bought it because mine was too small to feed the both of us."

Though Arthur debated telling Gaius outright, he instead blurted, "I need your help."

Gaius's eyes widened briefly before slimming in a scrutinizing squint. "With what, sire?"

"I-It's easier to show you," Arthur said as he looked around the room. "Where is your medical bag? How well stocked is it?"

"Over there"—he pointed to the floor in the corner of his chambers—"Bandages, ointments, tonics...Why, sire? What has happened?"

Arthur strode over and grabbed the heavy bag, wondering how it was Gaius lugged it around the castle comfortably. "I need you to come with me. You will see. I am so sorry. I didn't know."

"Didn't know what?" Gaius asked, eyebrow quirked.

"Just come." Arthur beckoned him over to the door. "Quietly," he added before opening the door, gesturing for the physician to follow him.

Confused and admittedly a bit suspicious, Gaius followed, trailing behind the king as they traversed the familiar route to the king's own chambers. When Arthur pulled out the key to his chambers, which he seldom ever locked, Gaius grew wary of whom he would find locked behind the door. Arthur held the door open for him, and it was only until Gaius had taken a couple of steps into the room that Arthur, too, entered, closing the door behind him. The physician could see the back chamber lit and gulped. What had Arthur done?

Arthur sped up and old physician rushed to keep pace. "Sire you haven't..." Gaius trailed off, contemplating his word choice. "You haven't...with a girl, have you?"

"What?" Arthur turned, mouth agape, offense cut clear in his brow. "No—"

"—Well," a familiar voice piped from the other room. "Arthur does frequently call me a girl."

A shaking hand flew to his mouth as he edged closer to the room. Once he caught sight of the man sitting at Arthur's breakfast table, Gaius audibly gasped and froze. There was Merlin, chest too colored to possibly be bare, hand trembling around a goblet of water with a slight smile cracking his thin face.

"Merlin!" Gaius cried and rushed over, hands flying to Merlin's face to quickly assess the damage to his head. Arthur slowly followed, not wanting to intrude on the reunion but happy to see it occurring. He set the bag beside the table and made his way out of the room. It was not until the door locked shut did the two notice Arthur was gone.

"Where did he go?" Gaius asked, head darting back to glance at the door.

"Probably went to see Sir Leon," Merlin supplied, shrugging it off. Seeing Leon was on the list he gave Merlin before he had left for Gaius's chambers.

Gaius raised a brow. "Why Sir Leon?"

"Because Lord Staunton is planning to betray Camelot, and Arthur wants to catch them in the act of investigating the tunnels I told them about," Merlin said, taking another metered sip of his water. He had successfully eaten the heel of bread, and with some water, his stomach was feeling a bit better than it had all week.

The physician, curious but unwilling to waste another second, grabbed the washcloth from basin Arthur had left on the table and dipped it in the bucket at their feet. Wringing it out with his wiry hands, he glanced at the tub that was still sitting in the middle of the room. "Do you think you can make it to the tub?" Gaius asked, dropping the cloth back in the water in pursuit of a better idea.

Merlin nodded and rose to his feet, lightly swaying even with Gaius's support. Every step throbbed, the wounds on his feet now coming to life. He must have stepped on some brambles, twigs, or rocks when he was originally scrambling through the woods to safety. With Gaius's help, he managed to shimmy out of his pants. Now mostly just cold, Merlin inspected his legs. They had not sustained much in the way of injury save his bruised knees, rolled right ankle, and feet, which still had a cake of mud covering the damage. Supporting himself on the rim of the tub, Merlin eased himself in with a hiss. As the physician made a move for the bucket of water, Merlin's eyes glowed gold and the bucket lifted and made its way over, now warmer than it had been.

Instead of giving the young man a stern look or a lecture, Gaius just chuckled. "Where is the soap?"

"It should be in the bucket behind Arthur's changing screen. There is probably a spare washcloth in there, too," he answered. Merlin tried not to think about his burning back as he leaned forward against his thighs and knees, careful to keep all of his weight on his right side. Hugging his shins, Merlin let his eyes shut, comforted by Gaius's shuffling in the background. A chair dropped beside the tub, and Merlin's eyes snapped open, wondering how he could have drifted off so quickly.

Rolling up his sleeves, Gaius fished out the forlorn washcloth and wrung out the excess. He got a full view of Merlin's back for the first time and grimaced. Numerous gashes cut across the young man's body and entire pieces of skin had been flayed off entirely, others tenuously hanging on. "I will be as gentle as possible."

Merlin nodded, and the physician dabbed at the height of Merlin's back, especially careful around the knobs of Merlin's vertebrae and the massive bruise that Gaius knew to be broken ribs. The two sat in silence, Merlin nodding off into his knees and Gaius concentrating solely on fixing what is in front of him. When he came upon a divot of skin, a triangle that appeared to have been ripped off between whippings, Gaius dropped the washcloth back into the water bucket, displacing some of its contents onto the floor with a splash. "Why you, Merlin?" Gaius asked, unable to separate his emotions from the wounds spattered across the young man's body.

Merlin turned his head to the other side and opened his bleary eyes to see the old physician exhaling a shuddering breath into his hands. "They wanted information," he explained simply.

"I figured as much"—Gaius's eyes raked over Merlin's wounds—"Why you, why you when they had Arthur, too?" The old man's face soured; he didn't mean to make it sound as if he would trade the king's wellbeing for his ward's.

Shutting his eyes once more, Merlin just shook his head. "They need Arthur to safely get into the citadel without questions asked; I don't think they have enough men to outright attack or siege." Sinking further into his knees, Merlin concluded, "Besides, a servant is easier to crack than a king."

"But you're not just a servant, Merlin," Gaius objected.

The sorcerer spoke into his thighs, voice echoing in the enclosed space, "You don't understand, Gaius."

"Merlin—"

"No, you really don't understand"—Merlin looked up, tears brimming in his eyes—"I could do all of this," he said, gesturing to himself, "Because I was doing it for him. Even if I was only giving him a few extra days to figure it out, it didn't matter; I was giving him a chance." Merlin snuffled miserably, reliving the horror he felt as he told Lewis about the tunnels, every grain in his body vibrating anxiously against the disloyalty. "Magic or not, I'm still just a servant because there isn't anything I wouldn't do for him." Dropping his head back to his knees, completely spent, Merlin tried to regain his steady breathing when a thin hand fell lightly on his upper arm.

"We all thought you were dead, Merlin," Gaius persisted, eyes unable to stray from the myriad of wounds that could have ensured that very occasion.

"I know," the sorcerer replied, "Everyone did." He shuddered violently as he swiped imaginary gore off his forearms.

Gaius frowned at the cryptic response, but decided it would not be prudent to mine that particular vein. "What I am saying, Merlin"—Gaius paused and took up the washcloth to wring it out—"Is that we all thought you were dead, and none of us were better off for the news."

"I'm sorry, Gaius."

Gaius shook his head and started dabbing away at the slices and welts on Merlin's back. "You have nothing to be sorry for, my boy."

"It's just so terrifying," Merlin admitted to his knees.

"I know, my boy, as love often is," Gaius said, remembering how he had felt this very morning.

Merlin had no response and soon relaxed, more out of exhaustion than genuine comfort, cheek melting into his knee. The two fell into silence as Gaius made his way down to Merlin's lower back. The physician noted that Merlin had attempted to wash the grime away from his injuries at some point, but he was not entirely successful, narrow canyons of cleanliness cutting through caked dirt. "None of your wounds appear infected," Gaius marveled, unsure of how that could be possible with what would normally be 'too little, too late' wound washing.

Merlin's eyes opened a sliver. "I..." He wiggled his fingers meaningfully.

"Ah, I see. I thought healing magic was not one of your strong suits," the physician said after casting a brief glance at the door.

"'S'not," Merlin mumbled into his knee, "Spell cleans socks, too."

Gaius huffed a laugh. Only Merlin would think to try a cleaning spell on a wound and succeed in pulling it off. "Anything else?" the physician asked, swiping away the last of the dirt from Merlin's back. He dropped the washcloth in the brownish-red water and sat back in his chair, hands clasping themselves tightly as he contemplated the pink, raw, jagged edges of his ward's healing wounds.

"Ribs," Merlin said and used all the willpower in his body to lean on the edge of the tub with his good side to give the physician a better view. Gaius prodded at the injury, eliciting a hiss from its bearer.

Apologizing lowly, Gaius drew up the cloth from the murky water and wrung it out. "They seem to be holding well," the physician observed as he scooted up with his chair to get a better angle. "I don't know if we have magic or stubbornness to thank for that."

"Both," Merlin moaned as the physician grazed a ginger spot, pain shooting through his arm. Now more awake, the sorcerer admitted, "Didn't think it could work, but I just wanted it to."

Gaius nodded, unsurprised. From what he had seen, the biggest limitation on Merlin's magic was his own belief in himself.

Moving to the rest of Merlin's chest, which, beyond the small cuts and burns, was less damaged than the dried blood had led him to believe. Though there were a few disconcerting bruises and old scars Gaius could not quick put to occasion, the physician knew it could be worse, given the young man's back. He swiped the cloth down Merlin's left arm and saw the bruised, bloody cuffs imprisonment had left him and the scrapes only a mad—albeit clumsy—dash for freedom could cause. He got to Merlin's hand and sighed at the slight swelling. At least Merlin could move his fingers without much pain.

Satisfied with the cleanliness of the shivering man in the tub, the physician handed his ward a washcloth and asked, "Do you think you could get your lowers?"

Whatever blood Merlin had left in his body fled to his cheeks as he snatched up the washcloth. While Merlin took care of the rest of his body, Gaius stood and readied the supplies from his medicine bag. He would probably use his bag's entire store of ointments, created to last him near a month, and dramatically reduce the amount of bandages it contained. Moving the jars of ointment to the floor beside the tub and the bandages on the chair, the old physician mentally inventoried what he had and what he would need to prepare within the coming days.

By the time Merlin declared he was finished, Gaius had grabbed the pitcher of fresh water and the extra washcloth he had spotted with the soap. "Lean back, Merlin," he instructed as he sat on the edge of the chair in front of the bandages.

Merlin acquiesced only to have a stream of cold water poured on his scalp. Flinching, Merlin sputtered, some of it running down his face. "Couldn't have warned me?"

Gaius quirked an eyebrow. "What else did you think I was going to do?"

He hadn't particularly thought about what it was Gaius was about to do. Keeping silent, Merlin just resigned himself to shivering as the physician methodically scrubbed the matted blood from his hair. After his hair seemed sufficiently rinsed, Gaius poked at the injuries that remained: a healing cut to his temple, a stray lump on Merlin's thick skull, and the handprints adorning his throat. When Gaius grazed the edge of one of the handprints, he was surprised to not see as much as a flinch. "Does this hurt?" he asked.

"Does what hurt?" Merlin asked, looking up at Gaius. For the first time, the physician saw the blood speckled beneath the boy's irises. Merlin prodded at his own bruised neck, unable to discern what injury Gaius could possibly be talking about.

"Your neck, Merlin," Gaius replied, wide eyed.

Merlin cocked his head, giving the older man a strange look. "Grab the hand mirror from the top of Arthur's dresser," he requested, pointing a few feet away. Within moments, it was in Merlin's hands, and he was stuck, staring at his reflection in horror. There were imprints hands had most decidedly made on his skin. "I don't remember this…" Merlin trailed off. Scrounging up the washcloth, he tried to scrub it off to no avail.

"It looks fresh," Gaius added, prodding at a particularly nasty purpling patch. "It doesn't hurt?"

Merlin shook his head.

"Maybe you healed any internal damage?" the physician suggested.

Shaking his head again, Merlin muttered, "You would think I would remember healing it myself."

Keys turning in the lock startled them both, and before the conversation could continue, the door opened. Arthur slid inside and closed it behind him. With a few brisk strides, he made his way to the back of his chambers, tearing away at his cloak and dropping it somewhere along the way. Merlin couldn't help but roll his eyes. Something would never change.

Noticing Merlin's general state of undress, Arthur made a beeline for his dresser and began digging around inside it. As piles of things materialized on top of the dresser itself, destroying what probably took an hour of folding in mere seconds, Merlin cleared his throat and asked, "What are you looking for?"

"Pants," Arthur paused, "For you."

"Oh," was all Merlin could get out. He very well knew he couldn't get back into his old pair, and it's not like he had expected someone to smuggle his own clothing into Arthur's chambers. "Try the bottom right drawer, rolled up in the back." That was where he had tended to put clothing that shouldn't be retired quite yet.

Sure enough, Arthur procured a wrinkled pair of pants that was most decidedly a few sizes too small from the back of his drawer. Arthur seemed impressed, though he was not less convinced that Merlin was actually a very good squirrel. Merlin, though pleased with the thought of clothing, was thoroughly irritated. How could he remember the location of a natty, forgotten pair of pants, but forget something like being strangled and then somehow healing all the internal damage? Giving the hand mirror back to Gaius, who set it to the side by the tub, Merlin huffed.

Arthur slung the pants across his shoulder and headed for his changing screen, where he found a towel. Within a few quick strides, Arthur was standing at the edge of the tub, proffering the towel in one hand and holding the other out, intending Merlin to pull himself up. Clasping his master's hand, Merlin pulled himself up onto shaky, coltish legs, and braced himself against Arthur's shoulders as Gaius took the towel and carefully dried him off. Once dry, Merlin had managed to slip the pants on and cinch the drawstring tightly around himself with help from the other two men.

"Merlin, sit here while I dress your wounds," Gaius insisted, gesturing to the chair by the tub.

As Merlin did as he was told, Arthur said, "Merlin, your feet." Looking down, the servant saw they were still a bit dirty. He hadn't done the best of jobs cleaning them, mud still caked between his toes. At least he hoped it was just mud. "Here, just," Arthur didn't finish, instead grabbing Merlin's legs and draping them over the tub. Kneeling on the floor, he slid the pitcher of water, soap, and washcloth closer to him.

"What are you doing?" the servant asked, dumbfounded. Never had he ever imagined seeing the king on his knees before him. He could not enjoy the moment too long as Gaius had chosen that moment to begin applying ointment to and bandaging his head.

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur bristled, rolling up the younger man's pant legs. He poured some of the water over Merlin's feet and dabbed at them gingerly, loosening the pockets of dirt that had made their homes between Merlin's toes.

Ignoring him, Merlin continued, "Did you speak with Sir Leon?"

"Yes," Arthur replied, finding a thorn in Merlin's foot. He plucked at it with his meager fingernails and elaborated, "He is investigating the tunnels as we speak. I had instructed him to report back with his findings as soon as he had anything."

Merlin nodded and hissed. Arthur had succeeded in extracting the thorn the same moment Gaius smeared cold ointment across his back.

"I am going to have to buy you new boots, aren't I?" Arthur asked rhetorically. Of course he was going to buy Merlin new boots.

"I don't know when they took them..." Merlin trailed off. Had he had any in the dungeon? Or had they taken them just before they threw him in the mass grave? The question went unanswered as Gaius moved one of his arms up to get a good bandage wrap around his shoulder.

Satisfied with the cleanliness of Merlin's left foot, which only had a couple small cuts and a few odd bruises, Arthur moved onto the right one, careful of the ankle's swelling. "It's alright, Merlin. Just, just try not to lose them again."

Concerned Arthur was upset with him for losing his boots of all things, Merlin stared at the back of Arthur's head, unable to read any expression. "I won't," Merlin promised.

"Good," Arthur huffed, voice a little lower, "Boots are something I can replace."

Oh. Merlin stopped breathing for a moment. We all thought you were dead, and none of us were better off for the news. Arthur really had missed him. Reaching out, Merlin squeezed Arthur's shoulder with his bony fingers. Gaius took the opportunity to coat his scraped arms in more of that earthy, viscous ointment and wrap each one.

Satisfied that both of Merlin's feet were clean, he pulled them back outside the tub and stood, slipping out of Merlin's grasp. "Gaius, could you take a look at Merlin's feet?" he asked, back still turned away from them both.

Gaius finished wrapping Merlin's bruised hand and moved onto Merlin's feet. He dried and wrapped Merlin's ankle while Merlin watched his master stoke the fire. Once pleased with his work, Gaius picked up a potion he had previously put beside the tub. "Here, Merlin, drink this. It will help you sleep."

Merlin grimaced, looking at the greenish vial, but he knew Gaius would never do anything to harm him. Downing it, he looked over to Arthur, who had just stood and was dusting himself off. As Arthur drew closer, he said, "Come on, Merlin, let's get you to bed."

"Your bed?" Merlin questioned as he let Arthur pull him to his feet.

"No, I thought I would let you sleep on the floor," the king sassed, rolling his eyes as he led the younger man towards his bed with Gaius fretting close behind.

"But I—"

"—Shut up, Merlin." Arthur pulled back the covers. "Where else am I going to put you? Just get in."

Merlin turned to look at Arthur, brow furrowed. "But where will you—"

"—Just get in, Merlin," Arthur insisted, irritation cut clear in his forehead.

Finally slipping under the covers, Merlin laid on his good side, back facing the outer edge of the bed. Gaius took care to stuff a pillow between Merlin's legs to keep his right ankle elevated and smoothed the covers back over his ward's midsection. "Goodnight, Merlin. I will check up on you in the morning." Gaius smoothed back some of his ward's damp hair and watched as the young man's eyelid drooped. Within moments of hitting one of Arthur's plush pillows, Merlin fell asleep, his entire body lax into the mattress's embrace.

Sighing in relief, Arthur turned to Gaius. "Do you think he will be alright?" Merlin could not die for him, especially now that he had already lost him once.

"Physically, as long as he rests for the next few weeks, and none of his wounds grow infected, I would imagine so, yes. I am not entirely sure what can be said for his mental wellbeing, but I am afraid only time will tell where that matter is concerned," Gaius answered, looking down at the sleeping boy. "Did he tell you anything about what happened?"

"Not much more than what was apparent," Arthur replied with a sigh. "But for being such a terrible liar, Merlin isn't always forthright, is he?"

Gaius stared at the king, wondering exactly how much he knew. "What do you mean, Sire?"

"Those scars"—Arthur touched the center of his own chest and a side of the small of his back—"They're too pink to have happened before he was in my service. I have no idea how he got them, and I do not understand he could have possibly hidden such things."

"I do not know, either, Sire," Gaius admitted. He was not technically lying; he really did not know how Merlin had gained some of the scars he had. Of course, he figured the sorcerer had gained them during some wild save Camelot and protect the king escapade, but how exactly Merlin had gotten such injuries was beyond him.

The king muttered something along the lines of "self-sacrificing idiot" as he stared at the man laying his bed. Sighing, Arthur concluded, "You should go get some sleep, Gaius. He will be fine here for the rest of the night, and I will get you if needed."

Gaius nodded. "You should as well, Sire. If Camelot is in danger like Merlin has led me to believe, she will need her king."

"I will," Arthur agreed, knowing such a thing was unlikely despite how exhausted he felt. "Goodnight, Gaius."

"Goodnight, Sire." With Arthur's help, Gaius gathered his things, and Arthur escorted him as far as the door, which Arthur locked as soon as the physician had left.

Blowing out all the candles as he went, Arthur moved the chair beside the tub to his own bedside. Sitting on the edge of the chair, Arthur watched as his servant snuffled in his sleep, eyes transfixed in mortification as the flickering firelight shown the deep shadows of Merlin's near-skeletal figure.

Emotion welling up in his throat, the king forced it back down as his eyes prickled. A few tears sneaked past him, and Arthur cursed, wiping away his weakness. Though he was still worried, the relief was overwhelming. Never had he ever been so relieved to hear that someone was planning on murdering him and usurping Camelot than when it had come out of Merlin's mouth.

Completely drained, Arthur sagged onto the unoccupied side of the bed, arms crossed for pillows, and was soothed by the steady rise and fall of Merlin's chest. Before he knew it, he too fell asleep.


Silver morning light peaked around the edges of the king's curtains as a knock sounded on the door. Startled awake, Arthur scrambled upright to the sight of Merlin's still-sleeping face. Not wanting to give his visitor a chance to knock again and draw attention to himself, Arthur sped towards the door.

After unlocking it, he saw Sire Leon standing there before him, eyes portraying his own tiredness. Arthur ushered him inside just past the threshold and closed the door behind them both. "What news?" the king asked.

"Sire, as suspected, Lord Staunton and his knights were scoping out the tunnels you had indicated, making note of their location and the surrounding areas, but there was another..."

"Who?"

Leon took a deep breath and disclosed, "Sire, Lord Agravaine was with them."

End of Chapter 7


A/n: That's it for today, folks! I've been in a writing mood, so let's see if I can actually finish this...Finally. I've definitely got a couple more chapters to go. If you liked this and want more, please subscribe, favorite, and leave me a review! Special thanks to mersan123, DwaejiTokki, Kas3y, parimalik, Guest, Sadie H, skydoe16, afedrigo, and rach2322 for all your lovely, encouraging reviews and PMs! :D

Thanks guys!

~gecko