Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, his property, his friends or his enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.
"What do you remember, Arthur?" he asks, scared of the answer.
Arthur frowns and tilts his head to one side. He eyes Merlin cautiously out of the corner of his eye. "A fight?" he suggests uncertainly. "You. Me. A forest." He stops and turns his full attention back to his servant. "We lost," he states. "I remember that bit. But after that…" and he trails off, apparently lost in thought.
Merlin picks up the prince's arm again, determined not to let Arthur read his face. He's in a quandary now. He had intended to come here, find Arthur, reassure the prince of his everlasting loyalty in the face of adversity and be on his way. But now? Now he can't possibly leave Camelot's heir to the mercies of Drudwyn's 'care'.
He bites his lower lip as he tends to the burn on Arthur's arm, trying desperately not to cause any more pain than exists already but even so Arthur hisses and closes his eyes. Merlin wonders if he'd notice a little magical healing but just as he's about to try it, Arthur's eyes snap open again and he bolts upright.
"We're in Escetia!" he exclaims, a horrified look on his face. "Merlin! We're in Escetia!"
"Um, yes," Merlin agrees, wondering how long he's got till they're interrupted.
"We need to get out of here," the prince continues, seemingly oblivious to his current situation. "Fetch Leon and Gwaine," he orders and Merlin's heart sinks. Just when he thought Arthur was coming to his senses the veil of confusion has fallen again and they're back where they started. Almost.
"They're not here, Arthur," Merlin informs the prince gently.
"Not here? Where are they then?"
"We were ambushed, Arthur. We were on a mission, just the two of us."
Arthur snorts and it's the closest to himself Merlin has heard him since he found him. "Well," he puffs, "that would explain why we lost. Still, they must be on their way by now." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "How long have we been here?"
Merlin's not sure how to answer that one. The truth might just push Arthur over the edge of sensibility he's hovering on but a fabrication may well come back and bite him on the backside in the future. Arthur doesn't like being lied to, whatever the circumstances and he can hold a grudge with the best of them.
But Merlin's saved from his dilemma by a commotion in the corridor outside the door.
"Doesn't matter," he tells the prince. "We have to go. Now. Can you walk?"
He's relieved to see the almost sneer cross Arthur's face. "Of course I can walk, Merlin. I'm not a baby," and he swings his legs over to the side and starts to rise. He almost makes it. Merlin's inwardly impressed by the determination and effort Arthur puts into it before swaying dangerously from side to side, culminating in a full slide to the ground.
Merlin sighs benevolently and offers the prince his hand. Arthur glares at it as if Merlin has just committed the most heinous crime imaginable and tries to raise himself off the floor alone. And fails. Again.
"Stop being so pig-headed," Merlin sighs and grabs his elbows, pulling the prince upright and wrapping Arthur's arm round his shoulders for support. "We need to get out here," he reiterates. "We haven't got time for any of your stupid heroics."
"They're not stupid," Arthur mutters, sounding to Merlin all the world like a petulant toddler. But he accepts Merlin's help anyway this time.
Somehow, and Merlin's not entirely sure how, the warlock manages to manoeuvre them to the door. If someone were to see them now, he muses, they couldn't be blamed for thinking there was a new, bizarre dance craze sweeping the kingdom. Arthur's weight rests comfortably by his side and he wonders when this became an accepted routine for them. He risks a look up at the prince and isn't really surprised to see his eyes have drifted shut again.
He nudges Arthur gently and when he has his attention again the warlock waves vaguely at the door with his free hand.
"We need to go out there," he informs Arthur.
"Well, let's go then," Arthur replies, struggling to free himself from Merlin's grip and reaching for the door handle.
"No," Merlin tells him, pulling the prince's hand away from the door. "There are too many people out there. We need to be careful."
"Merlin, it's the middle of the night. I think. Who in their right mind would be wandering around at this time?"
Merlin shuffles his feet and looks down. "I'm not really supposed to be here," he admits quietly. "I think they might have realised I'm not where I should be."
He waits for Arthur's reply, steeling himself for the rebuke he knows is coming. Except it doesn't.
Arthur just laughs softly and leans a little more heavily into Merlin. "When are you ever where you're meant to be?"
Merlin nods, a wry acknowledgement of the truth in the prince's words and props Arthur against the wall. He wonders what he should do next. This is where Arthur normally takes charge, allows the knight in him to take centre stage. But looking at the prince now, Merlin can only see slight vestiges of the knight within and it's a disconcerting feeling to realise the only person capable of leadership right now is him.
He takes a deep breath and bites his lower lip. "Right," he said, determination that he doesn't feel lacing his words. "This is what we'll do. You stay here while I check the hallways and I'll come back for you. Okay?"
He already has his hand on the door handle, half turned away from Arthur when the prince lays his own hand over Merlin's.
"You're a manservant," he mutters. "You should wait here. I'll go first."
Merlin isn't surprised at the display of, admittedly misplaced, honour. Arthur's hand is shaking ever so slightly and the warlock isn't convinced he could actually open the door unaided, let alone walk through it.
There is, Merlin decides, a time for negotiation and a time for action. This, he concludes, is a time for action.
"No," he objects, forcibly removing Arthur's restraining hand and placing it gently by the prince's side. "We haven't got time," and he turns his back on his companion. He listens for a second or two then turns the handle slowly, easing the door open.
For a moment he wonders if he should worry about Arthur's acquiescence but then, hearing a disturbance from further down the hall thoughts of subservience flee his head and his focus becomes solely how to get the prince of Camelot out of this particular sticky situation.
He slides out of the physician's chamber, holding a warning arm out to Arthur, hoping the knight in him, at least, will follow orders and stay put. For one brief, heart-warming second he thinks Arthur is going to play along. But the best laid plans always go astray and he can feel the instant the prince decides he needs to be in command.
He's too late to stop Arthur bursting into passage next to him, sword held tightly in his hand, wavering from side to side dangerously. Merlin wonders where he managed to find the weapon and it only takes a glance for the warlock to know it's not Arthur's. When he has the luxury of time, he thinks, he'll replay their interactions in the physician's chambers to see if he can work out how Arthur managed to procure a sword.
Not now though.
For now he has more pressing matters to hand. Like trying to put a stop to the foolhardy flight of Camelot's heir as he realises he now has a rear view of the prince when really he would much prefer to have him safely tucked behind him.
It's too late for wishes now though and as Merlin follows the blond head down the corridor, he marvels at the steadiness of the man in front. The sure-footedness of his progress. The steely determination in his step. The increasingly secure grip he has on the sword.
For a minute, one glorious minute, Merlin fools himself into believing that Arthur – his Arthur – is back and in command.
But then the prince reaches the turn of the passageway and all hell breaks loose.