Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

Chapter Twelve

When the rain caught up with them, it came as a deluge. One moment they were riding along, casting nervous glances at the sky, and the next they were drenched, the rain pelting hard enough to hurt. Arthur considered stopping and taking refuge until it passed, but the only shelter he could see was the trees, and the soaked ground below their thin branches told him that their cover wouldn't offer much. They were better off riding a bit farther and trying to find a drier option.

The knights pulled up their hoods and bowed their heads against the rain. After a couple of minutes, Arthur looked over and realized that Merlin didn't have a hood, and hadn't even bothered to close his jacket. He seemed completely unaware that they were caught in a downpour.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much that could be used as a substitute to keep the rain off. Arthur considered pulling his bedroll out, but it would be too large to use easily, and honestly, he didn't want to sleep on a soaked bed. Sighing, he pulled his cape off and pulled up next to Merlin.

"Here!" he yelled over the storm, shoving the pile of red cloth toward him. As king, it was his duty to take care of his people. If someone in their party had to ride without a covering, it would be him.

Merlin stared at him blankly for a moment, as though he didn't understand why Arthur was handing it to him. After a moment, he reached out and took it, fumbling longer than he should to get it fastened around his neck. Arthur tried to get a closer look at him, but it was hard to see anything in the rain, especially now that his face was hidden in the shadows of the hood.

After a few minutes, Arthur spotted a shape ahead; he couldn't be sure, but it looked like a ridge. Relieved to see a promising option for shelter, he resisted the temptation to risk injury by urging his horse along faster.

The reality turned out to be even better than he hoped: not only was there a ridge, but as they rode up, Arthur immediately spotted a cave. He heard Gwaine let out a whoop behind him, and they all hastily climbed down from their horses, rushing inside.

Well, almost all of them. There were only five red capes in front of Arthur where there should have been six, and he turned around to see that Merlin was still on his horse.

"What are you doing?" he yelled, but he wasn't close enough for Merlin to hear him through the storm. He headed back towards him, but before he had taken more than a couple of steps, Merlin's body went slack and he tumbled off the side of the horse.

Arthur raced through the rain, and for the second time that day, crouched beside his servant. Merlin's eyes were open, but unfocused. Whatever was wrong, Arthur decided, they'd have to sort it out in the cave. He grabbed Merlin's bags from the saddle and bent down and lifted him. As soon as he touched him, he could feel the heat radiating from Merlin's body, even through the layers of wet clothes.

"What happened?" Gwaine demanded as Arthur rushed inside. Lancelot grabbed the bags from Arthur, pulling out Merlin's bedroll, and Arthur carefully set Merlin down.

"A fever, I'm guessing. He's burning up." Arthur reached out to touch Merlin's forehead, wincing at the heat.

"I'll try to find some wood for a fire." Percival pulled his cape back on and hurried back out in the rain, Elyan on his heels.

"How could he get this sick this fast?" Gwaine asked, staring down at his friend. Merlin's face was flushed, his eyes glazed over.

"It might be a curse."

Arthur look up sharply at Leon, who was sitting on the other side of the cave, clutching his arm as he watched Merlin.

"He was hit with magic back there," Leon continued grimly. "Who knows what it did to him?"

The idea sat like a physical rock in Arthur's stomach. It made sense. Emrys protected him, at least in theory, but that didn't mean he protected Arthur's friends.

If Arthur ever met Emrys, they would have a discussion about that.

But then another idea occurred to Arthur. "That might be," he admitted, "but he's seemed a bit off all day. Haven't you noticed?"

"He's been quiet," Gwaine agreed. "I didn't think he seemed sick though. I thought he just had something on his mind."

"Merlin?" Lancelot called softly. "Can you hear me?"

Merlin blinked, then slowly turned his head toward the sound of his friend's voice.

"How are you feeling?"

"Not so…" Merlin began shakily, but he couldn't seem to finish. "I think…" he tried again, "I might be sick?"

"Looks that way," Lancelot confirmed, resting his hand on Merlin's head.

Merlin struggled for a moment before speaking again. "My bag. Willow bark…there's a bottle. Tea for fevers."

Arthur pawed through the bag until he found the bottle, and Gwaine grabbed the pot and ran to the entrance of the cave, placing it outside where it could collect some water.

"All right, Merlin. We'll get some tea ready for you. You just rest," Arthur ordered. "I want you well enough to make breakfast tomorrow."

Merlin's lips moved, although Arthur wasn't sure he could properly call it a smile.

"You might need some more herbs," he added vaguely as his eyes closed. "I'll go gather some tomorrow. Just don't tell Arthur I'm at the tavern."

Lancelot and Arthur shared a worried look.

A few minutes later, Percival and Elyan came back with armloads of wood.

"It's the driest I could find," Elyan apologized, "but it's still soaked."

"We'll make it work," Arthur said, digging through Merlin's bag for the flint.

He tried to light it. He must have tried twenty times before sitting back on his heels and running his hand through his hair in frustration. The wood was completely soaked, but they needed a fire. Merlin needed a fire.

Then, inexplicably, the wood roared to life.

"I guess a stray spark must have gotten down in there and caught," Gwaine said as he hung the pot of the water over the blazing fire, although he didn't sound convinced.

"Must have," Arthur agreed with a wary look at the fire. It was the only explanation.

Lancelot jumped when the flames caught, then glanced down worriedly at Merlin. He saw the tail end of the glow fading from his eyes and did a quick inventory of the group. Fortunately, everyone was staring at the fire, and - for the first time since Arthur had carried his servant in - no one was paying attention to Merlin.

Lancelot leaned down close to his friend and whispered, "Careful, Merlin. You can't do that." He kept his voice so quiet that he wasn't sure Merlin could even hear him; but then again, Merlin was so out of it that Lancelot wasn't sure he'd have heard him anyway.

He wished Merlin had said which jar contained a sedative, if any. After all these years of secrets, he couldn't imagine Merlin's devastation if Arthur found out because he carelessly did magic in a fit of illness.

"All right, everyone," Arthur said once he and Lancelot had gotten some of the tea into Merlin. "Get some sleep. I'll stay up with him and take first watch."

"No," Lancelot said quickly, and Arthur raised his eyebrows. "I'm not tired," he added. "Honestly, I couldn't sleep right now anyway. I'll take first watch." Who knew what Merlin would do in this fevered state?

Arthur sighed. "Fine. Wake me in a few hours and I'll take over."

"Of course."

He would wake Arthur once he was sure Merlin was fully asleep. As long as his friend was awake or restless, Lancelot couldn't risk leaving him alone with anyone else.

It didn't burn anymore. Not like it did, at least.

In the beginning, Merlin felt like the magic from the blast was searing him from the inside out as he fought against it. Then it quickly faded as his own magic triumphed, leaving behind an almost pleasant warmth. He could still feel the excess magic swishing around inside his body, as though he had drunk too much water too quickly, and he could feel his own magic defending itself, purging the remnants of the tainted magic from his body. But it didn't feel scary. It was a campfire, boiling away the excess, instead of an inferno destroying everything around it. As Merlin tended Leon's injuries, he truly thought he was fine. Or quickly on his way to being fine, at least.

And then at some point after that, he realized he didn't really feel it anymore. Actually, he didn't really feel anything. He was on a horse, but he didn't know where they were. And Arthur rode beside him, yelling at him as he shoved something his direction.

His cape. Why would Arthur give him his cape?

And that's when Merlin realized it was raining.

It's also when he realized that something was very wrong.

He would wait until they stopped, he decided. Then he would tell Arthur there was something not quite right with him. He wasn't sure what he would tell him though; he couldn't very well say the magic from the temple had attacked his own magic. If he just told him the magic from the temple made him ill, would it raise suspicion? And even if it didn't, would it feed Arthur's belief that magic was inherently evil?

Or did any of this have anything to do with magic or the temple in the first place? He hadn't felt well that morning, after all. He'd woken feeling tired and achy.

Merlin tried to think it through, but he could only get a couple of thoughts in before his mind went blank each time.

And then he didn't think about anything at all.