I know, I know. I said this was a one-shot. But then 1917farmgirl gave me virtual puppy eyes - and a suggestion - and it triggered an idea. This chapter overlaps the previous one - it's more of a companion to the first chapter than a continuation of it. To be fair, I should warn you: You still won't know what happened to Merlin - my apologies! (Maybe one day either Arthur or Merlin will tell me how Merlin ended up in that cell. But so far they haven't.)
Safe
Arthur Pendragon was rescuing his servant again. Unfair, unfair, his conscience admonished. Merlin had never before needed rescue from any situation that Arthur hadn't dragged him into. The prince brushed the thought aside, even as he knocked the sword out of hands of the unkempt brigand before him.
"Yield," he said icily, "or I run you through."
The man backed up, clearly perfectly willing to surrender, but his gaze flicked to a point behind Arthur's left shoulder. It was enough. Arthur spun to meet the blade that had been descending. He beat it off, and ran the attacker through. Another man charged, howling, but all around, the room was clearing. The battle was nearly won. Men were standing down and surrendering. All of them, in fact, except for the madman in front of Arthur, who apparently hadn't figured out that the battle was over.
Arthur cursed the delay. Merlin was here. He had to be here. "Search them!" He shouted the order. "We need the keys."
Gwaine had already found them. He yanked the keys from a man's belt, sprinting off down the stairway that appeared to lead to the cells even as Arthur was subduing his last opponent. Moments later, Gwaine's call cut through the babble, tight with worry.
"Arthur, get down here! I found Merlin."
Arthur gestured that Elyan and Percival remain, much to their discontent, and beckoned to Leon. They followed the sound of the screech of a rusty cell door opening. By the time Arthur had caught up, the young knight was squatting next to a tattered form curled limply in the middle of a nearly lightless cell. Gwaine reached out hesitantly. He brushed Merlin's hair away from his face and set a gentle hand on Merlin's shoulder.
"Merlin, it's okay, we're here." There was no response.
"Merlin?" Arthur prompted. The light in the cell strengthened a bit as Leon lifted the torch from its bracket back at the base of the stairs and came to the door with it. Now Arthur could see that though Merlin's eyes were partly open, the expression in them was strangely blank, and his gaze didn't seem to be tracking any of the movement around him. Gwaine's worried frown deepened.
"Something's wrong. I don't think he's even seeing us."
Arthur crouched next to Merlin and tried again. "Merlin, can you hear me?" Nothing.
Gwaine had lifted his hand from Merlin's shoulder, and was looking from hand to shoulder in dismay. "He's so cold. And soaking wet."
Wet? The comment prompted Arthur to look around him in the flickering light from the torch in Leon's hand. The view made him wince inwardly. The flagstones were slimy with moisture, and strange lumpy things were growing in the corners. The area around Merlin, particularly, was puddled with moisture, and an overturned bucket, blotchy with mildew, was resting near the door. "Hardly surprising," he responded belatedly. "Look at this place."
But what in the world was wrong with Merlin? Why wasn't he responding? Arthur carefully turned Merlin's head and shoulders, trying to lay him flat. As he uncurled Merlin's limp body, the younger man's torn clothing shifted, baring most of his torso. His stomach and ribs were covered in bruises. Arthur turned Merlin's arms, taking care to keep his grip gentle. Rope burns marred both wrists, and there were fingerprint bruises across one shoulder. He was also far too thin. Merlin had never carried any weight to speak of, but now he was down to nothing. Arthur choked back his own anger as best he could, trying to keep his voice calm for Merlin's sake.
"Curse them. Gwaine, look," he said, pointing out the damage.
Through the furious snarl of the knight's response, Arthur tried one more time to rouse his friend. Calling Merlin's name, he shook the young man firmly enough to be hard to ignore.
The result was unexpected. Merlin flinched. His eyes flew open wide, though he still did not appear to see anything, and he began to struggle to get up, pushing Arthur away and making choked sounds that tore at something in Arthur's chest. Certain that Merlin should not be allowed to try to walk, or even stand, in his present condition, Arthur reached to restrain him. It took several tries, even with Gwaine's help. Merlin, panicking, was stronger than his skinny frame suggested, and the last thing he needed was to be injured further. Even so, after several seconds of careful concerted effort they managed to get Merlin bundled back against Arthur's chest and pinned there, using the absolute minimum of necessary force. Arthur shifted carefully to sit with his back against the wall with Merlin held securely in his arms.
"It's all right, Merlin. I've got you," he reassured quietly in the young man's ear. He pushed down his discomfort at the intimacy of the situation, but still found himself at a loss for any further calming words. Gwaine, with a brief grin that gave Arthur to know he found the prince's inability amusing, hunkered down next to Merlin and took up the task of soothing their agitated friend.
Feeling entirely unqualified for that task anyway, Arthur began thinking of next steps. They needed to get Merlin warm and dry, and carry him to a location in which he could rest safely. Thinking of the needed warmth, he reshuffled Merlin's wrists into one hand for a moment, mindful of the injuries there, and tugged off his cloak with the other. In the moment of his distraction, Merlin twisted one arm free, and Arthur reached to recapture it, trying to keep his grip kind and his words calming. A request to Leon, who was still standing aghast at the entrance of the cell, began the process of acquiring a means to transport Merlin. The cloak would deal with the problem of warmth, at least in a temporary fashion, once they got it wrapped around Merlin. Getting him dry would have to wait until they had shelter.
Arthur had no idea what finally calmed Merlin. Perhaps it was Gwaine's steady flow of reassuring words, or the warmth of the cloak, or even the firm restraint - which was certainly not turning into a comforting embrace, Arthur assured himself. In any case, the young man's struggles slowly subsided and his thin frame relaxed into Arthur's hold. Arthur let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"That's it, Merlin. Rest. You're safe."
-o-o-o-o-o-
Arthur looked around the room yet again. Nothing had changed. Gwaine was still rolled up in a blanket by the fire, presumably asleep, and Merlin was tucked warm and dry in one of the room's two beds. He had neither fully regained consciousness, nor responded coherently to anything that had taken place around him over the last few hours. Arthur refused to acknowledge the churning worry in his gut caused by that fact. Surely Merlin should have started making sense by now.
They had retreated to the nearest town and essentially taken over the inn. The local midwife, who was the closest to a healer the town had to offer, had been summoned. She'd examined Merlin briefly and had timidly observed that he appeared to have been drugged. After recommending rest, warmth, and fluids, she had fled precipitously, clearly somewhat overawed by the presence of royalty.
The two men placed at Arthur's disposal by the innkeeper had provided dry clothing and stoked the fire in Arthur's rooms. They had begun to tend to Merlin; however, Merlin tensed and flinched every time either of them spoke, and Arthur had chosen to dismiss them rather than distress Merlin. This left Merlin's care to Arthur and Gwaine, who carefully stripped off the rest of Merlin's wet clothing and got him reclothed, into bed, and warmly covered. Soon after that, Merlin had slipped into an uneasy, restless sleep from which he had not yet awakened. Arthur had dragged a chair over to Merlin's bedside and watched as Gwaine rolled himself up in a blanket near the fire.
That had been well over an hour ago, and quiet still reigned. Even Gwaine, chatterbox that he was, seemed disinclined to talk. Arthur certainly hadn't had any desire to chat. The process of tending the battered and delirious Merlin had left his insides raw in a way he had no intention of examining. He was desperate to do something strenuously active to clear his head, but at the moment, no such outlet was possible.
As Arthur was casting about mentally for something, anything, to do to at least avoid utter boredom, movement from the bed caught his attention. An arm stirred. The eyelids flickered, revealing glimpses of the bright blue beneath them. A moan passed Merlin's lips, and he mumbled something. Arthur could not make out any words but the tone was distressed. Gwaine must have been sleeping very lightly, or not at all, because he suddenly appeared at the other side of the bed as Merlin began tossing his head wildly from side to side. The young knight turned and sat on the edge of the bed with his back against the headboard and reached down to gently and firmly catch Merlin's rolling head between his hands.
"Easy," he said softly, "Easy. You're safe, Merlin. You're safe. We've got you." He took his gaze from Merlin briefly to slant an unreadable glance at Arthur.
There was something about the way Gwaine said those words and that odd look that unexpectedly triggered curiosity in the part of Arthur's brain that wasn't engaged in trying not to show how uncomfortable he was at seeing Merlin's continued distress and disorientation. You're safe. What was he hearing behind those words?
Merlin twisted, pushing ineffectually at Gwaine's arms, and this time the words were clearer. "No! Arthur, look out!"
This time, Gwaine's glance was a challenge. Come on, it said. Step up.
Arthur stepped up. He caught one flailing arm then the other, pressed them carefully back down, and spoke quietly. "It's alright, Merlin. Just be still. Rest." His voice seemed to settle Merlin a bit. The younger man stopped trying to twist away.
"That's it, Merlin. Easy. You're safe," repeated Gwaine. Merlin's movements continued to subside. When Merlin's eyes drifted shut again, Gwaine released him slowly and Arthur followed suit.
Arthur was missing something. He was sure of it. That certainty was sufficient to push past any reticence he might have felt about the girly-ness of discussing Merlin's emotions.
"Why do you keep telling him he's safe?"
Gwaine's eyebrows shot up. Arthur rolled his eyes.
"Fine. I know he might not feel safe right now - though he should. But I have the impression that you mean more than that when you say it."
Gwaine pressed his lips together for a moment. Arthur waited, keeping his expression expectant and, he hoped, nonjudgmental. After a noticeable pause, the young man responded.
"It's that sunny disposition of his."
It was Arthur's turn to raise his eyebrows, as this made no sense at all. Again he waited.
"Well, it's something I've noticed. Merlin is happy most of the time. Not just content, but actually happy. Relentlessly cheerful. Chirpy, even."
Arthur frowned. "Especially early in the morning. Which makes me want to stuff him headfirst into my wardrobe. But what does that have to do with…"
"I'm getting to that, Princess. Haven't you ever noticed? Really happy people tend to fall into two categories. Either they're so very innocent that they really believe that the world is safe-"
"He's an idiot, but not that much of one."
Gwaine gave him an irritated look and continued as if he'd never been interrupted, "Or they know - really know - that the world is dangerous. They've got every reason to be afraid, but they're brave. So they choose to be happy, enjoy life, and let the fear go."
Arthur chose not to respond immediately, giving the matter the thought it deserved. Did Merlin see the world as being so dangerous all the time? It didn't seem likely to Arthur. Camelot was safe. Not perfect, no, but safe. And living as he did in the citadel, surrounded by the knights and guards, Merlin was as safe as anyone save maybe the king, who slept with a guard at his door. Gwaine must have seen the doubt on his face.
"I don't think Merlin ever really feels safe. I don't know why not - he's never said - but I'm pretty sure I'm right. So especially at times like now, when the world has proved itself to be anything but safe, I think he needs to hear it, and know that there are people willing to protect him.
"Why wouldn't he feel safe? He lives in the castle, for heaven's sake."
"I don't know, Arthur! But it doesn't matter. Whatever he's afraid of, this is Merlin we're talking about."
Gwaine did not seem to think that required any further explanation. He turned and stalked back toward the hearth to scoop up his abandoned blanket from the floor.
As he did so, renewed movement from the bed caught Arthur's eye. Merlin's body tensed, and he struggled to raise his head. This time, though, the blue eyes opened fully. The blank expression that Arthur had privately found so disturbing was gone.
"Arthur?" Merlin's voice was weak, but the question sounded lucid and his eyes had tracked to Arthur's face.
Arthur squashed the impulse to mock him with, "Well spotted, Merlin," and settled for a neutral, "Yes." He set a hand on the younger man's forehead and let the weight press Merlin's head back down. "Lie still, Merlin."
"What-" Merlin interrupted himself to suck in a breath. "You're here. You're actually here."
Arthur took a deep breath and chose to trust Gwaine's judgement. "Look around. I'm here. Gwaine's here. You're safe, Merlin, believe it. Just rest. We'll keep you safe."
Merlin's eyes were closing again even as Arthur spoke, but a smile briefly played across his lips as his body finally relaxed into healing sleep.
Arthur, as he raised his gaze to meet Gwaine's relieved smile, was never quite sure whether or not he really heard a whispered word.
Safe.
.
.
.
I didn't answer any questions. Is it still satisfying? Let me know...