Chapter Eight

"Gwen's coming home!" Arthur informs him; nerves and happiness mixing together in his stomach, the way only she has ever made him feel.

Merlin smiles at the news even as he curls up against the wall, careful of his back, "Ah, no wonder you're so excited."

Arthur frowns, not because Merlin's wrong which he isn't. Guinevere has been away for so long already, though a day seems too long without her by his side. He misses her laughter and her wisdom given equally and freely. He misses the feel of her in his arms and her hands running through his hair. He misses her and there's a part of him that keeps counting down the hours until she returns home to him.

But.

But Arthur still has trouble breathing when he thinks back to blood and daggers. He still feels paralyzed when the memories come flashing out of nowhere. He still freezes internally when someone mentions Merlin's name. He spends his nights in the antechamber, tending to Merlin's wounds and talking until Merlin finally succumbs to a restless sleep. He jerks awake from nightmares that follow him into the day.

But Arthur is still just as unsure of who he is when he looks into a mirror.

How can he ever pretend that he is fine when all he'll want to do is break down in her arms and let her soothe away his doubts and fears?

"What will I do?"

Merlin just smiles at him, pity and sympathy blending with joy and laughter seamlessly, "You'll do what you always do; you'll love her."

His Guinevere comes home. He holds her in his arms and melts into her embrace and memorizes the color of her eyes as she looks at him, the curve of her lips when she smiles, the way she murmurs his name into his neck.

For a little bit, Arthur doesn't think about daggers and blood and betrayal. For a little bit, Arthur is happy.

"Rise and shine!"

Arthur's eyes snap open—images of chains and blood and a dagger still burned into his vision— his heart pounding painfully fast, his hand automatically reaching for his sword.

"Come on, we've got a big day ahead of us, and we need to get moving if you want to eat before the council meeting."

The curtains are yanked a bit too joyfully away from the window, illuminating the room with the bright morning light. Merlin stands beneath them, idiotic grin in place; his injuries hidden away as if they had never been. But Arthur knows better now.

"Merlin—"

"Merlin!" Gwen squeals and jumps out of bed only to hurl herself at the servant.

Arthur has a horrible vision of Merlin stumbling back, the magic disappearing in the deluge of pain, injuries not yet healed and blood spattered skin visible for all to see, even as his lips curve into a smile while he has to bite back a scream but Arthur's helpless to do anything but watch.

Merlin does stumble back when Gwen reaches him, but he brings his arms up easily and hugs her in return and his smile doesn't waver though Arthur can see, now that he's looking, how he bites the inside of his cheek.

Arthur can't breathe for fear of what will come out of him.

Gwen pulls away first, "Merlin, it's so good to see you!" she gushes and even in his panic, Arthur still can't help but smile at her exuberance, "It's been ages! I thought you'd be there with Arthur when I returned but you weren't and that's okay, of course, but then you weren't there at dinner either and—"

Merlin laughs, interrupting her, "I missed you too, Gwen." Then he pulls her into his arms again, but his eyes find Arthur's and he takes a deep breath meaningfully and nods ever so slightly in Arthur's direction.

Arthur takes the hint and draws in a lungful of air that does nothing to fill the gaping chasm in his heart.

Okay, okay, he can do this. He can do this, nothing's changed. Merlin still needs him and Gwen can't know and Arthur is fine. Really. He takes another breath and knows he should say something, interrupt and make a nuisance of himself in the face of their reunion but...but he doesn't. He just watches them and knows he can't possibly love either of them any more than he already does.

And he knows, once again, that he must find whoever is threatening the safety of his people. The safety of his friend. The safety of his wife. He must stop them before anything worse can happen.

He takes another breath and nods determinedly at Merlin.

Merlin stays by his side the entire day and even knowing the truth, Arthur can't tell that anything is wrong. There is no fever sweat, no pale skin, no blood showing, not even a hint of a bandage peeking through. Arthur knows it's all an illusion, knows that Merlin has hidden it all away with magic and now pretends he's fine while behind that wide smile he's still a mess of pain and infected wounds and a dying body.

It makes Arthur sick even while a part of him is grateful. With Gwen by his side and Merlin behind him Arthur feels complete again; he'd forgotten what that felt like. He'd forgotten how good they make him feel.

Merlin laughs and jokes and serves Arthur without being ordered to and nobody, not even Gwaine now that he's returned notice that not all is as it seems. And Arthur watches and listens and banters because it's what's expected of him but the whole time, he's wondering how many times Merlin has done this and how he has never known.

And when it will all be too much for Merlin and he'll simply drop to the ground, dead.

But Merlin just continues like everything is fine and Arthur follows his example, even though inside he's screaming.

"Arthur, is everything alright?" Guinevere asks him, her eyes crinkled in worry.

He forces a smile, suddenly grateful for all the comportance lessons he learned in his childhood. He wants her to know the truth as much as he wants her to stay oblivious to his disastrous mistakes. "I am now that you're finally home."

She smiles at him even as she playfully swats at his arm, "It wasn't that long of a trip!"

"It felt like an eternity," he counters as he steps closer to her, "Are you telling me you didn't miss me at all?"

"I didn't say that," she says a bit breathlessly.

Another step closer, "So you did miss me?"

She laughs and the sound eases something in his heart, though he can't forget the closed door just a few steps away from them where so many secrets are hidden. "Very much so."

He smiles triumphantly and gathers her up in his arms.

"I'm glad to see that time away didn't interfere with your training," Arthur commends Mordred, pausing in their drills for a moment.

"Sir Gwaine was very adamant we still train, Sire," Mordred offers tentatively.

He's still so shy and so young but Arthur can see how much he's come out of his shell; he smiles more and tries to joke around and Gwaine had reported that he took to every duty with the same determined spirit.

But Merlin doesn't trust him.

It's obvious—has been since they ran into the young druid—by the way he watches him warily and is always so present when Arthur is with Mordred and while Merlin makes a point of befriending each of the knights he has been almost...cold with Mordred.

It hadn't made any sense before and it still doesn't—asking about Mordred is not high on his list of things he needs to talk to Merlin about—but Arthur is more hesitant to trust him now.

Arthur likes Mordred, wants this young man—this druid, whether he still practiced or not, to stand for something, wants to befriend him. But Merlin doesn't trust him and Arthur trusts Merlin.

"Well, that's always a good lesson," Arthur agrees with a smile far less warm than it had been before this whole mess had started, "one I think we should stick to even now."

Arthur brings his sword up once more.

"It is Morgana, isn't it?" Arthur asks but it's not really a question. They can't count anyone else out—Camelot has too many enemies and oh, how Arthur wishes he could change that—but Morgana is the only one that Arthur knows who is so sadistic about it.

Merlin bites his lip and nods, "Yeah."

Arthur should be used to this pain but even after all this time, it still hurts. And in a twisted way he's glad, while he would love to live a life without betrayal, he does not want to imagine never feeling this hurt over something as tragic and as heartbreaking as his sister is.

Still, he wishes she didn't put him in this position where he must plan her death.

"Are you sure this is wise?" he finds himself asking hesitantly. He's on his side near the door watching Merlin worriedly. Merlin who once again has begged Arthur to leave him be, to not tend to his wounds, and now watches Arthur with weary yet still alert eyes.

It's becoming too much of a habit.

Merlin nods, heedless of Arthur's worry, "Of course it is, better for her to not have any idea what's going through our minds."

"But it's not good for you," Arthur argues, the fear and stress over the past events all combining into frustration, not so much with Merlin but with everything. "Being up and about all the time! Being around people where they can jostle you and carrying things that are too heavy and you can trip! When you should be sleeping and not serving me of all things!"

"I am your servant," Merlin says resolutely, that loyalty that has always both intrigued and scared Arthur flashing in his eyes.

He swallows, looks away, looks anywhere but at Merlin. "Why Merlin? Being my servant is nothing to be proud of, lugging around my armor and bringing me food is nothing to be happy about in the morning. Going out on hunts and patrols and battles is nothing...You deserve better."

There's a weighted silence that lasts long enough for Arthur to look up at his friend. He'd expected surprise, worry, maybe even frustration at his confession. He hadn't expected the anger that is written as plain as day in Merlin's eyes, suddenly hard with emotions Arthur can't fathom. He hadn't expected Merlin's fists to be clenched so tightly there's no color whatsoever left in them. He hadn't expected to hear Merlin's teeth grinding together and his eyes to be blazing with fury.

"It's true Merlin," Arthur whispers though a part of him orders himself to stop, stop before Merlin recognizes the truth in his words and leaves Arthur alone.

Merlin takes in even measured breaths, his hands still clenched into tight fists, his eyes still glaring icy daggers at him. "Never ever say that to me again," he demands in a voice as regal as any king's, as commanding as any general's, as dangerous as any sorcerer's.

Arthur looks away again and nods.

He still believes it to be the truth.

The first time Gwen says something with an odd look in her eyes, Arthur's heart breaks.

And for the life of him he can't help but remember walking into a room and seeing her locked in Lancelot's arms, kissing him passionately, with love in her eyes.

Arthur violently shoves the memory away and instead replaces it with his Guinevere turning around in that lake and holding out her hand to him, asking him to forgive and trust her again in that one single gesture. He remembers going to her, the water an obstacle in his way that he pays no heed to; remembers how she threw her arms around him, the way she burrowed her head in his neck, the feel of her heartbroken tears as she cried against him.

He loves her with all his heart, and he will not believe that she would willingly betray him again.

It is yet another reason, on an already too-full list, of why he must put a stop to this nightmare that has become his reality.

"This has to end."

Merlin looks at him and nods once; he doesn't ask for details and Arthur decides for once he's grateful that Merlin has always been able to see through him, "Then let's end it," is all he says.

The plan they come up with is insane at best and suicidal at worst.

"I wanted to let her believe I was dead," Merlin confesses at one point, "but then that didn't work out."

"Why did you want that?" Arthur asks because this at least seems like a safer topic than anything else.

"Well they obviously know I have magic and I'll die to protect you," Merlin answers with a shrug, "But now, I think it's better if we just act like everything is fine. That will throw them off—even if they think you remember what happened they won't understand why I'm still alive and here serving you."

"And not injured," Arthur points out.

Merlin nods, "That might throw them off. And in the meantime, I'll spread rumors that I might be heading off on a journey soon—I won't leave, of course," he hurriedly assures Arthur who sags in relief, "but again they won't be sure what I'm planning." Abruptly he smiles darkly, "And if they do guess I'm just as injured as they think I am—which I'm hoping they will—and I'm hiding it for some reason, they'll be arrogant. They'll think they can get rid me easily."

Arthur shivers and shakes his head, trying to rid his mind of that thought.

"But they'll be wrong," Merlin states with a confidence that Arthur tries to share.

Trying to manipulate Morgana and trapping her is the only way they can possibly survive this, and to do that they have to wait and give her the perfect opportunity to destroy Camelot. Let her come and then, only then, can Arthur keep his kingdom safe.

Under any other circumstances Arthur would stab a million holes through it, but not now. Not with Merlin's magic, not with Gwen's life in the balance, not while his entire kingdom unknowingly depends on him to save them.

Now, the only thing Arthur would change is the timetable, but Merlin has cautioned him to patience and if Merlin can say that while his skin still burns with fever and his wounds still haven't healed then Arthur can be patient as well.

It takes too long.

Merlin sometimes wakes them up and serves them throughout the day, his eyes ever watchful. But other days George serves them, much to Gwen's confusion, and Arthur won't really see Merlin— besides glimpses of him throughout the long days—until after Gwen falls asleep. Then he sneaks into the antechamber where Merlin has cast some sort of spell to keep the sounds inside so nobody can eavesdrop on them and only for a short time before he goes back to his wife.

The days Merlin wakes him up are the days where Arthur spends a great deal of his time watching Merlin, worried about when it will all be too much, when Merlin will succumb to his injuries. Or when Merlin will be fed up with it all and accuse Arthur of all the deeds he has done and leave him alone.

The days when he doesn't see Merlin are the days when Arthur can't breathe, when he aches from the inside and he's so cold, but he can't say anything because he can't let anyone know that he isn't alright.

He just wants it to all end, wants his kingdom to be safe and sound, wants to look at his wife and breathe easily, wants Merlin to not have to hide anything anymore.

But then, then Arthur will try to think about what comes after. After they defeat Morgana, after they're as safe as they ever are, after there's no more danger.

But for the life of him, Arthur can't imagine what comes after.

"Why is Morgana waiting?" Arthur growls angrily, hiding away all the hurt he can't stop feeling, "Why doesn't she just attack and get it over with?"

"I don't know," Merlin answers, his hands playing with a clean rag, "she has to know I'm waiting for her though—she could be using the time to throw me off balance." Merlin sighs again—he does a lot of that these days—and tosses the rag to Arthur, "But there must be something more because she has to know the more time she waits, the more I'll heal."

Arthur raises his eyebrow at him, "Really? Because I haven't seen much evidence of that." None at all, if he's honest; but he doesn't like to dwell on those thoughts.

Merlin opens his mouth then snaps it closed without speaking. His eyes get that faraway look of his, "Maybe that's her plan," he mutters under his breath.

"What?" Arthur snaps dangerously, "I thought you said you would be fine?"

"I will be, but maybe she doesn't think so," Merlin shakes his head then smiles, "something to think about at least." Not something that Arthur wants to think about, but Merlin changes the subject, "Maybe, it's more about the fear and doubt. The longer this goes on, the less we trust each other, the more cracks in the kingdom appear."

Arthur looks at Merlin, pale and trembling and oh so, small, "It that's the case, then it's working."

Merlin doesn't respond to that only adds, "And she's not just waiting, though is she?"

"What do you mean?"

"She's not just gaining information now, she's using people, drawing suspicion to them. The attacks are getting more aggressive."

Arthur nods because he knows it's true; where before it had been hard to tell what was just a bad day and what was her control, it was beginning to be easier to spot the differences.

Fights that are barely stopped before serious damage can be inflicted. Blows that should never have been thrown. Words that should never have been uttered. So far there hasn't been too many, but the incidents are becoming more frequent.

"Maybe she's trying to draw us in," Arthur suggests, "the more this goes on, the angrier I get."

"And the more mistakes we might make," Merlin finishes. "Well, we'll just have to be smarter than she is," he grins and there's an almost feral look to it. Maybe Arthur should be bothered by it; instead, he finds a smile on his own face, dangerous enough to match it.