Chapter Nine
Each day that passes with nothing to show for it leaves Arthur furious.
He burns with the need to do something. He needs to save his people, needs to combat the enemy, needs to keep his lands safe. He needs to do something, anything.
Anything except sit back and watch, waiting for the right time to strike. Anything except simply analyzing everything everyone around him does or says. Anything except continue to speculate on why Morgana was waiting, on when she would fully attack, on what her plans might be.
Anything except watch Merlin; he doesn't get worse, but he doesn't get any better either and when Arthur confronts him about it he simply shrugs and says it's just a matter of time before he gets better.
Anything except wait.
"Why are you so good at this?" Arthur growls at Merlin, his hands clenched into fists, anger burning through him like an inferno that cannot be quenched while he watches Thomas disappear into his house. The villager had almost hit his child in a fit of unreasonable rage before Arthur had stopped him. But Thomas' anger had disappeared as soon as Arthur had grabbed his fist and confusion had settled in. And the guilt. Apologies had poured from his mouth like an overturned bucket and he wept in shame when he looked at his little girl.
Merlin brushes his hand against Arthur's fist; a brief touch that Arthur almost thinks he imagines except for the burning heat of Merlin's skin, a reminder that they're in public and Arthur needs to hold it all together. "Just a little longer, Sire."
Arthur can't contain the anger boiling inside but he heeds Merlin's caution. Instead of futilely fighting an enemy he can't see he heads to the training fields and demolishes the training dummy while Merlin disappears to wherever he goes when he's not with Arthur.
"Everything alright there, mate?" Gwaine asks and though he's smiling there's concern in his eyes.
He's not the only one. Leon who is supervising some new trainees keeps shooting glances over at him and Percival watches him carefully from the sidelines as if ready to step in at any moment and even Mordred is looking his way with a frown on his face.
And Arthur is tempted to tell them everything. To let his guilt and his doubts and anger and his shame slip out into their waiting ears. To confess everything; every bruise and broken bone and lie and every drop of blood that Merlin has shed because of him. For him. To just let it all go.
Arthur opens his mouth, ready to give up then snaps it closed. He can't betray Merlin. He can't let them know. Arthur promised he wouldn't. He can't release this burden into the air. Not yet, at least. Not until Merlin says he can.
"Yeah, everything's fine," he says gruffly but the concern in Gwaine's eyes only grows so Arthur adds, "It's just this visit with Lord Elynard coming up."
Which isn't true at all because Lord Elynard isn't a problem in Arthur's book; he had always loved Arthur as a child and had been one of Camelot's avid supporters since Arthur's coronation but it's the first thing that he thinks of and he doubts Gwaine really knows by name which lords actually love Arthur and which ones only pretend to.
"You'll win him over," Gwaine replies, his shoulders relaxing a bit, a mischievous smile on his lips, "Or at the least, I'll win him over for you."
"No thanks, I'd like him to still be able to walk in a straight line when he leaves," Arthur answers dryly.
"Ah, you're no fun!"
Arthur laughs. It's not enough, he knows, they're still be watching him carefully, but he hopes it will keep them all safe a bit longer.
"I've had to learn my own share of patience," Merlin confides in him that night, his eyes refusing to meet Arthur's which means that he's sharing something he's not proud of or something Arthur won't like. Or both.
Arthur frowns at him trying to understand where this is coming from, but Merlin continues before he can ask. "You asked me why I'm good at waiting this afternoon. The truth is...I'm not good. I want to get out there and put a stop to whatever is going on. I want to keep everyone safe and alive and if I can do that before they even realize something is wrong then even better," Merlin shakes his head and smiles that sad smile that Arthur is starting to see so much of—that sad smile he thinks he hates, "I want to do something besides waiting just as much as you do."
His hands clench the same way Arthur's had in the town and Arthur follows the movement, wary of interrupting whatever Merlin has on his mind.
"But I've had to learn to wait. Sometimes jumping into a situation can only lead to more danger. And death," he shrugs and tries to smile lightly but it doesn't touch the darkness in his eyes, "Sometimes, no matter how hard it is, waiting is the best option."
Arthur wants to tell him he understands, wants to comfort him, to remind him that he's not alone this time but he doesn't. Nothing he can say will be of any comfort. So instead he nods and lets the matter drop.
For now.
Arthur hadn't been worried about Lord Elynard's visit. He should have been.
It started like any other visit; Camelot's finest nobles and knights greet them in the courtyard. Merlin, who insists on being there despite Arthur's protests, stands behind the king, a picture of a perfect and healthy servant. The dinner goes well, Arthur even enjoys the conversation and Gwen seems to get along with Lady Michelle. The guests retire early to their rooms, weary from their long journey without any arguments taking place.
The negotiations go well, there being not much to negotiate. Arthur spends most of his time simply conversing with Elynard and discussing some of the fine print of the treaty. Elynard signs the papers and suggests, like always, going on a hunt to celebrate their continued alliance. And Arthur like he always does—though this time he has a horrible vision of Merlin dying while he is away—agrees.
Which, according to Merlin, was an absolutely ridiculous thing to do.
In all fairness he also says he's an idiot for not being there to talk Arthur out of agreeing to such an idiotic plan. He says a lot about it actually; interspersing a dozen variations of 'prat' and 'clotpole', he complains about the lack of wisdom and did Arthur really think hunting was the best option right now all without taking a breath.
It's the most animated Arthur's seen him since before he had been tortured and he listens to it all with fond annoyance. And when eventually Merlin stops talking in favor of simply glaring at him, Arthur asks calmly enough, "Okay, so why shouldn't I go hunting—like I always do with Lord Elynard?"
Merlin looks at him in shock then bursts out, "Well, I don't know! Maybe because Morgana who wants to hurt us and most certainly kill us, is out there controlling people's minds! Maybe because she or anyone of her supporters could have slipped in with Elynard's people and is waiting to ambush you on your traditional hunt! Maybe because even if they didn't come with them, somebody wants to kill you, can use literally anyone to do it and a hunt is such perfect time to do it, don't you think!"
Okay.
So, Arthur should maybe have possibly thought this through a little bit more but in his defense he was just trying to keep things as normal as possible like he was supposed to. Should it have occurred to him this was a trap? Absolutely. A king should always consider such things before they agree to anything, but Arthur feels like his lapse is justified. Not that he thinks Merlin will see it that way.
"Well, I'll just be careful, of course," he says, his mind jumping ahead. He'll have to watch everyone at all times. He won't be able to trust his knights or servants because any one of them could be taken over at any time. He'll have to—
"Unless we just wanted to make it any easier on them," Merlin interrupts sarcastically, "Of course, we'll have to be careful, Arthur!"
"I will be careful. You are, of course, not going," Arthur points out sternly.
Merlin cocks his head, "Excuse me?"
"Merlin, just because you use your—your magic to hide all your various injuries away and just because you smile and pretend everything is fine does not make you alright!" Arthur's voice rises as he talks because he can't stop thinking about Merlin coming and dying and all because Arthur had agreed to this stupid hunt, "You can't go because you're dying!"
"And you might die if I don't go!" Merlin growls, his eyes flashing dangerously.
"And you might die if you do go!"
"It won't matter if I live and you die," Merlin declares quietly and Author swallows at the loyalty, ready to combat his statement—now who's being ridiculous?—but Merlin keeps going before he has a chance, "And if I go and die it will be worth it as long as you live."
The statement stops Arthur in his tracks. It's not that Merlin hasn't said such things before, hasn't meant them before; it's that now Arthur knows the depth of Merlin's loyalty. Knows that Merlin could be so much more than he chooses to be and yet still he is willing to die in place of Arthur. It's that now Arthur has to wonder how many times Merlin has thrown himself in death's hold just so Arthur would live. It's that now Arthur wonders how little Merlin's life means to himself and how much value he puts in his king's and why.
"That's not true," Arthur whispers, his voice threaded with horror. "Merlin, that is not true."
"Arthur, you are worth far more than my life."
Arthur has had plenty of opportunities over the years to imagine having to live with Merlin's death on his conscience—not because his hand wielded the weapon, he'd never imagined such a horrible future—but a weapon aimed at Arthur yet instead found Merlin's body. A poison meant for Arthur's lips that was swallowed by his servant instead. A doracha that screamed for Arthur's sacrifice and found Merlin's light. A mace that pierced Merlin's heart. An arrow. A fire. A dagger. It didn't matter however it ended; Arthur still couldn't accept a life where he had to live with the knowledge that Merlin had died for him.
"And you, Merlin, are worth far more than my own life!" Arthur snaps and he can hear the cloying emotion in his voice.
So does Merlin.
He stares at Arthur in disbelief, his own voice silent. Then he closes his eyes and bottles emotions Arthur will never understand away, "I'm not, Arthur, I am really not. Please, don't ever put that to the test."
"It is true and you're not going," he knows Merlin can be stubborn, but this is one argument he has no intention of losing. "I will not risk your life," And then because Merlin still looks defiant, he adds with as much sincerity as is in him, "I can't lose you."
Arthur goes on the hunt. Merlin does not.
He can find no solace in the victory because he is suddenly remembering all the other times that he's ordered Merlin to stay behind and Merlin disobeying and following anyway. Maybe, he should have let him come just so he knows where he is but that sounds too much like paranoia and Arthur pushes it away.
He still worries.
The hunt holds no enjoyment for him, not today. Today, he is more focused on keeping track of every weapon around him, where everyone is, any semblance of an ambush. He focuses on words and looks more than the tracks and sounds of the deer they're hunting. And still, still he must smile and laugh and converse and pretend that there is nothing wrong.
There's a moment when Arthur senses that he's being watched and when he looks behind, Mordred has his crossbow trained on his back.
Arthur narrows his eyes, tenses in readiness, prepares his defense, tries to figure out how he'll fight without hurting the young knight.
It's the longest moment of his life while he waits for his knight to take the killing shot. But the moment ends as suddenly as it had begun, and the weapon is lowered. Mordred shakes his head in confusion, his eyes dark with tension. "Sire?"
Arthur breathes a sigh of relief.
The hunt can't end fast enough but for all that they end up with a nice catch and if anybody notices Arthur's tenseness, they don't comment on it.
When they finally return to the citadel it's night and Guinevere only stays awake long enough to kiss him goodnight and congratulate him with a sleepy smile before she falls into bed.
But when Arthur closes the door to the small room Merlin isn't there.
Arthur's heart stops.
"Merlin?" He calls, hoping that his servant is there just hiding behind an illusion—yet another mask of his—even though he hasn't been since Arthur panicked the last time, he hadn't found him.
There's no answer.
Arthur falls to his knees, struggling to breathe. He's cold all over and he can feel everything crashing down around him.
Had Merlin followed him today? Had Merlin fallen along the way because he couldn't keep his balance when he was healthy let alone when he was dying? He recalls Mordred being enchanted—had Merlin done something then? Had Merlin died saving Arthur and he didn't even know?
Pull yourself together, he commands himself, but his limbs won't obey him, Merlin needs you. And he has to get up now because he has to help Merlin...
But how can he even find him? How can he even begin to search for him? He can't even have the knights and the guards help because Morgana is still using them as weapons and might just kill Merlin even if they do somehow find him.
Panic catches hold of Arthur and he can't move.
Can't think.
Can't breathe.
He might have stayed like that until he passed out, until death found him, but the door opens almost silently and he's aware of a hand falling on his shoulder, "Arthur?"
And he can move again; he gulps in lungful's of air and stumbles to his feet, turning to grip Merlin's arms with shaking hands to prove that he is there and breathing and real.
"Arthur!" Merlin has streaks of blood in his hair and mud underneath his nails, but he looks at Arthur in concern. "Arthur, it's okay. Just sit down, let's just sit for a moment. Can you do that?"
He nods numbly but he doesn't let go of his servant; he can't yet, can't force himself to move his frozen hands away lest Merlin disappear like a dream. They slide to the ground and Merlin croons to him gently, as if to a small child, "Arthur, it's alright, I'm here. I'm here, I'm sorry, I meant to be back before you did but you know how I am—I lost track of time," his voice is soft and soothing and he holds Arthur's gaze with bright eyes, "But I'm here now, it's alright. I'm not going anywhere," his fingers slowly start to move back and forth on Arthur's arms, a calming distraction that Arthur focuses on gratefully.
Arthur isn't sure how long this goes on before he's finally able to push words past frozen lips, "You followed me."
Merlin smiles; it's not bright or sad or any of the other complicated emotions he normally puts into his smiles, it's more surprise than anything, "I wanted to. I even planned on it," he admits with no shame, "and then I didn't." He looks rather annoyed and stunned as he says this, as if he can't quite believe it himself.
"There's mud on your hands."
Merlin glances down not at his own hands but at Arthur's still gripping Merlin's arms and he doesn't hesitate to reply, "I did leave the citadel, but I didn't follow you. You ordered me not to—"
"You've disobeyed me before," Arthur points out, not sure what to believe. He wants to believe what Merlin is telling him, but he remembers that Merlin has lied to him the entire time they've known each other without Arthur even suspecting.
"I have but this time...well, it's different now, isn't it?" Merlin shrugs, "I won't deny that I wasn't going to but...you said you trusted me, and I can't—I won't break that trust, Arthur. Not again. And you commanded me not to go with you. So, I didn't. But the longer you were gone the more I worried and the more worried I got the more I needed to find you. I—I had to do something to distract myself so that I wouldn't follow you."
"What did you do?"
"I picked some herbs with Gaius. And if you think I'm lying—I don't blame you, of course, how can I?—but you can ask Gaius and the guards at the gate. We stayed close enough to the citadel that there are lots of witnesses."
"And the blood?"
At that Merlin just shrugs helplessly, "Oh that, one of the villagers had an accident and I was helping Gaius tend to him. That's actually why I was so late, and I wasn't...well, here."
Arthur won't deny that he's tempted to seek out some of these people Merlin has mentioned but something about the way Merlin says all of this makes Arthur certain he won't. Something resigned. And not for the first time Arthur knows that Merlin regrets his years of deception as much as Arthur does, if not more.
But he has to be sure. "You just let me go?"
Merlin sighs, again, his eyes full of that sadness that Arthur has only ever caught glimpses of, "Look Arthur, I can't really believe it myself but yes, I let you go on this stupid hunt all by yourself. Because you're right. You need me to help you find Morgana and stop her—so dying before then won't be helpful to you."
That isn't what Arthur had said at all and he needs to find the words to say that and make Merlin understand what he had meant but Merlin, heedless or oblivious to Arthur's horror, just goes on, "And I wanted to show you that trust goes both ways. So... I trusted you to take care of yourself. And I stayed behind."
And Arthur believes him.
Merlin may have lied and misled and deceived Arthur but now, now that he is able to tell Arthur the truth, now that he is free to tell Arthur everything, he isn't going to treat that lightly. Merlin will treat it like a precious gift that might break at any moment.
Just as Arthur will not risk Merlin's life, Merlin will not risk Arthur's trust again.
Arthur finally drops his hands. Merlin is here and he isn't going anywhere.
"And you came back—you didn't need me after all!" Merlin says this brightly with pride shining from his eyes as if Arthur had done something amazing instead of simply survived.
"I did," he says, shaking his head—he'll always need Merlin.
"I do," he adds at the same time that Merlin apologizes, "I'm sorry I wasn't here, I really did mean to be."
"I know. I was just scared," he didn't used to admit to his feelings so easily, he thinks, but it feels wrong to keep them in, he's not sure he even knows how to when it comes to Merlin or Gwen.
Merlin grips his shoulder and promises in a determined voice, "We're going to be fine, Arthur."
And Arthur does his very best to believe him in this as well.
"Sire, might I have a word?"
Oh no, not again. But Arthur plasters on a smile and gestures for Mordred to walk with him, "What can I do for you?"
"I was wondering, Sire, about Merlin," Mordred begins hesitantly, glancing over at him with an unreadable expression, "He seems...unwell but nobody else appears to be worried about him."
Arthur isn't sure if there's actually a question in there; he takes a deep breath, trying to mask the tension he can feel spreading through his body, trying to pretend that everything is normal, trying to pretend that he isn't terrified himself of Merlin's condition, "We're not."
Mordred stills and looks at him in surprise, "I'm sorry, Sire, but I think he might be ill!" he protests.
And normally Arthur would be pleased by him noticing and caring enough to bring the matter to Arthur but...but there's something almost insincere in Morderd's piercing gaze and while he knew the other knights thought Merlin was tired they hadn't said anything about him being 'unwell'. And none of them, and certainly not Gwaine would be quiet about it if they thought otherwise.
And Merlin didn't trust Mordred.
"Believe me," Arthur says flippantly, "if Merlin were sick, he'd never shut up about it—he'd be driving me crazier than he already is—he's not one to suffer silently."
Arthur has no idea why he says this—it's not even true, quite aside from whatever injuries Merlin has sustained in protecting Arthur behind his back, Merlin was not prone to complaining about being unwell but instead pretended it away as if not talking about it made it not real. Which is a bit funny really, because Merlin had no such qualms about complaining over all the little things in life but apparently his own health was not something he put much stock in. But Arthur doesn't like this conversation and he doesn't trust Mordred's intentions and while it had started out because of Merlin, he's beginning to have his own doubts about Mordred.
"Isn't he?" Mordred murmurs almost as if to himself but Arthur can't quite let it go.
"And you're such a close friend to Merlin now, are you?" he asks with a raised eyebrow and steel in his voice.
Mordred doesn't look away but his jaw clenches and Arthur can see his hands form into fists, "No, I just...I was worried about him. That's all. Sire."
"Trust me," Arthur replies, "There's nothing to worry about. Merlin is fine."
"Gaius knows something is wrong," Merlin informs him while Arthur looks at his back, trying to decide how to treat the lash marks that are still red and swollen even after all this time.
Arthur frowns; the words washing over him more than anything because Merlin tends to talk a lot when Arthur messes with his back and he isn't certain if it's to distract himself from the pain or if he's trying to remind himself that Arthur won't hurt him anymore. Arthur will never ask him that though; he is not strong enough to face the answer, whatever it may be.
He looks over at their supplies; fully stocked because Merlin brings herbs and bandages and other things that Arthur still isn't sure what are back with him. Or at least, Arthur assumes so, they're there at night when he comes in though he's never actually seen Merlin carry them in. It's not the amount of supplies he's worried about though it's that they don't seem to be working.
When they're alone and Merlin lets the illusion fall away; Merlin's skin still burns like fire, his eyes are bright with fever, and his skin is still a deathly shade of white. His injuries still break and bleed and reek of infection. He's still dying no matter how okay he seems to be.
And Arthur is scared, so scared because he's certain that Merlin is only keeping himself alive through his magic—and Arthur will accept it just for that alone—but what happens when it runs out? When he gets too tired to keep a hold of it? What happens if Merlin's magic gets distracted? What happens when Morgana reveals herself and Merlin has to fight?
Is Arthur even helping him or just prolonging his misery?
"He talks about it when I'm with him," Merlin continues, oblivious to Arthur's distracted thoughts, "Not about me—I don't think he suspects anything there. Just, he's started to notice odd things around too—not as much as you but a few people here and there. From I can put together, it's not all at once. It's just one person at a time and never for long."
Arthur spreads some salve that Merlin had earlier mixed together over the marks and Merlin hisses in pain then rushes on, "Just like you though, they don't remember the things they've said or did and if they do, it's like through a haze. Like they were dreaming and aren't quite sure what's real from what I can tell. I'm not really sure how much they're aware of—it's probably for the best—" he cuts off with a gasp and Arthur has seen this enough to snatch his hands away immediately.
He instinctively takes a step back, tries to put distance between himself and Merlin—not because he's afraid of what Merlin will do to him but because he can never again forget that it was his hands that had inflicted these wounds.
Merlin takes several deep breaths; forces his muscles to relax; opens his eyes again. When he's gained control of himself once more, he gestures to Arthur, "It's okay now, I'll be fine," he mutters in a tense voice.
Arthur knows enough not to argue. He steps forward and continues spreading the ointment with shaking hands.
"Anyway, I have Gaius telling me what he can. And the knights and the servants."
Arthur can't say he's even surprised by that snippet of information, "Is that where you run off to when you're not with me?" he manages if only to keep Merlin talking.
"Yeah, pretty much," Merlin replies, his voice getting weaker the longer his back is exposed to the open air, "But, if you're wondering, they haven't noticed anything odd about you."
Arthur pauses, "That can't be, they're worried about me—I can tell."
"Well, yeah, but I told them I was handling that—it's nothing to do with what's going on," Merlin huffs as if he thinks Arthur should have known that already, "I'm pretty certain they believe me."
"And why would you do that?" Arthur whispers angrily though not for the reasons he should be. Not because of the lies Merlin must have told but more because he suspects Merlin's reasoning behind the deception.
Merlin twists so he can look at him, ignoring the pain from his bruised neck, "Because I don't want her to know that you're aware of what's going on any more than they do. I want her to be surprised when you know just as much as I do"
Arthur stares at him then gently pushes him back down so he can continue his treatment, "And you're certain she's working on her own?" He decides to say instead of all the other words that want to tumble out.
Merlin hesitates then nods, "Morgana's the only one I know of that would go through such lengths and take so much time to destroy us like this—slowly and with such prejudice. And she's powerful enough to do it—all she needs is the right spell."
"Do you know the spell she's using?" Arthur asks incredulously and though he tries to keep the revulsion he feels out of his voice it leaks through anyway. It's not something he's really thought of, just what type of magic Merlin knows and uses. Does Merlin use the dark types of magic—and how far Arthur's come, because a few years ago he would have said all magic was dark—but no, no, he can't imagine Merlin using such things to hurt people just because he has the power.
But to protect Arthur? He has no trouble imagining Merlin turning to that for him.
Merlin who must surely feel the tense muscles in Arthur's hands, must hear the horror in his voice doesn't curl up in shame, he only shakes his head. "No, I don't know the spell she's using."
And Arthur can't help his sigh of relief, can't help but sag from the sudden burden lifting, can't help but smile because, of course, Merlin doesn't know how to use such dark magic.
"But I think I know the type of spell it is—I did actually read about it in a book this time—and that's why she's limited to one person at a time," he pauses for a moment, "that's something we can use to our advantage."
"You seem quite certain."
Merlin shrugs, "Well, we have to be sure," then his voice darkens into something more prophetic and Arthur wonders if he's even aware of the change, "I have a feeling we won't have to wait much longer."
And though he wants this to be over, though he still burns with the need to do something, Arthur can't help but shiver.