Friday at last. Don't know about you folks, but I'm happy about the weekend being here. Now don't go looking at me like that, this fic will be updated next on Monday, in the evening. It will come around sooner then you think! So no more pouting!
Meanwhile, I'm plotting an update for another, 'bigger' fic, and chances are it is going to be "The Queen's Fool" ;)
But until that, here's the next chapter. Hope You'll like it.. and it might get boring, but I will say it again: Thank you for your lovely support and all the feedback you give me..
Enjoy~
.*.
He didn't know when he drifted off to sleep, but awoke finding a blanket over him.
It wasn't as comfortable and soft as his own covers, but somehow he liked the rough feel of it. It was warm and it reminded him of the times he fell asleep in the physician's chamber when he got injured. Uther of course hadn't liked the idea, but Arthur never complained. It always felt safe to wake up under such a blanket; along with the myriad of smells of herbs and potions; which at times felt dizzying, but still somewhat soothing.
As he drifted further from childhood recollections, it took his mind a little time to organize his thoughts about where he was and how he got there.
They were captive, it was long, it was cold and painful; then the knights came and they were rescued, then got back to Camelot, then his father had...
Merlin!
Arthur's eyes widened in a sense of urgency and he picked his head up, attempting to glance around, but the room seemed to be a blur of colors and he had to rub his eyes and blink a few times to have his sight serve him the way it should. He looked around frantically, but found the table vacant of his manservant; instead there were piles of bloodied bandages, used cloth, discarded bowls, various sizes and shapes of half empty vials with different colors of tonics in them; jars containing herbs and powders and other suspicious looking things; the mortar along with a cup and a pitcher just on the corner of the physician's workbench.
Weak moans drew his attention further, and as he glanced beyond the table and the things piled on it, he spotted movement right next to the fireplace. Then he recognized the figure, but all he could see from where he was, was the top of Gaius's gray head and hunched back.
For a fleeting moment he felt dread creeping up on him, as he thought the crying noises were coming from the physician, and inevitably his mind drifted; worrying, the unthinkable has happened, while he was sound asleep on the cot, oblivious to the world around him.
He pushed himself up with a rush and ignoring the dizziness, he clumsily got to his feet to have a better view.
Relief washed over him once he spotted the mop of dark hair on a pillow, but the sounds were anything but reassuring, and he figured it out pretty fast of just what was going on: Merlin was fighting a fever.
He stepped closer and saw the myriad of bandages and poultices; of bloodstains and salve; and the once so fair skin was now bruised; angry red and blue, and reality hit him again of just how grim the situation is for the boy. How could his own father do this...? The mere thought echoed in him almost painfully.
Sweat shined off Merlin's bare form, wherever he wasn't covered with something and his heavy slow pants and sluggish moans signaled the battle was a tough one for his already worn-out body. He had both wrists and left ankle bandaged - and Arthur knew they were from the shackles and of him tripping in the forest when they got out; he had a wrap of clean cloth around his right thigh - and the prince knew the wound there came from a sword; the horrible yellow and purple patch on his right shoulder - he got when he got tossed against a wall; each discolored mark and spot on his skin; every scratch and cut - Arthur knew when and how he had received them. The only ones he wasn't sure of were the burn marks, most gruesome of all. Some parts were cleared of the charred skin, leaving wounds; other parts just red and painful looking and the young man felt torn and frozen in place, observing the damage.
Gaius only noticed the prince's waking when he leaned in to change the cold compress on his ward's forehead.
"Arthur! You're awake." He turned to have a better look at the young man and the prince took a few steps towards the physician, a little unsure on his feet then he would have liked, but least he was up, he thought.
„How are you feeling, Sire?" the elderly man asked, sounding as tired as Arthur felt. And the prince noted the old man didn't look any better either. Hair messy and all over the place, Gaius wore a gray old shirt instead of one of his usual robes, which made Arthur wonder just what time it can be.
"I'll be fine." He said with a curt nod and saw the elderly physician attempt a weak smile towards him.
"How is he?"
The physician sighed turning back, once he wringed out the cool cloth and pressed it onto the panting warlock's forehead; then with a quiet and dejected tone he said only as much.
"It's too early to tell."
.*.
To Irene: "Aww" is good :P "aww" says quite a lot actually, and I'm glad it comes around and you like the fic ;)
To "Guest": "Growing Secrets" should have an update around next weekend. :)