HELLO! I don't expect you to forgive me. I haven't updated in an unbearably long time, and there are no excuses, not even the start of a new semester at school, which has kept me disgustingly busy. I hope I can make it up to you by extending this story! Hurray! I'll be posting another chapter soon (honestly), and I believe it will be the last. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated! Enjoy, lovely people, and thank you for all the comments you've given to me about this work so far. It means the world.

I do not own these characters.

P.S. I thought this would be interesting to look at from Gaius' angle. He's such a softy.

It had been the most terrifying sight he had ever beheld. Gaius was not a coward, but he also wasn't incapable of admitting to his own fear. And this...this was real fear. Raw and real.

Merlin looked dead.

Gaius had never seen anything like it before. Even in his sleep, Merlin was a piece of work. For God's sake, when he had been poisoned he had never stopped moving.

After allowing the initial shock of seeing his ward lying like a corpse before him and the entirety of Camelot wear off, Gaius had ripped his way through the babbling hysteria of the stricken crowd, taking his place beside Arthur on his knees next to Merlin's slack body and grasping for his pulse. He gently peeled back his eyelids, allowing worry to cloud his expression as he noted the unevenly dilated pupils and the shockingly warm feel of his skin. Bone infections were one of God's cruelest tricks. This was certainly worst than when Merlin had been poisoned...At least then Gaius had had a few days to work with, as well as an antidote to hope for. Judging by the state he was in now, Merlin had far less time (perhaps only hours), no antidote, and far less hope.

Gaius' fears held true even after the the procession of knights had chaotically rushed the boy to his chambers and settled him onto the cot next to the fire. However, one glance at the look of overwhelming concern on the king's face was enough to force Gaius to internalize his own doubts about Merlin's condition.

Arthur bustled maniacally around the physician's dwelling, shouting orders in every direction, sending knights to gather firewood and servants to retrieve the fine blankets from his chambers, trying to make Merlin as comfortable as possible. Gaius knew, however, that his actions ran deeper than practicality. The king hadn't even looked at Merlin since they had him settled, instead choosing to busy himself in whatever way he could. Gaius could sense his guilt. It rolled off of him in waves.

Once the room had finally been cleared and only three figures remained, Gaius approached Arthur cautiously. The man was exhausted, that much was evident. His dirty blond hair stuck out in multiple directions, his eyes were bloodshot, and he swayed on his feet doing nothing more than standing beside Merlin's cot. Gaius knew he was only trying to help, but his inconsolable need to do something was keeping Gaius from the one thing that needed his attention the most. Curing Merlin was going to be a heavy task, and Gaius had his doubts as to whether the boy would even survive the night. If Arthur was going to remain-Gaius sensed that not even magic would be able to rip him from Merlin's presence-then he needed him out of his hair until the messiest parts of the illness had passed. He knew what he must do.

"My lord, you must rest. If not, you'll soon be even worse off than Merlin here," Gaius admonished.

Arthur shook his head furiously, refusing to move from his vantage point in the corner of the room.

"I'm fine. I'm here to fix Merlin, and that task doesn't involve sleeping. Just tell me what I need to do to help, Gaius."

Gaius sighed. "Alright. At least drink a bit of water. That can't possibly injure your pride too much, can it?" he said, holding a goblet in front of the king's face.

Arthur hesitated before taking it. "I suppose," he muttered, before downing the liquid in one swift draft. He gagged audibly before turning back to the physician.

"That is foul! What on Earth, Gaius?!" Arthur spluttered. Suddenly, a powerful wave crashed over him. His skin began to warm and tingle, eyelids drooping.

"Well played, old man," Arthur murmured before Gaius gently supported him into Merlin's currently vacant bedroom, pulling a rough blanket up under his slack jaw and lolling head.

"Sorry, m'lord," Gaius pulled his mouth into a sad smile.

When he was certain the king was sound asleep, he closed the bedroom door and turned back to face Merlin's limp, ghastly form, refocusing on the important task at hand. Perhaps the most important one he would ever face.

It was like the steady calm before the storm, staring at Merlin in his most vulnerable state. He was so, so still. Too still.

Merlin began to seize.

Gaius had treated men who had become so feverish and ill that they had convulsed like this before. He willed himself to work efficiently, rushing to the bed and placing something soft beneath Merlin's head, knowing all he could really do was let the seizure run its course while he made sure his ward didn't slide from the bed and hurt himself. Merlin wasn't like his other patients, though. He wasn't anonymous. He was like a son, and as Gaius watched him writhe and sputter, he felt it become increasingly more difficult to keep his tears locked away. He knew how much his ward must hate this, being trapped inside his own ill body, powerless and exhausted.

Merlin's long limbs arched and twisted, spine taut like the string of a harp. His eyes were open, unseeing, rolled back in his head and exposing the whites of his eyes. He gasped violently for breath. Gaius cursed himself as he thought about the fact that he actually preferred Merlin in his corpse-like form to what was now occurring before him. Anything but this absolute nightmare of a display!

Finally, as the intensity of the fit died down, a steady stream of tremors worked their way through his bones, his head and eyes finally coming to rest while his body continued to shudder. Gaius let out a small sigh. What had felt like hours had in reality only lasted a couple of minutes.

"There you go, Merlin. That's it, almost over now," Gaius murmured soothingly, brushing the sweaty dark locks away from his forehead and placing a cool cloth on his neck. "Just rest now." Finally, the boy's pulse began to slow, taking some of Gaius' fear with it. Merlin moaned pitifully, quiet yet painful. Gaius placed an ice cold towel against his scalding hot forehead, pleased to see him lean in to the relieving sensation of the cool material. Responsiveness was a good sign.

As Gaius sat beside him, dabbing at his face with the cloth, desperate to lower his body heat lest he begin fitting again, the extent of his injuries became more and more apparent. The deep gash on Merlin's head hadn't gone unnoticed. It was actually downright gruesome, jagged and caked with dried blood, swollen flesh filling in around it. A concussion, no doubt, and a bad one. In the moment, though, Gaius knew that it wouldn't kill him. Not like the infection would. The other injuries would have to wait. He had him here, alive, for a bit longer, and that was all that mattered. He was determined to extend that time, and that meant prioritizing.

Gaius was a humble man. He had never thought of himself as inherently important to aiding Merlin in his destiny. The boy, though young, he recognized as a far greater man than himself. Even now, as he lay beneath the cool, experienced touch of Gaius' practiced palm, eyes rolling about uncontrollably underneath paper thin eyelids, life literally in the physician's hand, Gaius thought nothing of the warlock's immense power.

He just wanted to save his boy.

Twenty feet away, just inches of rickety wall separated the sorcerer and his mentor from the king.

Arthur was fighting desperately against the throes of the sleeping potion. He knew why Gaius had drugged him: he'd been manic, delirious, and obviously more trouble than assistance. But he couldn't help it. For no matter how hard he tried to assign the reasoning of his worry to the guilt he felt for causing Merlin to fall into this predicament-let's face it, he'd feel awful if he had done it to anyone-Arthur's heart knew better.

And as he finally, finally managed to pry his eyes open and throw his unsteady feet over the side of Merlin's bed and stand, far sooner than he was supposed to against the effects of the heavy drug, Arthur's heart and mind finally caught up with one another.

And somewhere in between slowly making his way to the door of the bedroom and throwing it open to reveal the startled face of the kingdom's physician hunched over Merlin's convulsing body, Arthur knew.

He just wanted to save his friend.

The king knelt heavily beside Gaius next to the sickbed, staring straight ahead.

"How on Earth are you already awake?"

Arthur ignored him.

"Is he going to die, Gaius?"

"He may, sire."

"How long?"

Silence.

"Perhaps a few hours," Gaius' voice wavered.

Arthur's body tensed, yet he still managed to put a steady hand on Gaius' shoulder, staring directly into his aged eyes. Now was not the time to be playing the broken one. Merlin, idiot that he was, already had that role covered.

"Well then, you might as well just tell me what to do, Gaius, because I'm not going anywhere. Merlin lives, you hear?"

And just like that, the cogs began to turn. Both men burst into action, gathering supplies and provisions from all around the candle-lit chambers.

On the other side of the room, beside the dying fire, the young warlock's heart stopped beating, taking with it a final, definitive shudder.

:o