Chapter 5
The next morning no one looked any better for what little sleep they had managed to catch. They all stumbled around camp blearily and stiffly, shoulders slumped and steps slow. Arthur and Gwaine seemed the worst off.
No, scratch that. Merlin, of course, was the worst off. For all the time he'd spent sleeping, he looked no better at all. Dark smudges like charcoal hung under his sunken eyes, giving him the appearance of being dead. Despite his obvious exhaustion, they found that they really couldn't wait any longer, and Lancelot was delegated to the duty of waking him and trying to feed him a bit of broth before the journey ahead.
"Merlin," Lancelot whispered, unsure of how to wake him.
Luckily, it seemed to do the trick. Merlin's brow crinkled slightly, and his eyes slivered open a moment after. Lancelot hesitated to touch him, and then thought better of it and merely uncapped the water skin.
"I'm going to help you drink, Merlin," he said. He then reached down and lifted his head in the same gentle fashion Gwaine had the night before.
Merlin drank obediently, struggling to swallow. The cool water seemed to wake him up a bit more. Fever shined in his red-rimmed blue eyes, but he recognized Lancelot.
Lancelot smiled down at him kindly. "Good to see you again," he said softly.
The corners of Merlin's lips twitched upward, but then his eyes widened fearfully. Lancelot frowned in concern. Before he could ask, Merlin was choking out something, "G-G-w'n! In-n Buh-Brun -" He broke off, heaving and looking meaningfully at Lancelot, who immediately understood.
"Gwaine's safe," he said soothingly. "He's here."
Merlin looked confused.
Lancelot took the opportunity to put the cup of broth to Merlin's lips, but Merlin turned away with a mistrustful glare. "Merlin?"
"Y-you-wuh," he croaked, feebly trying to move away. He couldn't get too far in his weakness and within the confines of his blankets. "St-st-stah-"
The good-hearted knight, alarmed at the sudden change in Merlin's demeanor, set aside the cup and laid him back down before scooting back a pace or two. Merlin instantly went lax, though whether from relief or exhaustion it was unclear. By that time, the attentions of the others had been drawn, and they looked on uncertainly. At last Gwaine decided to approach cautiously.
"Merlin?" he prompted, kneeling a ways from him.
The warlock jerked his head in his direction, mustering up all his energy to do so. He was momentarily surprised to see Gwaine, but the expression was fleetingly replaced with a sallow scowl.
"What is it?" Gwaine asked, worried and perplexed. "Don't you remember us?"
"N-not," Merlin spat, "real."
Lancelot and Gwaine exchanged a glance. The others looked on, itching with curiosity and dread because Merlin's voice was too weak to carry to their ears.
Lancelot asked, "Who's not real?"
Merlin turned his face toward him. "Y-y-ou."
The knight nodded slowly, taking care to hide away his hurt. "Is Gwaine real?"
"N-none of...th-th-s...real...'S ano'er t-tr'ck..." With that, Merlin's dark lashes fell to rest on his cheekbones, and he was asleep once more - or unconscious.
The two knights sat back on their heels and looked down at him. Lancelot picked up the stew and tossed its contents out into the grass. Merlin wasn't going to be able to eat it anyway, let alone any of them. He left Gwaine with Merlin, visibly upset, to give himself something to do.
Arthur and the others stared at him questioningly, and he took a deep breath to compose himself. "Merlin doesn't believe that we're real. He says we're 'another trick'."
"Another," the king repeated, eyes narrowing at the word.
Lancelot nodded shortly, then gathered up the cookware and bowls to wash them. Arthur, after a short few seconds of brooding with his arms crossed over his chest, ordered Leon, Elyan, and Percival to finish packing up the camp, then stalked over to where his manservant lay. He slowed and softened his steps as he approached, but upon realizing that Merlin was asleep he resumed normal pace. Gwaine glanced up a bit tearfully as Arthur knelt on Merlin's other side.
"Gwaine," Arthur said, extending his hand.
The knight furrowed his brow.
"I...apologize for blaming you for all this," Arthur said formally. "I should not have done. If I had treated Merlin better he would not have felt the need to run off with you in the first place. And I would have done the same in your position, were we in it." His hand still hovered over Merlin.
Gwaine slowly shook his head, but clasped his king's hand in his own. "You should blame me. I know all of you do regardless, so don't patronize me, Princess."
Arthur set his jaw and stared defiantly at Gwaine, who after a moment lowered his gaze. "You are not to blame." He looked down at Merlin, and lightly placed his hand on the warlock's clammy brow. "And neither is Merlin. The blame lies with those who made him like this. The blame lies with those who would allow things like this to happen, those who would harm others for the joy of it. Good people like yourself and Merlin are the victims. I have come to realize that."
The king, perhaps not so oblivious to Gwaine's inner turmoil as one would think, removed his hand from Merlin's forehead and stood.
"I think we should take these bed rolls," Arthur said, standing akimbo and looking authoritative, "and furnish BigHeart's saddle with them. Merlin's always complained about not having as much padding as me. I'd like to see him try now. I think I should be the one complaining after this."
A small, agreeable smirk tugged at the corners of Gwaine's mouth. Both men would have given the world to hear a retort, even one as simple as "Prat," but none came. Merlin hadn't stirred throughout his master's speech.
He didn't stir when Percival lifted him up. He didn't stir when Percival, with the help of Lancelot, placed him on the padded saddle in much the same position as they had after he was touched by the Dorocha, and strapped his legs to the horse's side for stability. They hoped that it wasn't as painful a position as being draped over it; any way they might carry Merlin would probably hurt. But as it was they had to make do with what they could. Three cloaks were fastened around his shoulders to keep him warm, and his arms were tucked underneath him. His head was pillowed by BigHeart's neck.
When the sun peaked over the trees, the king and his Roundtable knights set out with Merlin in tow. BigHeart was flanked on all sides in a protective huddle, with Arthur in the lead and Percival following up the rear. Gwaine and Lancelot flanked Merlin's sides to make sure he didn't fall or panic if he woke. Elyan rode off to one side as designated look-out (though they all knew that was the polite term for baggage carrier). Leon alternated between riding beside his king and by Percival.
They stopped twice to rest, mostly for Merlin's benefit. He had yet to wake since they had begun the journey, but they managed to feed him a bit of water. Merlin wouldn't last much longer without nourishment, though. The group moved slowly - more slowly than any of them would like - but each of them feared that if they were to go at a quicker pace Merlin would suffer. So slow it was.
An hour into their ride they had crossed the border. Relief was minute all around, for they still had a long way to go. By Arthur and Leon's calculations they would reach King Rodor's castle by sunset, if there were no complications. Everyone prayed that there be none, if only for Merlin's sake.
{MERLIN}
The turrets of the white stone castle became visible over the treetops first. As they had hoped, there had been no hindrance to their crawling journey. No bandits, no spooked horses for any reason, and no panicking or sick Merlin - though the latter was because Merlin's eyes hadn't so much as fluttered during the entire trip. At some point Gwaine had taken to making sure Merlin was still breathing at intervals, but as he never spoke up or broke down the others assumed Merlin was still living and getting no worse, and so never asked.
The sun had just set when they reached the gates of the wall, and the guards stopped them. Arthur announced that he was King Arthur of Camelot, showed his royal seal, and asked to see their physician quickly. The two men agreed, and one sprinted ahead to inform the doctor that he was needed while the other led them through the streets.
Few people were outside their homes, as it was supper time when they arrived. Those who were still out politely moved aside to allow their passage, but their eyes burned with curiosity as the Camelot knights passed. The men kept their eyes in front and remained silent. The only sound was the clopping of hooves on the cobbled streets, and the occasional broad speech of a peasant. The procession was even slower than their arrival had been.
Arthur was the first to spot the Princess Mithian waiting for them on the stone steps. He was momentarily confused, but only his eyes showed it and he was too far yet for her to see it. She seemed to know anyway, or at least felt the need to explain herself: "I heard from the guard who was sent to fetch the physician."
The king of Camelot nodded shortly and dismounted, tossing the reigns to a stable boy who had approached. Mithian lifted the hem of her yellow silk dress and descended the steps to greet them, her brow wrinkled with worry. Her dark eyes were drawn to the only figure who appeared to be hurt: Merlin.
"What happened?" she asked, alarmed at his state.
By then the knights had dismounted as well, and Percival was making to carry Merlin to wherever the physician was located.
"Please, Mithian," Arthur said, "can I speak with your father? I need to ask a favor of him."
She tore her eyes from Merlin. "I'm afraid the king is away overseas on business," she said. "But I have been left in charge, and you know that whatever it is, you shall have it - within reason."
Arthur nodded. "My manservant," he said. "He is in bad condition, as you can see. I ask that we stay here, for a few days, at least, so that Merlin might remain in your physician's care."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Mithian replied. Then she drew herself up. "Come. I will personally see you to the guests' chambers. Merlin will have a room there, too. The physician will join us there." She gave the escorting guard a meaningful look, and with a bow he went to inform the physician.
"Thank you, Mithian," Arthur said, looking very much relieved and a few years younger. The others felt the same. Gwaine felt ready to collapse, but he wouldn't even think of leaving Merlin until he was better. They followed the princess up the steps and through a long hall, then up more stairs. She opened the first door to reveal a lavishly furnished room.
"You can lay him there," she said, gesturing to the bed. Percival didn't hesitate, carefully supporting his head before placing it on the soft pillow. She looked down at what she could see of Merlin, eyes shining with pity. Then she raised them to examine the others for any wounds, but found none. "What in the world happened?" she asked again.
"Slave traders," Gwaine answered quietly, unable to meet her gaze.
Mithian's eyes widened slightly, and she nodded slowly. When she looked back at Merlin her expression saddened. He was such a kind soul, a loyal one, too, and of course he didn't deserve such abuse.
Their heads turned as the door was opened, and the physician, a middle-aged woman with graying dark hair braided down her broad back appeared. She was wearing a fine blue dress, though it was well-worn and a bit faded. If any of the men had been acquainted in the arts of sewing they would have noted that the embroidery around the collar and sleeves had been repaired on numerous occasions, but in any case none of them cared about that. All that the knights and their king had noticed, with immense relief, was the medicine bag carried on her shoulder, and the pile of bandages in her arms.
"Eirny," Mithian moved forward to greet her. "This is King Arthur, and his knights. His manservant, Merlin, is in dire need of your help."
Eirny's gray eyes were immediately drawn to the pallid figure lying on the bed, and she made toward him. "I'll need warm water," she said, her face a blank mask of professionalism. The woman set the bandages aside, then took off her medicine bag and placed it on the beside table. The knights moved helplessly out of her way, but did not stray far.
Mithian, after sending the escorting guard on a mission to retrieve water from the kitchens, approached her court healer. "Eirny, do you need anything else?"
"Privacy and quiet," she answered curtly, already peeling back the layers of fabric keeping Merlin warm.
"Of course," the princess said. She gestured to the king and knights, who stared dumbly back at her. "I'll show you all to your rooms."
"I'm not leaving," Gwaine announced instantly. "I'll st-"
He was abruptly cut off by a sock to the face, tossed in his direction by Eirny after having pulled it off of her patient's foot. "You will leave, as the princess has asked. I will need privacy and quiet, neither of which you will provide if you stay. Be gone." She continued her ministrations without even an upward glance.
Gwaine managed to look humbled, shocked, and indignant all at once, but shut his slack mouth and conceded. Mithian gave him a sympathetic look before turning and silently leading them out. The men moved slowly, almost wishing to linger and look after their friend, but they would just have to trust that he was in good hands. As the princess of Nemeth shut the door and hid Merlin from them, they all felt sick.
"Once she is finished I'll be sure to have you informed," Mithian said consolingly. "Then you can go in and see him. Now, all these rooms are the same, so I suppose you could each take whichever you like. I'll have servants bring up your meals so that you will not have to leave this wing of the castle. You should rest," she said. "Eirny is very thorough and good at what she does."
"Thank you," Arthur intoned automatically.
Mithian nodded. "If you need me, I shall be attending a meeting in the throne hall." Receiving a nod from the king, she curtsied slightly and turned to do so.
The men dallied a moment longer in the silent hallway, standing apart from each other. All of them were deep in thought, and worried for Merlin. What if he woke as he was being treated? Merlin was frightened by his own friends at the moment, so how would he react to the presence and touch of a stranger?
But in the end, there was nothing they could do. If Eirny needed to be alone to treat him, then that was the way it needed to be. None of them wanted to be a hindrance, especially at a time when Merlin needed the treatment most. His situation was dire, his life hung in the balance. Death with his sickle likely loomed at Merlin's bedside, watching, waiting.
Leon was the first to move at last. "Sire," he said, addressing his king but speaking to everyone, "we should probably clean up a bit. And try to rest. We're no good to anyone like this."
Lancelot and Percival shared a look. Both men agreed with the senior knight. After a moment, Elyan seemed to rouse himself. Gwaine and Arthur had yet to look away from the door of Merlin's chambers.
"Sire?" Leon asked.
Nearly cutting him off, "Yes, Sir Leon," Arthur said, "thank you." Yet he made no indication that he would be leaving his spot, and Gwaine showed no sign that he had heard anyone speak.
With much reluctance, the knights, with the exception of Gwaine, each chose and went into a guestroom. Once the last door clicked shut, Arthur's shoulders slumped, and he looked tiredly to his knight. Gwaine started when he clapped his hand onto his shoulder. "We should get cleaned up," Arthur said.
"We should," Gwaine agreed softly. After a brief pause: "What are we going to tell Gaius?"
Arthur froze in horror. He'd completely forgotten that everyone back home would need to be informed of their whereabouts. It was possible to lie for their reasons for being away for so long and for their extended stay at Rodor's castle, but was it wise to lie? When they returned home, would not the truth surface?
He imagined writing a letter explaining all that had happened over the course of the last month a half. Gwen's eyes running over with tears would be worse than Elyan's secretly shed ones, Arthur was sure. And Gaius, after the initial shock of reading about his ward's condition - Would he write back? Set out immediately with his own medical expertise? Tell Merlin's mother?
Oh, Merlin's mother! How could Arthur forget? Would he need to tell her? Would Merlin want her to know? If she did hear, the king was sure she would come to be with and comfort her only child - her only child, whom Arthur had lost, whom Arthur had allowed to suffer. But how could he tell her, she who was like a mother to him, too?
Arthur jolted out of his thoughts when he felt a hand on his shoulder. A look at Gwaine showed that he was thinking torturous thoughts along the same line.
They stood together, hand on one another's shoulder, for a long few moments, like two legs of a tripod leaning precariously in an attempt to remain upright despite the broken third leg. They would work together to fix Merlin.
For Merlin.
{MERLIN}
Merlin felt cold, but not damp, which was strange. Had he perhaps lost the ability to feel the moisture in the earth underneath him? Had he finally died?
He heard something rustling nearby, and he focused on it. Another rat, probably. At least it wasn't gnawing on him this time. Unless it had finally eaten away the flesh on his feet and had moved on to someone else's feet. He couldn't really feel his feet, so it stood to reason that they were gone.
Merlin wanted to move into a different position than the one he was in. If he curled into the fetal position he would be warmer, but every movement hurt. Was he willing to do it? Would whatever warmth he gain be worth the pain and exhaustion that would surely follow? In the end he realized that he couldn't move even if he wanted to. He was just too bone-tired.
The rustling stopped, much to Merlin's relief. He could slip back into a light slumber. He hoped the others didn't start wailing. The sound was haunting in itself, and contagious. On more than one occasion he had found himself joining the sorrowful, fearful sobbing. He felt ashamed for it, but hysterics were often uncontrollable.
His sluggish thoughts began to disperse as he fell back into unconsciousness.
A hand touching his leg instantly brought him to wakefulness, and he twisted away with a strangled, "No!"
The hand was snatched back, which was as much as Merlin saw before his eyelids slammed shut against the intense light. An ache shuddered its way down his limbs and spine, and his head throbbed horribly. But he knew that the pain would only worsen if his master wanted it to. If his master used him again. The pain of being torn in half, of being rutted into like- like a- he didn't even know - again and again and again and againandagainandagain-
"P-please," he whimpered, expecting at any moment to be struck or taken by force. It was the way it had been for the years he'd been locked in that dark cave. He wasn't sure how long it had been exactly, as the time bled together, but he knew it was a long time. Arthur and the others had surely given up searching by then, if they had even looked to start with. All the dreams his mind tortured him with, of being rescued by his friends, of escaping on his own with his magic somehow returned to him - none of them were real.
Nothing happened, and Merlin dared to hope that the slave master would leave him be.
"Poor dear," said a quiet voice.
Merlin's breath hitched in surprise. He hadn't entirely registered the words, but he knew the voice to not be his master's. Had he been moved to a different cage? Had someone been put into his with him? After a moment, and with much effort, Merlin managed to pry his eyes open again.
There was a woman. He first registered her bosom as it came into focus, and then moved his eyes upward. Her dark hair with silvery strands was haloed by a bright light that burned his eyes. She shifted so that her head blocked out that light, and then Merlin could see her better. Her round face had laugh lines around her mouth and eyes, but she was not smiling. Her eyebrows were scrunched with worry, and her gray eyes pitied him.
Merlin was confused. Where was his master? Why was there so much light? After spending years in the darkness it burned his eyes. Had he been sold at last?
"My name is Eirny," said the woman. "Can you tell me yours?"
"M...lin," he whispered.
"Merlin," she nodded as though she had expected as much. "Here, drink this."
His eyes were drawn to her hands - gnarled and callused, the hands of a healer - as she brought forth a small cup. Eirny's other hand lifted his head for him, as he had spent energy he didn't have, and pressed it gently to his lips. The liquid that was poured into his mouth was a bit sweet, but obviously medicine. Of course it was, she was a healer.
Once he had finished, she set the cup aside and laid his head back down on the pillow. Merlin at last realized that he was lying the most comfortable bed ever. "Listen, Merlin," Eirny said, brushing a few dark locks from his forehead, "you are safe now. You are in Nemeth, in King Rodor's castle. Your king, Arthur, brought you here."
As she had spoken, hope swelled in Merlin's breast. He'd been saved at last! But then she had said Arthur's name, and his world crashed down around him again. It was another dream. Of course it was a dream. After years and years of captivity, how likely was it that Arthur would find him? He would have stopped looking ages ago. He had a kingdom to run, of course.
Merlin nodded slowly. He welcomed the respite from the pain, but the content of his dreams were beginning to become more unacceptable, more improbable. He, feeling dizziness that probably came from the horrible air quality in his earthen dungeon rather than the potion he'd drunk in his dream, allowed his eyes to slip closed, and he was asleep once more.
In his condition the mild pain draught knocked him right out, and Eirny continued to tend to his broken body. She had already bandaged his feet, which were riddled with rodents' teeth marks. His ankle had been rudimentarily set, possibly by one of the knights, but as they were not experts in any sense of the word it had been done incorrectly, and it had taken much twisting on her part to get it right. Eirny had bound it tightly to keep it in place and to dissuade any more swelling.
It wasn't until she had begun working on the man's legs that he had stirred slightly, and then woken abruptly at the touch on his thigh. His cry had startled Eirny, who immediately retracted her hand and moved back. Merlin went still again, brow furrowed and breathing ragged. When it became apparent that he wasn't going to speak or look at her, she examined his leg as closely as she could without touching to see what had made him react so badly. At first she saw nothing but inflamed welts and a few yellowish bruises, but as her eyes traveled farther up and between his naked legs she saw the smear of blood. She had seen such indicatives before, but never on a man. Eirny straightened up with a sigh, "Poor dear."
At the sound of her voice Merlin wakened again, and she gave him the pain relief. The healer carefully rubbed ointments onto his emaciated legs and wrapped them as she had his feet, and then rolled him over onto his side. She pushed his knees up toward his chest so that she could easily treat the damaged orifice. Such an injury, however, was nearly impossible to bandage, and so she had the ingenious idea to stop the sluggish bleeding by inserting a bit of herb-soaked cotton - after all, some women used this method once a month.
That finished, she worked the covers out from underneath his too-thin body and covered his lower half. He had begun to shiver some time before, but that couldn't be helped much yet.
Her eyes raked over his frail form, ribs shuddering with each inhale. Just over his belly button was a strange brand symbol, the likes of which she had never seen before. All around the scar tissue was rough and tender skin, as though it had been rubbed away by a serrated edge. It was one of his older and less serious wounds, but without sufficient rest and food it had not healed well. She smoothed a salve over it and moved on.
She knew from her initial examination of him that he had a broken rib, but that would have to wait until she had finished with the rest of him. Besides that his back was covered in painful welts and his shoulders had pressure sores, which were infected. After heaving yet another sigh, Eirny decided that it would be best to wrap up his wrists, then move down to his shoulders. Then she would spread ointments on his back, wrap his torso, and finally bind his ribs. Plan set, Eirny gathered her supplies about her. By the end of this, she thought to herself, she would need a bit more of everything.
It took her a while longer to complete his treatment, but he was still far from all right. Merlin was starving. She wasn't sure his stomach would be able to handle any food. Yes, she'd seen many a starving soul, and most could not keep solids down without complications. Merlin would have to be kept on a diet of broth at first, but with just that he might not get well enough to graduate that. Some people just weren't strong enough, and Merlin was injured badly besides. If he did recover, the journey would be long and hard for him.
At last Eirny stood straight and packed up what little remained of her medicines. The warm water she had sent for had long since cooled, and was now soiled. She would have someone take it out when she left. The healer glanced out of the window. The moon had risen high in the inky sky, and she suddenly realized how exhausted she was. She suspected the king and his knights had retired by then, and she was ready to do so herself. But someone would have to sit with Merlin to be sure nothing happened. Eirny made sure that the blankets were tucked securely around Merlin's body, then turned to leave.
The woman nearly leapt out of her skin as she opened the door. Gwaine looked up expectantly at her, eyes rimmed red. She noticed that his hands, which rested on his knees from his forlorn place on the floor, were shaking. "Are you all right, Sir...?"
"Gwaine," he said, pushing himself up quickly. "Is he...?"
Eirny raised her eyebrows and glanced back over her shoulder. "You mean Merlin?" she asked. "You've been waiting out here this whole time, Sir Gwaine?"
Gwaine nodded at both her questions.
"He's sleeping," Eirny said, observing him. It was strange to see a noble so worried about a servant. She surmised that he must have been in some part responsible or Merlin's condition, resulting in an overwhelming sense of guilt on his part. Whether that was true or not, Eirny thought it refreshing to see one of a higher status inquiring after the health of one lower than him.
Gwaine nodded again, looking lost. "May I...?"
Eirny stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. He moved forward, but then paused at the threshold.
"Sir Gwaine?"
He looked at her. "King Arthur wishes to meet with you tomorrow," he said. "He wants to discuss his manservant's condition and treatment...Things of that nature."
"Of course," Eirny said, bowing her head.
Gwaine nodded once more, then turned and entered the room. Eirny watched his back as he approached Merlin lowly, then closed the door. Whatever went on was none of her business.
Merlin was sleeping apparently peacefully. Only a slight furrow in his brow betrayed any discomfort - aside from the hollowness of his face above the heavy blanket. The knight stopped a few paces away from his dear friend, burning tears hanging on his lower lashes. He stared without really seeing, his gaze roaming Merlin's sickly form even though it was hidden under the bedclothes. There was a chair nearby, but Gwaine made no move toward it.
"I'm so sorry," he choked out. "I'm so sorry, Merlin. This never should have happened. I'm sorry, so, so sorry."
Unable to continue, Gwaine's breath caught in his throat, and his tears fell once more. He raised a hand to stifle his sobs. After a moment, the knight managed to regain some semblance of control and sank to his knees at Merlin's bedside. He stared hard at his hands in his lap, listening to the comforting sound of Merlin's breathing.
Then: " 'S'not...yuh...r..."
Gwaine's head snapped up so quickly that it might have flown off had it not been attached securely to his neck. "Merlin!"
Merlin's eyes were still closed, but he was obviously aware of his surroundings - or at least of Gwaine's presence. He seemed to be struggling to pronounce the word 'fault,' but Gwaine was too overjoyed to see Merlin awake again to say anything but "Merlin!"
After the third repetition of his name Merlin stopped trying to finish his sentence and cocked his head in Gwaine's direction.
"Merlin, mate," Gwaine said again, raising and lowering his hands in a subconscious battle. "Are you - I mean, how are you feeling? Are you in pain? Should I fetch Eirny - the physician, I mean?"
Merlin's brow furrowed more intensely but then relaxed again. "I..." He took a shuddering breath and ran a tongue like sandpaper over his lips. "I f-feel...goo...d." The warlock smiled wanly before his face fell. Despite his claim he was obviously tired.
"Good, good," Gwaine nodded emphatically even though Merlin couldn't see him. Then he noticed the water on the bedside table. "Here," he said, standing. He poured some water from the pitcher into the goblet. "I'll bet you're thirsty."
Gwaine snaked an arm behind Merlin's scrawny shoulders and lifted him just enough so that he could drink easily. Once Merlin had had his fill (only a few sips this time), Gwaine laid him back onto his downy pillows.
Merlin sighed quietly. "I mi...ssed you-wuh...Gw'ne."
The knight smiled sadly. "I missed you, too, my friend."
"H-how man...y...years-uh...'ave pass'd?" Merlin asked.
"Huh?" Gwaine looked startled. "How many years have passed since what?"
"Sin...w-we s-...saw each o'er."
Gwaine looked stricken. "It's been one month, Merlin."
"No," Merlin breathed. "Years."
Gwaine shifted forward, shaking his head negatively and looking as though he might start crying again. "No, no, mate," he said. "Look at me, please. Open your eyes. Look at me."
The warlock made a feeble attempt to do so. "C-c-can't-uh."
"Yes, you can," Gwaine said firmly but gently. He place his hands lightly on either side of Merlin's head. "Please, for me. Look at me. It has not been years, my friend. It was a month. A long, horrible, god-awful month that only felt like years."
As Gwaine had spoken, Merlin struggled to part his eyelids. The light this time was not blinding because Gwaine's head, hovering over Merlin's face, blocked much of it out. After a moment, he managed to keep them open long enough to focus.
Tears pricked Merlin's eyes as he saw that Gwaine looked relatively the same. Yes, he looked older, but that could easily be attributed to how sorrowful he looked. If Gwaine really had been older, he would appear to be older still in that regard. But as it was, Merlin felt suddenly inclined to believe him, mostly due to the overwhelming desire for it to be true. He wanted so badly to be saved, to be with his friends again. He wanted nothing more than to return home, to Camelot, with his friends and his mentor, Gaius. Gods, how he missed them all.
Gwaine seemed to understand his thoughts, or perhaps Merlin had said some of it aloud, because his thumbs stroked Merlin's prominent cheekbones as he spoke reassuring words. "We will go home, Merlin," he said, "as soon as you're well again. I promise you, my friend. Just recover, and we will go back to Camelot. We're in Nemeth now, which isn't too far. It's half a fortnight by carriage, and we'll be taking horses so it'll be shorter a time than that. Gaius and Gwen will be waiting there for our return. We'll go as soon as you're well again."
Merlin wasn't sure when he had begun to cry, but he was suddenly aware of it. It was probably the reason Gwaine had started rubbing circles with his thumbs in the first place, to wipe the wetness away. With Gwaine's soft voice in his ears, Merlin allowed his eyes to drift shut again, and in a matter of seconds he was asleep.
Gwaine remained at his side, gently massaging his bruised face. Though Merlin's eyes were still wet, he looked more peaceful than ever. He looked as though he felt safe, which was precisely how Gwaine wanted him to feel, for he was indeed finally safe.
{MERLIN}
At noon the next day, Arthur and Eirny met in his chamber. Mithian was present as well, and Leon had been left to watch over the still sleeping Merlin while the others attended the meeting. Leon would be filled in later, of course.
There were customary greetings, and Arthur laid out what it was he would like to discuss: Merlin's condition, what Eirny suggested would need to be done to regiment his condition, and whether anyone or thing should be sent for during their stay. Gwaine secretly believed that Gaius should be sent for, as he was Merlin's mentor and father-figure, but kept his mouth shut. It was not the time to bring it up in any case, but he would certainly mention it to the princess - King Arthur the princess, of course.
The men (and Mithian) had listened patiently as Eirny described Merlin's wounds and abuse. At the mention of his sexual abuse several pairs of eyes were closed in dismay. They had already known it deep down, but had wanted it to be false. She continued with the burn tissue, how it looked as though Merlin had tried to tear it off or scratch it away with his own nails, but the scar had been undamaged, unlike the skin around it. Lancelot and Gwaine both frowned deeply at this, but neither noticed the other. Eirny was saddened to inform the knights and king that Merlin would face lasting damage, both physically and mentally, and that his recovery would be long and hard.
At last Eirny finished her list and paused so that the others could process the information. Arthur asked what would need to be done to help him recover quickly, and when she thought it might be safe to move him back to Camelot.
"Likely not any time soon," she said solemnly. "Besides his injuries, his body is extremely weak and susceptible to all manner of illness. He can hardly move on his own as it is. He'll have to get his weight back up, but that's easier said than done. He will not be able to eat solid foods for a while. I'll make sure he's given the best broth the kitchen has to offer, but even so it will be hard on him.
"As for his wounds, healing will be slower. As I said, his body is too weak to do much for itself. It will take time and care - a lot of it, Sire."
Arthur sighed. "I see. Thank you, Eirny." Then he turned his attention to Mithian. "How long might we stay here?"
"As long as it takes for Merlin to get well," was her instant reply. "I'll not have any of you leave Merlin here, least of all alone. I think he'll need all of the support he can get."
The king nodded agreeably. "Thank you. I must write to my wife. And to Gaius." He suddenly looked troubled and uncomfortable - understandably, too. No one wanted to be the one to tell Gaius what had happened to his precious ward. Gaius was not often angry, but they were sure to face his wrath at one point or another.
"You should send for Gaius," Mithian exclaimed. She turned to Eirny quickly and placed a hand on her arm. "Gaius is court physician of Camelot, and Merlin's uncle. I'm sure if he comes here then Merlin might get well sooner, don't you?"
Gwaine was rather impressed by her, but still kept quite silent.
Eirny nodded. "I think that would be an immense help, if he can spare the time. Does he have someone who might take over for a time?"
"I'll be sure to ask in my correspondence," Arthur interjected. "Guinevere, I reckon, can run Camelot for a while longer. I'm sure either she or Gaius can find someone to do his rounds and to watch over his apothecary."
"Very well," Eirny said. "Will that be all, Sire?"
"Yes," Arthur said. "Thank you." He gave her a short, respectful bow, and she returned with an inclination of her head.
"I will go and tend to Merlin now."
The knights stepped out of her way, and she ambled past without sparing a glance to them. It wasn't out of disrespect by any means. She was simply in a hurry to check on him. He could take a turn for the worse at any moment, and with thick-headed nobles watching over him it was unlikely that they would catch it. Eirny had been feeling a little anxious about her patient ever since she wakened a few hours ago, but it was only now that she had the time to go to him.
Merlin's rooms were directly across from his master's, so it was a very short walk. When she entered she found Leon sitting in the chair at Merlin's bedside, and Merlin appeared to be sleeping relatively easily. But appearances could be deceiving.
Leon stood as she came inside.
"Oh, don't bother with me," she said. "I've just finished up my part of the meeting at any rate, and I'll of course need some quiet and privacy to change Merlin's bandages. Why don't you go and join the others, Sir?"
"Of course," Leon said good-naturedly. He started off, but then just as suddenly stopped again. "I'm by no means a physician," he said, slight concern creeping into his expression, "but I think Merlin is feeling a little hot."
Eirny blinked at him and sighed inwardly. "Thank you, Sir," she said. "I shall look into it."
He nodded approvingly and went on his way.
Eirny knew her bad feelings were never to be taken lightly. If Merlin had developed a fever at this stage, it was all the more dangerous for him. She set her things on the chair Leon had abandoned and moved it aside so that she had complete access to the damaged manservant. First she pressed a hand against his forehead.
"Fogging bum-bailey!" she cursed under her breath.
Merlin had a fever, and though it wasn't very high it was almost certain that it would rise. She immediately opened her medicine bag and rummaged through it, searching out the tonic she knew that she had brought. Her foresight was not entirely accurate, but it was enough that she knew if she felt something wrong, something very well would be. She'd thought ahead and brought practically everything from her shelves.
If the draught didn't work, they'd have to blood let. In Merlin's mental state she didn't think that would go over too well, but if all went well...
Since his head was already propped up on the pillows, Eirny unstopped her fever tonic and pressed it to his lip. She waited for his lips to part open before pouring it in, and he swallowed. Once she had finished bandaging his wounds she would check his temperature again. She hoped for the best, of course.
It was only a matter of a couple of hours before she finished changing the linens. His fever should have reduced by then, but it only seemed to have risen. Eirny sighed heavily and stroked the poor boy's dark locks. She would have to bleed him. But first she would have to inform the king, his master. It was not going to be pretty if Merlin decided to wake up. He hadn't much stirred when she was redressing him, but bloodletting was a bit of a painful procedure.
She got her things ready before going to ask Arthur permission to do the procedure. She would do it anyway, if he declined, but it was better that they knew it was going on so they didn't burst in if Merlin screamed. Although she might need help for this one. Merlin was weak, but pain and fear led to adrenaline rushes, and it would not surprise her if he tried to fight her off. That could end up damaging him even more.
As Eirny had thought this her feet had taken her to the king's door, and she knocked purposefully.
"Come," called Arthur, slightly muffled.
Eirny opened the door and saw that King Arthur was not alone. He was sitting at the desk, apparently still at work on the letters he would be sending back to Camelot. His knights were all seated at the table, looking to her expectantly.
Arthur put his quill into the ink well and stood. "Ah, Eirny," he said. "May I help you?"
She clasped her hands respectfully in front of her. "I am afraid I've a bit of bad news. I need to discuss it with you."
The men instantly looked worried, and the seated knights stood abruptly.
"Please come in, then," Arthur said quickly. "It is Merlin, isn't it?"
"Yes," she said, still pausing in the doorway. "I must speak with you about a treatment I will need to administer." Her gray eyes flickered to the knights and back to the king meaningfully.
Arthur didn't miss it. "Whatever you have to say, it can be said in the presence of my men. I trust them each explicitly, as does Merlin."
"Very well," she said, hiding her surprise well. "He has developed a fever. I gave him a tonic for it just before I changed his bandages, but it did not help. I will have to reduce his fever in another way."
"Which is?" Arthur frowned nervously.
"Bloodletting," Eirny replied.
The men shared a look of alarm, and the king dragged a hand down his mouth. "Is...Is there really no other way?" he asked.
Eirny shook her head. "I'm afraid not. It must be done, or he could very well overheat."
Arthur sighed. "Merlin just can't do anything right, can he?"
Gwaine stepped forward, eyes shining. "Someone should be with him as you do it," he said. "He'll be frightened."
Eirny hesitated. "I will need someone to hold him down. In his state..."
"I understand," Arthur said. "I will be present. He is my servant, after all."
"I'll be there," Gwaine said. "He is my friend."
The physician held up a hand before any of the other men could volunteer. "Very well," she said. "I hope you are prepared because it needs to be done as quickly as possible. I have the things I need in his room."
Arthur and Gwaine exchanged an uneasy glance, but they nodded and followed her out. The knights who remained did not move. They watched the trio leave solemnly, hearts aching for poor Merlin.
Eirny led her new assistants back across the hall. The door stood open as she had left it, and they could see Merlin's smaller than usual form on the bed. They didn't dare hesitate. If Merlin needed it, he needed it. There was nothing to be done for it. Arthur had never felt so bad for Merlin - not even when he had been dying of the poison meant for the then prince.
But there was no cure that Arthur could go out and search for, not this time.
Gwaine and Arthur stopped at Merlin's bedside and looked down at him. He was breathing steadily, eyelashes laid firmly against his cheeks. But his brow, covered with a sheen of sweat, was creased with discomfort. They reluctantly raised their eyes to Eirny, who was readying her materials: a rather large bowl, several clean cloths, a long strip of linen, and - a knife.
Arthur felt his heart stutter. Gaius had always used leeches when someone suffered from severe fever. He had once mentioned in passing that in emergencies he'd had to use a knife, but the young king wasn't entirely sure that this constituted an emergency quite yet. Just as he opened his mouth, Gwaine spoke up with the exact question that had been on his lips.
"Wouldn't leeches be a better alternative?"
Eirny glanced up. "I don't have leeches, Sir," she said. "A knife is quicker and more effective in any case." Then she lowered her gaze and extricated Merlin's right arm from the covers. Her hand pushed up his nightshirt sleeve, revealing his snow white skin.
Both men felt sick, knowing that it would soon be marred with red.
But it had to be done.
"One of you will have to hold his shoulders," Eirny said. "The other his legs - but his lower legs, if you please."
Gwaine, who was already standing closer to Merlin's head, tentatively placed his hands on the warlock's childlike shoulders. Arthur resignedly put one knee up on the bed to get better leverage, and then gripped just below Merlin's knees over the blankets.
Eirny picked up Merlin's arm and positioned the bowl beneath it, then put one of the cloths between her hand and his skin to soak up the excess. Her fingers curled tightly around his wrist, and Merlin stirred at that. Gwaine felt as though he were going to vomit.
The physician didn't hesitate. With a practiced eye and hand she placed the sharp tip of her knife to one of the blue veins on the soft flesh of his arm. Then, after making sure of her grip, she put substantial pressure on the blade and began to drag it down slowly and precisely.
Merlin's reaction was instant.
With a short cry of distress, he twisted in their grips. Arthur and Gwaine, both surprised, adjusted their holds quickly and held him still. It only served to heighten Merlin's panic, and his eyes flew open, wide and unseeing. Short bursts of hysterical and pained cries came from his mouth, and his wild gaze locked onto the hand cutting him.
"Please!" he gasped out, struggling. Tears began to fall hard and fast as he looked into Eirny's impassive face. "I- st- ah!"
At last she had finished the cut, and blood dribbled from it in rivulets, draining into the bowl. She set the knife down, but did not relinquish her hold on him. Of course it was obvious, in Merlin's mind, that they were bleeding him to death, and it was sufficient cause to panic. His only conceivable option of self-perseverance was to appeal to his captors.
"Please, please," he whimpered to Eirny. She was entirely too focused on judging the amount of blood in the bowl, and thus ignored him.
Gwaine, realizing that Merlin had stopped fighting, quickly freed one of his hands and stroked Merlin's burning head in a comforting gesture. "It's all right, mate," he said. "We're just trying to help. You've come down with a fever."
Merlin turned to Gwaine, breathing hard and fast. He was nothing if not scared and confused, and he recoiled upon recognizing Gwaine. "No!" he choked out, looking more upset than before. "No - n-no! P-please! I d...I d-don't-tuh w-wan...die!" He began to sob in earnest and renewed his efforts of escape so that Gwaine had no choice but to hold him down again.
"Merlin!" Arthur tried. "Merlin, you're -"
Merlin's only response was to scream, punctuating each one with a heaving sob and gasping for breath in between. Nothing would console him.
This continued for another two minutes, until Eirny had decided he had lost enough blood to cool him off, and quickly wrapped his new wound tightly. She whisked the bowl and knife away, and rummaged through her medicine pack for a sleeping draught. While a shuddering Merlin was caught up in the sudden relief and confusion of having the blood flow stemmed, Eirny tipped the contents of the vial into his mouth. He swallowed instinctively, but otherwise did not react.
"He should be all right now," Eirny said brusquely.
The men took that as their cue that they should release him, and they stumbled back hastily, pale and shaky. Both were visibly upset, although Arthur tried to hide his feelings by crossing his arms and setting his jaw. His eyes, though, were as wet as Gwaine's, and his ears rang just as loudly.
"I'll come back to check on him in about an hour," Eirny promised. She quickly took her leave, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click.
The sound was enough to draw Merlin's attention away from his arm. The shadows underneath his eyes were darker than ever, and the tears had mixed with his sweat so that they were indistinguishable. His eyes themselves looked dim and haunted.
"Merlin, mate," Gwaine started forward.
Merlin flinched violently, an expression of pure terror crossing his face. Arthur quickly pulled Gwaine back, though the knight hadn't needed any prompting.
"I'm so sorry," Gwaine uttered miserably, hands out to his sides. "You're sick, Merlin. We were just helping you, my friend."
Merlin stared at them for a moment longer, then looked back at his arm. Slowly, he extricated a shaky hand from his covers and gingerly touched the reddening bandage. Then his hand traveled up to the pillow and curled through his hair.
" 'S'not real," he whispered tearfully, face turned away from them. "Not real...not real...not real..."
That was the moment Arthur finally broke down.
A/N: So, a bit of Merlin POV but mostly going to be third-omniscient for the rest of the way. One more chapter to go!
Seriously, I want to thank you all for reading. You're amazing, so amazing. I love your visits more than I love chocolate, and I really love chocolate. Yes, I know. Crazy.
Anyway...Yeah, this is really horrible, but you know you love it! Otherwise you wouldn't have read this far. ^-^b