No. 31—A Light at the End of the Tunnel

Comfort | Bedside Vigil | "You can rest now."

Arthur curled up on the cold stone floor of the dungeon, coughing harshly. His wet clothes clung to him. He had expected a servant to come with a delivery of fresh clothing, but no one had come for him.

He had half-drifted off when the cell door creaked open.

"Are you awake?" Guinevere whispered.

Arthur squinted up at her and nodded.

She knelt by him and set the plate near his head. "Merlin said you were sick."

Arthur pushed himself up, stifling a groan at the pain that stabbed through his arm and side. "I'm not sick." His denial was undermined by a coughing fit that stabbed shards of glass into his chest.

Guinevere bit her lip. "Are you sure? It's just, you don't sound very good."

Arthur grabbed a roll from the plate she had brought him and bit into it. If he was eating, he couldn't possibly be expected to answer. He didn't have the heart to lie to her anymore.

When she raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, he shrugged.

She darted her hand forward and felt his forehead. "Arthur Pendragon, you liar!" she cried. "You have a bad fever." She stood up. "I'll go tell Gaius immediately and see if I can't bring you something warm."

Arthur opened his mouth to object, but another coughing fit escaped. Lightheadedness spun through his head. He braced himself against the cold stone floor. Something warm would be nice. A blanket, some soup, the furs Merlin hauled out for his bed in the wintertime. "Thank you," he whispered.

"I'll be back," Guinevere promised, then she left him.

Arthur picked at the food she had given him. His stomach churned too much for him to want the cheese or the sausages, but the plain bread was somewhat settling. His clothes dried from soaked to damp, but he still shivered, the chills getting worse. He drifted off, getting stuck halfway between sleeping and waking. Bizarre dreams haunted him, but he couldn't remember anything when he woke except dread.

"Please, he has a fever, at least let me give him this blanket!" Guinevere pled.

"King's orders," a guard said. "He thinks the crown prince is just being dramatic and orders he serve his punishment as originally intended."

"How can being dramatic give him a fever? He's not well, just look at him!"

Still half-asleep, Arthur tried to say something, but all he could do was groan.

"I'm sorry, I really am. He does look sick, but it's not my call," the guard said. "I can't do anything."

"You can stand up and do the right thing," Guinevere said. "Do you what you know in your heart is right instead of just following orders."

"Guinevere," Arthur groaned, barely managing to keep himself awake. "It's all right. Don't make him go against Father's orders. Father won't be kind to him if he gets caught."

Guinevere strode around the corner, holding a blanket in her arms. "I will be taking this up with the king. This is ridiculous. You're very clearly unwell!"

Arthur smiled. "Make sure to…tell him that, I'm sure he'll take it well."

"You're worth it. I will get you this blanket, Arthur." Guinevere walked out.

Arthur's dinner was delivered by someone else. He couldn't eat it. He tried to sleep when darkness fell, but all he could do was toss and turn. Every position he lay in put too much pressure on his chest for him to breathe comfortably. His aches transformed into stabbing pains.

Somehow, though, he did fall asleep halfway through the night. Or at least almost fell asleep. Horrible pain haunted him, driving groans out of him. Yet he was still haunted by nightmares.

The cell door creaking open woke him. He dragged himself through the haze of pain to watch the door.

A guard walked in, unclasped his red cloak, and tucked it around Arthur. "It's not a blanket, but, uh…" He shrugged.

Arthur didn't have the strength to respond.

The guard nodded and left.

"Arthur, I hope you've learned your…" Father trailed off. "You look ill."

Arthur stared up at his father. His hand brushed three untouched plates. Had he been delirious most of the day? Pain had grown in his chest so much that he could barely keep breathing.

"What…" he breathed out.

"Open this cell!" Father snapped.

A guard rushed in and opened the door.

"Arthur." Father knelt next to him and pressed a hand to his forehead. "What's wrong?"

"I can't…breathe…" Arthur panted.

Father scooped him up in his arms. "You need Gaius."

Arthur's head was too heavy to keep up. He dropped it down on Father's shoulder. "It…hurts…"

"I know," Father said. "We're almost there."

Father practically kicked Gaius's door open. "Gaius!"

The physician hovered over Arthur and felt his forehead. "Carry him up to his room, I'll grab some potions and be right up."

Arthur grabbed Gaius's robe. He didn't have the strength to ask for help, but he needed something now for the pain that stabbed through his chest, keeping him from drawing in good breaths.

Gaius gently disentangled Arthur's hand from his robe. "I'll get you some help soon."

"Come on, Arthur." Father carried Arthur out and up to his room.

Father removed Arthur's boots and tucked him under the covers.

"I'm sorry," Father said. "I didn't realize… You should have said something."

Arthur swallowed. If he had said something, Father would have accused him of trying to get out of the punishment and lengthened it instead. He nodded, though moving shot pain down his neck. "Sorry," he whispered.

"I don't want to see you hurt." Father stroked his sweat-soaked hair.

Gaius shuffled in. "All right, let's see what I can do for you."

He examined Arthur and dosed him with several different potions. When Arthur wrinkled his nose at the nasty medicines, Gaius smiled and patted his cheek.

"Sire, I think you shouldn't be left alone until you get better," Gaius said.

Arthur managed to nod. "Will you stay with me?" he whispered.

"Of course." Gaius pulled up a chair and settled himself down.

"I'll stay with you as well," Father promised.

Arthur studied him. The anger was gone from Father's face, for now. Perhaps he was safe. Though there was no guaranteeing the punishments wouldn't return once Arthur was better.

Father attempted a smile and patted Arthur's hand.

Arthur burrowed himself under his blankets and turned away. Eventually, his pain eased enough to let him drop off to sleep.

He woke to a cool wet cloth dabbing his forehead. The cloth was held in the hand of the most beautiful woman in Camelot.

He smiled. "Guinevere."

Guinevere smiled back. "I told you I'd get you a blanket, didn't I?"

"This was you?"

"You looked so sick," Guinevere said. "Gaius said you would have died had he not tended you for another couple of hours. You're still very weak yet and will be for some time. I had to do something, but I knew Uther would never listen if I just tried to talk to him." She smoothed her skirts and sat down next to Arthur, then dabbed his face with the cloth. "So I got Merlin to come with me and we pretended to gossip loudly about how bad you were doing while within earshot of the king. I think it was Merlin that did it. He said you were terribly sick that night in the storms and he didn't think you'd live through another without medicine. Uther stormed off to the dungeons a moment later."

"You saved me," Arthur said.

"Well…" Guinevere blushed.

Arthur propped himself up on his elbows, intending to kiss her, but horrible pain shot up his back and through his arms. He fell onto his back with a cry.

Guinevere winced. "Gaius says that will subside eventually."

Arthur grimaced. "I hope eventually comes soon."

Gwen dabbed his forehead again. "It's all right. You can rest now."

And with that, Arthur did.