"So what exactly are you doing?"
Arthur's fever had gotten worse. Merlin kept up at his treatment, but the arm kept worrying him, and the longer Merlin left it, the worse he felt. Arthur was sweating and trembling, but still unconscious, and Merlin wished again that he had Gaius there with him.
He'd stopped worrying about Gaius being there for Camelot a while ago. It was kind of hard to worry about Agravaine and Morgana having nefarious plots with Arthur like this, because Merlin's loyalty may have been to Camelot… But it was always first and foremost to Arthur. Luckily, most of the time the two loyalties were equivalent to each other. Right now, though, Arthur needed help.
So Merlin selfishly wished for Gaius to come and take the responsibility away, and didn't even feel badly about it.
After a while he just couldn't stand it anymore, so he gave the bucket to Gwaine and told him what to do. Then he nearly fled outside.
A while later, when Gwaine came and found him, he was sitting by the well, looking intensely at the two pieces of a twig he held in his hands.
He ignored Gwaine entirely and said in his low, magic voice: "Drwsioyr aelod."
The two pieces of twig seemed suddenly to pull towards each other with great force. They pushed themselves together and twisted until they fit into the grooves and niches of their partner. Then, the two bits attached to each other with little sinewy bits of wood – or as sinewy as wood could get – until they appeared to be one unbroken stick.
Merlin stopped what he was doing and looked up at his friend.
And that was when Gwaine had to ask.
Merlin gestured the stick at Gwaine almost accusingly. Gwaine eyed the magic-ed thing suspiciously. "This is how I'm going to fix Arthur's arm."
"With sticks?"
Merlin chuckled. Gwaine always made everything look better. "No," he said. "I was practicing on the sticks." He gestured to a pile of sticks at his feet. "It binds them back together, but sadly," he said as he broke the twig again and showed Gwaine how it had broken the exact same way as it had just been, "it only fixes them on the surfaces. Like setting a bone, I suppose. I think with this I can fix Arthur's bones or any nerves…" He sighed. "I wish I was a doctor."
Gwaine patted him on the shoulder comfortingly as Merlin dropped the two pieces of wood with the others at his feet. "Once we bring the fever down and fix that arm, we can get him to a real physician."
Merlin nodded. "How is he?"
"Sleeping a bit more peacefully, but the fever's higher."
Merlin sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He wished he could bring back that furious fire he'd had eating away at his insides earlier, but he couldn't feel anything but a sort of sick pain and grief.
"I think I'm ready to fix his arm," he said. "Hopefully that will help."
Gwaine nodded firmly and helped the warlock to his feet. Merlin followed him into the house, dreading the sight before he saw it. Arthur was indeed sleeping more peacefully, still stretched out as much as he could be on his back, but with his broken arm drawn closer to him. The wet cloths were on his forehead and neck, but most of the liquid on him seemed to be sweat.
Merlin sighed. "Alright," he said, drawing up a chair and sitting by Arthur's side. "Arthur, I don't think you can hear me…"
But Arthur gave a small groan.
Merlin shot a look at Gwaine, who shrugged. Arthur stilled, though, so Merlin plowed on.
"I'm just going to help," Merlin continued. "I'm going to touch your arm, and it might hurt, but it won't last long."
"He can't hear you," said Gwaine.
Merlin scowled. "He needs to be told at least." He remembered how Arthur had reacted last time he'd tried to get a bit too close. But Gwaine was right; Arthur did not look inclined to protest.
Merlin put his hand gently on Arthur's arm and opened his mouth. He was shocked when Arthur seemed to slam into some semblance of consciousness; the king lurched, his fever-filmed eyes flying open.
"No," he gasped.
Merlin started, his hand bumping into Arthur's arm. Arthur hissed and let out a noise that Merlin couldn't really place. It was almost like a whimpering grunt.
"Sorry," Merlin said. "Sorry!"
He had to get on with it. He started again, but Arthur slammed his eyes shut and seemed more averse to the notion than ever. He twisted – he's hurting himself! Merlin thought with some panic – and shook his head, his damp hair flying off his forehead.
"Don't," Arthur muttered, obviously caught up in his illness. "Don't… don't touch me."
"It's just me," Merlin assured him. "It's just me."
"Merlin…" Arthur's voice went up in pitch slightly and the terror behind that word was like a blow to Merlin's gut. His good arm wrapped around his body to guard the broken one. "Don't," he insisted. "Please. Don't… Know Emrys."
"Arthur," Merlin said, putting his hand out anyway in his determination to get this over with. Arthur caught Merlin's reaching hand in his own shaking one, keeping him back, but there was none of his usual strength in his grasp. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Arthur choked, but other than a slight whine, he didn't argue when Gwaine kindly took his hand and moved it away from Merlin's.
Merlin sniffed once and put his hand back on Arthur's arm. "Drwsioyr aelod," he growled, his head bowed as his eyes flashed a silvery gold and heat seemed to leak out of his palm into Arthur's crushed arm. He saw with his own eyes the unnatural bend in Arthur's arm straighten and sensed the bone stitching itself delicately together. The swelling seemed to lessen slightly as nerves and veins sorted themselves out, and Merlin knew that the only thing left that could help that limb was time.
Merlin inhaled sharply and pulled himself out of the magic haze to see what was going on. He stood up and took a step back, catching his breath. Gwaine was holding Arthur down on the bed, a hand on each shoulder, because Arthur was fighting and his eyes were rolling in his head. What was left of his shirt was stuck to him with persperation, and he was making these noises—
The warlock later figured it was anguish that he felt right then, but for that moment he only felt an unnamed erupting sensation in his chest as he watched Arthur and Gwaine's alarmed face. He threw an arm out, whispered a word, and in a second, Arthur had blacked out again.
Gwaine released Arthur, breathing heavily and looking back at Merlin, whose eyes were latched onto Arthur's still form.
"You knocked him out," said Gwaine.
Merlin nodded, but he didn't explain. He didn't try to say how he couldn't, he just couldn't, watch Arthur react like that for another second. It was too wrong, too un-Arthur… too vulnerable.
Merlin licked his lips. How had they gotten so dry? After a moment more, he managed to tear his eyes away from Arthur's still form. "We'll wait a little longer," he said. "But if that man doesn't come back, we need to get him help whether or not that fever goes down. We'll have to take the horses back to Camelot."
Gwaine nodded, sitting down in the chair Merlin had recently occupied.
Merlin looked around the room, appearing lost. He turned in a full circle before facing Gwaine again, and his face hardened as he said, "We won't tell him about that."
"What?" asked Gwaine in confusion.
"That," said Merlin, gesturing towards Arthur's body, unable to actually put words to what that had been. "When he's better and he wakes up, we won't tell him what just happened."
Gwaine's eyebrows drew together.
Worried, Merlin pushed on, needing Gwaine to understand this. "He wouldn't have wanted us to see that," he said. "You know how Arthur is. He's just… sick. He wouldn't have wanted…"
Gwaine shook his head and lifted his hand to stop the words dribbling from Merlin's lips. "I agree," he said. "We won't tell him."
Merlin let out a heavy breath and seemed to sag into himself. "Thank you," he whispered, and then once more into the silence: "Thank you." He almost fell back into the wall and took the weight off his legs, letting himself slide down into a sitting position as he ran his hands through his hair. After a moment of sitting there and staring into space, he let his face drop into his hands. Never again would he say a word about the fear he'd read on his best friend's face or heard in his voice. But he'd never forget it.
A/N: So this was a really difficult chapter to write, not sure if it suffered for it. I just wasn't feeling it. Plus this is the last of the really hurt Arthur, I think; after this should be the road to recovery and the rest of the story. I really just wanted to get to next chapter. *shrugs* Sorry.
If anyone's interested, I posted my 100th story… It makes me feel old… jk.