"The man who owns this place is not coming back anytime soon," Merlin said several hours after he fixed Arthur's arm, leaning back against the wall still. Except to get water or check on Arthur, neither he nor Gwaine had moved in that time. Merlin was pretty sure he had begun to doze at some point.
Gwaine nodded. "You're right. We'll just return the horses after we get to Camelot. At least his fever has gone down."
Merlin looked over at Arthur. The king was sleeping. Not a deep, unnatural, fevered sleep—but just sleep. Merlin looked at his calm face for perhaps longer than was strictly necessary, but the sight of him sleeping – not haunted by any sort of torment or memory – was like balm.
"It'll go back up if those burns get infected," Merlin said, launching himself to his feet. "Let's get him onto the horse and go. The sooner we get him to Gaius, the better."
Gwaine nodded and grunted as he got to his feet. "Come on, Arthur," he said to the king as he scooped him up in his arms. "You're heavy."
Merlin led him outside, hiding his impatience at how slowly Gwaine was moving. Now that he had some forward momentum, Merlin didn't want to stop. He wanted to see Camelot in front of him now; he wanted to be there, among the knights and Gaius. Because it wouldn't feel like Arthur was safe until he was home. And Merlin couldn't rest unless Arthur was safe.
Very soon after Gwaine and Merlin trotted away from the hut, another figure approached. It was a cinch that so many people hadn't visited the place in so many days in years. Perhaps ever.
This man was named Saxon. He had awoken to find himself alone with the aftermath of a battle, surrounded by dead comrades.
And so he had gotten up and staggered away down the back passage and found his way to the farmer's hut.
He thought about resting up here and then going back to the other members of the Mortdestin later. But Saxon had always considered himself a peaceful man, and he guessed that now people thought he was dead. Frankly, he could see some advantages to being dead.
He'd always fancied being a farmer, anyway, he thought as he yawned, his head aching. Perhaps he should just stay at this house and never leave. Smiling, he collapsed onto the slightly-warm bed inside and fell asleep without giving anything but his aching head another thought.
As it turned out, though no one except for a man named Aberforth knew it yet, a vacancy in the farming department of that vicinity had just opened up.
A/N: I recognize that it is extremely short, but it's a bridge chapter. Sorry! Things are going to start winding down soon I hope, but I admit I'm suffering a bit of writer's-laziness when it comes to this story. The words just won't get arranged how I want. Tsk. I'm working on it. I'll update when I can.