Hi there! So, rating change because of reasons. Not sure if it's really M-rated material but I don't want to get it deleted or anything. Thanks for all the great comments and I hope you all enjoy!
Chapter Eight: Return to Camelot
There was nothing Arthur loved more than Camelot, and Merlin played the heartbreak in his king's eyes over and over in his head as the men rushed the collapsed Arthur through what turned out to be bustling streets. Foreign faces turned to watch as they struggled by.
"Who's that?" Merlin heard them whisper.
"Is that man all right?" A child tugged at his mother's sleeve.
Merlin, too, had felt the pain of seeing Camelot in ruin. He'd recognized the land while they were still stumbling through the forest. He was nearly knocked back by the sight of the city he'd been away from for so many years. But his bond with Camelot was nothing compared to that of its king.
Not to mention, Merlin knew well the pain of seeing time take hold of the ancient world—his world. Everything Arthur had felt since rising must have climaxed at the moment his heart was torn out—when he'd laid eyes on Camelot.
"Here!" A new face rushed down the steps as they arrived in the tattered courtyard. It must have been the heart of the sanctuary because rugged looking travelers had set up tents there—probably having not had the chance to find a home yet in the ruins of the lower town. Merlin knew the city had been razed in the Norman Conquest, but much of it still stood—the greatest stronghold ever built could surely withstand hell and beyond.
When Merlin turned to see the girl rushing toward them, a wave of recognition crashed over the shores of his mind. Dark curls cascaded over caramel skin and large. Doe-like eyes were wide with confusion as gentle hands helped to carry the king into the palace.
Merlin didn't know how, or why, but this girl must have been Guinevere reborn. Much like the "knights" seemed so much like the ones back in Camelot—old Camelot. Their presence all sent Deja-vu coursing through the young warlock's head.
"The doctor is through here." She showed them the way but Merlin knew it well. Gaius' chambers had changed so much since the age of Camelot, but something about the room still must have felt like a place of healing since the new inhabitants had chosen it as their hospital. Perhaps it was the spirit of the old physician, still making the air smell of herbs and stew.
It was Merlin's turn to be hit by a wall of sadness as he rushed into the chambers with the other men. The room was so different—the metal shelves stocked with modern supplies, the slick-surfaced operating table where Gaius' bed had once been, and the tables arranged with stainless steel scalpels and scissors instead of iron tools and herbs. The air smelt of chemicals instead of spice and left Merlin longing for home.
"In here." An elderly man came out of nowhere and opened the door to the back room: Merlin's old bedroom. The man was tall, with short white hair and the wise look of a man with quite a few long years under his belt. His face was cut deep with wrinkles and kindness and his hands had features that Merlin would recognize anywhere, no matter what time period—the steady hands of a physician.
Merlin's bedroom had changed as well, and the men set Arthur's still form down on the cot where the young warlock's bed once was. A few shelves lined the wall—mostly covered in containers of antiseptic and a few bottles drinking alcohol that Merlin assumed was for cleaning wounds when the real stuff ran out.
"What happened?" The old physician leaned over Arthur with a stethoscope.
"He just fainted outside the walls." Liam said with genuine concern.
The doctor went about his work then stopped suddenly as he was shining a flashlight in Arthur's eyes. The old man turned to Merlin causing the young warlock to flash back to the looks he used to get from Gaius.
"Who are you?"
"Merlin." Merlin replied, "That's Arthur."
The doctor raised an eyebrow then turned back to the unconscious king.
"Is there any particular reason he would faint outside the castle."
"Erm…" Merlin wasn't sure how to explain. If this man really was like Gaius, Merlin would be spilling his life story to him within the hour, but for now the sorcerer said "He's probably a little shocked. It's been a rough couple of days, and he used to come here as a kid."
"Right…" The doctor clearly didn't believe Merlin's lies—just as Gaius wouldn't have. His expression changed instantly though. "Your friend will be fine. Luckily he hasn't damaged himself in any way. He needs to rest and then I will check for signs of psychological shock."
Merlin knew that was his cue to leave, but he didn't like the idea of leaving Arthur alone in this new place, especially after such a devastating discovery.
"If I had to guess," the physician continued, "He won't be up for a few hours. I suggest you come back in the evening, maybe around seven."
Merlin nodded. The men had already left. No doubt they had duties to attend to as able bodied men in a budding society. The young sorcerer took one last look at the sleeping king, making sure he saw Arthur's chest rise and fall at least once before he followed "modern Gwen" out into the hallway.
"Don't worry." She said in her familiarly kind voice. Merlin felt a pang of sadness for this young woman, for she had the youthful pleasantness of the Gwen he'd first met in Camelot rather than the strong, extraordinary Queen years of hardship and prosperity had beaten her into. She went on "Dr. Grey is a great physician. Before this all started he was a surgeon in London."
"Thanks." Merlin gave her a smile that was only half forced.
"I'm Jeniveve." She said hopefully, giving him a bright, yet modest beam. "Jenny for short. I see my brother and the other men found you."
"Which one is your brother?" Merlin asked as if it weren't obvious.
"Eli." She answered, and then glanced as the watch on her wrist. "I have to go. Don't worry about your friend, Merlin. He'll be better in no time. There's plenty to do around camp. I'm sure somebody will want your help."
With that, she walked off down the passageway, leaving Merlin lost in a whirlwind of worry and deja-vu.
Merlin had spent the next few hours exploring what had become of Camelot and deep down in his heart he believed Arthur could come to love it. Even surrounded by the horrors of this new world, the people were lively and grateful, and found hope and happiness where they could take it. They were all there for one another—as Merlin had learned was often the case for people in times of trouble. Even in ruins, Camelot lived on the hearts of its decedents.
"Hello?" Merlin peered into the Doctor's office and glanced around. The chamber was dark save for a dim light glowing from beneath the back room door. It was late evening, and the night around him was as dark as Merlin had seen it in years.
He kicked himself, remembering that another "patrol" (which was apparently what he and Arthur had been found by) had come back in pretty bad shape.—riddled with bites and slashes. The doctor—Dr. Grey, would be with them in the citadel somewhere where he had more space to work. So these creatures could use weapons—although not guns… not yet anyway.
Merlin slipped quietly through the room, careful to avoid the edge of the table as he advanced toward the back. There was no sound coming from the other side of the door and Merlin wondered if perhaps Arthur was still asleep.
He didn't knock, not that he ever did, and opened the door with relatively little sound. Within the room, several candles burned at Arthur's bedside. Arthur was awake, hunched over and clasping a bottle of some brown liquid that Merlin quickly identified as whiskey.
"Arthu—"
"I can't do this Merlin." The king was seated on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the bottle in his hands. Merlin was certain he'd never seen his king look quite so broken. "I can't do this. This world—everyone is dead. Camelot is dead."
"Arthur." Merlin had dealt with this pain long ago—and much less dramatically. He couldn't imagine the shock that Arthur must have been going through. He took a step further into the room, allowing the door to drift shut behind him. "Camelot is not dead."
"The city was razed!" Arthur slurred, pouring his brilliant blue gaze into Merlin's. His eyes were red and his cheeks glimmered with tears that had run out hours ago. Arthur was clearly drunk. "I'm not blind!"
"The city is in ruins." Merlin agreed, "But Camelot lives."
Arthur swigged the last of whatever he was drinking and frowned as the bottle ran dry. The king let his forehead fall against the glass.
"Where'd you get this?" Merlin walked over and snatched the bottle from Arthur's grasp.
"Cabinet." Merlin looked over to where the cupboard doors were askew on the wall. Arthur was drinking the Doctor's backup antiseptic.
"Arthur." Merlin set the empty bottle down and sat beside his king. "Camelot lives—in you and in me. And in these people."
Arthur gave him a skeptical glare.
"You know." Arthur slurred, "That whole 'wise-man' act of yours gets annoying pretty fast." At least the king's tone had changed.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Merlin gave his king a smile. Arthur's lips twitched for a moment before he looked back down.
"What does that make me? I'm not king anymore."
"You'll always be king of Camelot, Arthur." Merlin assured him of what he knew to be true. "It's your destiny. They may not know it yet, but these people—Albion—they need you."
"Yeah?" Arthur rolled his eyes, "For what?"
Merlin's head spun for a moment as he flashed back to his vision—of Arthur leading a modern army into battle. Was this his new destiny?
Arthur continued, "I'm useless in this world Merlin. I don't know how anything works!" Arthur stood up, prompting Merlin to follow. The king batted the empty bottle off the end-table in rage. It shattered on impact with the cold stone floor.
"Arthur." Merlin said soothingly. His vision of the king flowed through his mind clearly now: Commanding troops on the battlefield—exactly where he belonged. "I don't know why, or when, or for what exactly, but please trust me. You're Arthur Pendragon, Once and Future King of Camelot, and Albion needs you." He averted his eyes, his heart swelling with affection for his friend. "and I need you to stay with me."
Something shifted in Arthur's blue eyes—a flash of something else through all the pain and uncertainty. Merlin saw Arthur swallow hard.
The young warlock was suddenly aware of how close they were standing when Arthur poured his eyes into Merlin's. They were red and filled with emotion, but there was something else—something primal in the king's intoxicated gaze.
"And I need you." Arthur slurred in a sultry voice that made Merlin's heart pick up. The king stepped closer, close enough for Merlin to feel the warrior's heat on his own flesh. "I need you, so much closer…"
Merlin swallowed, "Arthur I—" but the King seized him by the waist and pulled the warlock against him, pressing his lips hungrily against Merlin's. The young sorcerer went weak at the knees, his body flooding with heat as he couldn't bring himself to push Arthur away. Every strange thing he'd been feeling, ever heart-racing moment, every rush of blood—it was this. This fiery, thick, hot lust that coursed through him like lava spilling out of a volcano.
"No, Arthur—" Merlin tried to object but his voice came out low and husky in a way it never had before. Arthur was drunk, most likely to the point where he wasn't thinking about his actions. Merlin could taste the whisky on his lips and in his breath. As Merlin pulled back, Arthur was on him again in an instant, pinning him against the wall and staring him down with eager arousal in his gunmetal eyes.
The king pressed his body against Merlin's and trailed his lips down the sorcerer's neck, prompting blood to pool in Merlin's groin as he let out an embarrassingly loud moan.
Oh god yes—no, NO! Merlin's wits returned, if only for a moment, allowing him to push Arthur away. He did his best to compose himself and pretended not to notice the arousal clearly showing in the sudden tightness of Arthur's jeans.
"I—er—I'm sorry Arthur." Merlin tried to clear the huskiness from his voice as he hurried toward the door. "I'll come and see you in the morning."
That was going to be absolute hell. How, in all this mayhem of prophecy and destiny, had Merlin managed to feel something as primal and mind-altering as lust?
Especially toward Arthur?
Merlin, feeling extremely uncomfortable and trying to calm the subsiding heat below his belt, practically raced out of the back room with his head low.
"Umph!" With his eyes on the floor, Merlin couldn't stop himself from smashing into the other person standing in the middle of the physician's ward.
The young warlock looked up with dread in his heart only to have it sink lower when he locked eyes with a startled Shane, standing with an armful of bandages.
Merlin stood with his mouth agape for a few seconds before he managed to stammer—"err… hi Shane! What are you doing here?"
Shane's lips curled into a stifled smile and he raised an eyebrow. Merlin's cheeks flushed.
"Doc told me to grab some extra bandages for the patrol…"
"How long have you been here?" Merlin glanced over his shoulder. Luckily Arthur hadn't followed him out.
"A minute or two." Merlin's heart sank. He wasn't sure if he was more afraid of Shane hearing them talk about Camelot or… the other thing.
"Why are you smiling?" Merlin frowned, although he knew he was blushing.
"Oh, no reason. I just won a bet is all…" Shane grinned and walked past Merlin. The sorcerer heaved a sigh of relief when he figured that Shane hadn't heard anything about Camelot, but then he realized what Shane probably had witnessed. Merlin swallowed hard, unable to meet the soldier's eyes as he hurried for the door, blushing wildly.
"See ya later Mer." Shane called, "Maybe you and your… friend… can come down to the field for some gun training tomorrow. We could sure use a few more on the patrols…"
He might have said more, but Merlin was long gone down the hallway by then.