Overcrowded
Full Summary: When Gaius falls ill, Merlin becomes acting physician. With a variety of patients, royal and peasant alike, Merlin is not only overworked, but falling ill as well. Things don't help when he and his patients are cut off from the rest of the castle...and when a non-magical but highly skilled assassin arrives hell-bent on killing Uther.
Disclaimer: (Insert humorous quip about how I obviously own the show)
Note: Lookee here, less than a month since the update! Progress! (I just got back from a trip to Miami, as it's now my spring break. So there's time, now, guys!) ...Well, time in that I'm now directing a scene from The Merry Wives of Windsor. Don't worry, though. That shouldn't be too time-consuming.
-Also, just stating this for the record, I am completely making this story up as I go along. (Though this chapter did kind of pop into my head as I was writing the previous one). Thanks anyway, Tegan!
WHEN: Sometime after the Poisoned Chalice
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Evening had now befallen Camelot, with little headway concerning the hallway. Merlin had just finished doling out food rations, and had himself consumed a piece of bread on Gaius's insistence. The physician had watched him much like a hawk watches its prey—and only after Merlin had swallowed the bread did Gaius permit himself to fall asleep. Merlin, once again perched on the stool beside his guardian's beside, couldn't help but smile at Gaius's concern. It was nice, Merlin felt, to have someone to be concerned for you.
With that, Merlin promptly dropped off—literally. The sound of his body hitting the ground failed to wake the others, however. The only one to witness Merlin succumbing to slumber was Walter, dozing under the stairwell. Having awoken a few hours previously, and subsequently becoming Merlin's assistant, he was technically supposed to be overseeing the patients while Merlin was 'out'. Walter personally thought the patients would do fine without him. He also believed that there wasn't really a need to get up and see if Merlin was alright, because the boy didn't really seem to be in much discomfort, there on the floor. Walter resumed his nap.
A few minutes later, Merlin hoisted himself up into a sitting position. He was trembling slightly, a glazed look in his eye.
Merlin clamped a hand over his mouth, and attempted to stand up. An uncomfortable feeling had beset his stomach, a sort of gentle churning that caused his stomach to tighten. Merlin realized his throat felt very dry. The room seemed to spin, and Merlin suddenly doubled over, heaving nothing but air—but the harshness of it was immense, to the point where Merlin nearly toppled over.
He clutched at a wall, frantically looking around for some sort of container to throw up in. The only ones available at short notice were being used, and digging around in the clutter of the room for more would surely wake up the patients.
Merlin's gaze alighted on his bedroom door.
He stumbled towards it, his face buried in the elbow of his right arm. Shoving the door open, Merlin lurched towards the window, gripped the windowsill and proceeded to empty his stomach of the bread, the contents falling towards the ground below.
Bile dripped out of Merlin's mouth, soaking his shirt. The smell and slack muscles brought tears to Merlin's eyes. He shuddered, hunched over the sill.
"Merlin?" A slurred voice asked from behind him. "What 're you doing?"
It was Arthur. Merlin blanched, attempting to come up with an excuse. He considered the window again—a thought suddenly struck him! How could he have been so blind?
"...Merlin?"
"Arthur," Merlin croaked, clutching the windowsill for support in his excitement. "Arthur, wait, I've..." He struggled to word his idea, his mind still hazy with sleep.
Arthur stared at him blankly.
"Right, this window? This is a genius window. Brilliant. D'you know why?"
Arthur edged away from him, a wary expression on his face.
"I mean, look at it! No bars! Arthur, we've been so stupid! Surely some sort of system could be set up, so that food could be readily supplied to the patients-"
Merlin cut off, suddenly aware of the almost irrepressible urge to cough. He attempted to pass off the ensuing two as a clearing of the throat.
"Merlin..." Arthur seemed at a loss for words. "...That's...you..." Arthur threw up his good arm in frustration. "Why didn't you say something before?"
"Because I didn't think of it before, that's why." Merlin turned away and resumed looking at the window. "Funny, I thought you'd say something like, 'Since when have you been smart?'" He smiled bitterly. "I suppose my expectations were a little too high."
Merlin suddenly peered down at the ground. Was it—there! Yes! A person!
He tried to shout, but his first attempts were meager at best—his throat seemed full of grit. Merlin rushed over to Arthur's side, and drank from the water pitcher. Ignoring Arthur's grunt of surprise, Merlin returned to the window and tried again.
The figure looked up. Luckily, the man was clothed in the apparel of a guard.
"Go fetch the king!" Merlin called down to the man. "His son the prince commands you!"
At that, the man dashed off. Merlin, though having not been in Camelot for long, was known enough among Camelot's staff, if only just as the prince's manservant. If it had been anyone else who'd asked the guard, the request might not have been so easily believed.
Merlin slumped against the wall, a breath of relief escaping him. It had been the smart thing to do, he reassured himself, to ask for the king and not directly for food. There was no way of trusting those down there for reliance. Uther would do anything for his son, and aid would arrive quicker to Merlin through the king's status. All he needed to do know was wait.
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A short trumpet blast resounded from outside the window. Merlin scrambled to look. It was the announcement of Uther, who immediately upon seeing Merlin bellowed,
"Is my son alright?"
"Yes." Merlin hollered back. "We need food."
Uther said something to the trumpeter beside him, who ran off, presumably to the kitchen. His attention came back to Merlin. "I want to see my son!" The king demanded.
"He's not to be moved, sire." Merlin shot a pointed look at Arthur, who had already attempted to rise.
Uther was silent for a moment. "Are you in need of anything else? Medical supplies? Fresh water?" He finally inquired.
"Fresh water would be grea—er, deeply appreciated, sire." Merlin blushed. "We've plenty of medical supplies."
Uther stopped a nearby guard, who departed the premises after a brief conversation with the king. As he did so another figure approached with a ladder; the trumpeter must have sought out others to assist in terms of aid. Following the ladder-bearer was two men carrying rope, a third with a long metal hook.
"In case the ladder isn't tall enough," the hook-carrier explained, a hand cupped around his mouth.
The first man propped the ladder against the wall, and as had been assumed, it didn't meet the window's height. The two men with ropes immediately ascended the ladder, which missed the window by a length approximate to Merlin's height. The first man tossed up the first bundle of rope to Merlin, and then the second. Once those were safely inside the metal hook was passed up and into Merlin's hands.
"The hook's for the baskets and buckets of food 'n water." The man at the top of the ladder said. "The rope's for getting people out of here."
Suddenly there were shouts from below. "Ah. That would be the food." The man commented, and descended the ladder. "Be back in a bit, just have to assess the weight of the baskets and the like."
"We can get out?" Merlin flinched in surprise and turned around. Walter stood behind him, tense and almost desperate.
"Er...yeah. Yeah, I suppose so..." Merlin murmured. Shock rippled through his body. Of course they could get out. One simply had to be lowered onto the ladder, and then...
...Well, everyone could get out except for Arthur, who's unable to walk. And Lander, who can't grip a rope or ladder. And Alister, whose ribs still need tending to. And Beth and Gaius, who have the fever.
In fact, Merlin realized miserably, the only ones who could really escape were himself and Walter. But Merlin couldn't leave his patients behind. And Walter...
"Walter," Merlin sighed, "is there any possibility that you would stay to help me take care of the patients?"
Walter stared at him for a moment. "You must be mad," he said at last. "Look, thanks for sobering me up and all, but I'm off!"
With that, Walter grabbed the rope and shoved past Merlin, climbing out of the window. Merlin lunged for the rope at the last second—Walter hadn't realized that the rope wasn't actually tied to anything.
Merlin peered out the window. Walter's feet had touched the top rung, and it was only when Walter's hands had done the same that Merlin finally retracted the rope. Merlin scrubbed at his face with his hand. No assistance. Great. He stole a glance at Arthur, who was gazing at the window with something akin to longing. Poor Arthur. Freedom's so close yet so far.
But really, would the situation have been any different under normal circumstances? The patients wouldn't have been able to leave the room anyway. And under normal circumstances, Walter would have left under Merlin's orders. He was fit to do so. Merlin had done his duty and cured him, after all.
A yell from the window drew Merlin's attention. It was the man from before, who was clutching a basket of bread. Merlin took the metal hook and lowered it down. The basket was placed on the hook and Merlin raised the basket up and into his chambers. He couldn't help but smile—genuinely smile—at the sight. Arthur was doing the same from the bed.
Soon baskets of food of all sorts were sitting on the floor. Buckets of water had followed. So had King Uther. Uther stood with his feet on the top rung of the ladder, his hand clutching the windowsill, his head poking out above it. Merlin left the room for father and son to talk. He needed to inform the others of what had happened anyway.
When he returned, Uther had disappeared with the other food-bearers below. Merlin plopped himself down on the floor and gleefully started to examine the food.
Removing a cloth covering the basket closest to him, he was dismayed to find an unfamiliar meat as its contents.
"How could they be so stupid? Surely they realized that we've no larder to keep the meat fresh in?" He moaned, prodding at it. "What is it, anyway?"
"Capon." Arthur supplied. Merlin shook his head, indicating that he had no clue as to what that was.
"It's a type of fowl. Chicken, to be precise. I recognize the smell. And the feather." He gestured to a feather sticking out from the meat. "Father probably put that there to help us identify it."
"Well, we can't just not eat it, I've no salt to preserve it with." Merlin grumbled. "Right, looks like everybody's getting meat for dinner. On the bright side," he added, "I'm pretty sure most of us have never actually eaten capon. Nobility we aren't." He mumbled, setting the capon aside.
Merlin checked the rest of the baskets. Two more of them contained meat, both of which Merlin could not recognize. Arthur proclaimed them as geese and larks.
Merlin doled out the meat as best he could. Beth and Gaius could unfortunately stomach little in the way of meat, but Lander and Arthur would be voracious eaters. Alister could eat, but he had to be careful, due to his ribs. Once the patients in the main chamber had obtained their new dinners (Beth and Gaius had been given pottage, which had been delivered straight from the kitchens), Merlin retired to his chambers, where he divided up the rest of the meat with Arthur. Everybody who was eating the fowl had been given large portions. Merlin had never had so much meat on a dinner plate before himself. He didn't know how much he could actually eat, to be honest. He was still queasy from throwing up.
Arthur had tucked in with great gusto, first tearing at the larks. "I'd save the capon for last," he advised. "Absolutely the best of the lot."
Merlin picked at his own food, first nibbling at the goose. His bites were tiny, and he waited a few moments before swallowing the next piece. He didn't want to instigate another vomiting session, especially in front of Arthur.
"What's got you so quiet?" Arthur asked, already finishing up the lark. "Normally you'd be talking my ear off."
"Nothing." Merlin stuffed a piece of meat into his mouth and chewed furiously, so as to be excused from responding further.
"I mean, this is great! We can survive for as long as is needed in here, now with a steady supply of food." Arthur continued, reaching for the pitcher of water beside him. "There's nothing to worry about now."
"Except for the roc," Merlin countered, swallowing the last of the geese. He set his plate down, a tight feeling in his stomach.
Arthur scowled. "My father mentioned that briefly, when you stepped outside the room. He seems to think it might exist..."
"And what happens if it attacks again?" Merlin hugged his arms around his stomach, hoping it would look like he was worried about the situation and not losing his supper in front of Arthur.
"Well, maybe it won't." Arthur belched, and picked up another piece of meat. "Maybe, you need to stop worrying so much."
Merlin rolled his eyes. "I'm going to go see if anyone wants the rest of my meal," he said, standing up.
"What?" Arthur looked up, startled. "But you've hardly ate!"
"I'm...not very hungry." Merlin tottered over to the door and left to dump his supper on whoever would take it. Lander was perfectly happy with a third of Merlin's share, clearly enjoying the food of the aristocracy. Alister accepted another third, clearly not about to let a knife would to the chest stop him from filling his stomach. Merlin returned to Arthur, and offered him the third. Arthur accepted it, though warily.
"I don't know, Merlin. It doesn't seem...healthy, calling two mouthfuls of geese a meal."
"It's not that unusual." Merlin replied, leaning against the wall and sliding down to a sitting position.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, us ordinary people have busy schedules..."
Arthur scoffed, his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. "So do I!"
"Yeah, but your meals are planned. I mean, you know you're going to have supper, it's not something that's optional for you. You know exactly what's going to happen during the day, because you can't let that sort of thing bother you. But servants..." Merlin scratched at his hair, considering his words carefully. "Servants don't get that. We usually have certain tasks we know have to be completed, but there's no telling when we'll be called to assist with some problem, be it understaffed or—heh-a catastrophe. Our personal needs are supposed to come after the royalty, the nobles, castle...well, they're just last. Food's an afterthought. If food spills on the ground and makes it unsuitable for the king, snatch it up and stick it in your pocket. That sort of thing."
Arthur blinked, his face blank and eyes wide. Merlin, feeling exposed, quickly changed the subject.
"What else did your father tell you?"
Arthur slowly chewed, regarding him with a judgmental gaze. "That they were doing their best to dig us out as soon as fast as possible, but there's a shortage of men due to the threat of the roc and Mercia."
"Did he mention any casualties?" Merlin asked, thinking of Gwen and Morgana.
"Morgana's fine," Arthur said, "but apparently her handmaiden, Gwen, was in the vicinity of the destroyed hallway."
Merlin swallowed.
"Others buried under the rubble have yet to be determined, although there's a strong chance that..." Arthur struggled for a moment. "...Sir...Sir Leon was one of them."
Merlin winced sympathetically. He knew the knight vaguely as a kind and intelligent soul, loyal to the Pendragons to the end. He was the captain of the guards—close to Arthur.
Like Gwen was to him.
Merlin wrung his hands together absentmindedly. "Are you done with your dishes?"
Arthur nodded, and Merlin retrieved them silently. He went on to collect the rest of the dirty dishes from the rest of the patients, and set them aside. He didn't have the strength to clean them. Indeed, his stomach prevented it.
After checking on the medical statuses of the patients in the main room, he reentered his chambers. Arthur had slipped into sleep, which Merlin was profoundly grateful for, as he proceeded to go to the window and throw up.
Shaking, Merlin withdrew from the window and stripped off his tunic, having gotten sick on the front of it. Opening his wardrobe he quickly selected another one and stuffed the vomit-soaked one inside. Once fully clothed, he crouched on the ground to pick up his own plate, which he'd forgotten in his haste to exit the room.
Merlin didn't get up again. The servant had fallen asleep, his body awkwardly slumped on the floor, in a position that would undoubtedly leave him with cramps when he woke up.
Meanwhile, the roc flew over the forests nearby...
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So! Less than a month this time! Progress!
Pottage, by the way, was a thick peasant soup-stew made commonly from oats, but often vegetables were added in. Leek pottage was pretty popular. I imagine the cooks thought to include something that would be somewhat familiar to the peasant patients patiently persisting in peril. ...Right? Heh.
Also, the noble class would eat meat far more often than peasants, including capon, geese, and larks. Honestly, I have no idea why Merlin and co. were given meat, because it should have been obvious to the kitchen and to Uther that meat would spoil quickly. (Okay, okay, I really wanted to indicate class differences, alright? So sue me).
Sorry nothing much happened in this chapter. It's eight pages long, though, (not including this author's note, which makes it nine). That's good, yeah? Quantity over quality... *sobs*