Pondering a Lost Man's Actions
Arthur grimaced as Elyan pulled the chainmail up and over his head to get to where the sword had pierced his armour. Elyan started cleaning and dressing the wound and pain shot up and down his torso, making him wish he'd passed out on impact just so he wouldn't have to deal with it. The knight was no physician, but he had at least learnt a thing or two from Merlin before...before he'd left.
It had been months now since that day. Months since he'd practically forced him out. Arthur hated to think about it –it only made him acutely aware that the emptiness was still there, like an open wound that would never heal. He hated that everything the man had ever done was now something he questioned at night. He hated that every word he had ever uttered was now suspect. He hated not knowing if the man he had trusted above all others was really the man he had thought he was, or some traitorous sorcerer hell bent on taking retribution.
Arthur forced himself to look away, not wanting to think about it, but it was not to be. Everyone in the company was injured, some quite badly. He frowned in displeasure at the sight, reminded once again that this had not been a common occurrence in the past. It was beginning to be painfully apparent that Merlin had never been lying down on the job during battle, despite all the things the man had done to make it seem otherwise, and Arthur hated to think about what that meant the most.