Morgana and Gwen left quietly after casting concerned looks at Arthur, but the prince lingered, his sapphire eyes on Merlin. Gaius began to clean up the aftermath of the emergency treatment, entirely unaware that the young man was still present as he stacked the bowls and replaced half-used bottles of herbs to their shelves. It was only when he turned to gather the papers that had been knocked over to make room for Merlin that the old man realized with a little start that he was not quite as alone in the room as he had believed.

"Sire," he said, clutching at the front of his robes with a gnarled hand. "I thought you had left with the girls."

"I want to stay with him," Arthur said hoarsely, surprisingly not only Gaius but himself as well. He couldn't recall making any sort of conscious decision to do such a thing, but once he said it, he felt that it was nevertheless a true statement. He didn't want to leave Merlin alone, not when he was in such a state, and most certainly not when it was his, Arthur's, fault. If Arthur hadn't upset him by condemning his old friend, Merlin would never have gone out alone in the first place, and then he had taken his sweet time looking for the serving boy, loitering around in his village while Merlin was no doubt watering the forest floor with his blood.

"Sire…" said Gaius hesitantly. "You should get some rest. You have had a long few days. There is nothing more you can do for Merlin now."

"I don't want to leave him alone," the prince insisted stubbornly, glancing up at the other man. The physician's scraggly white hair was in complete disarray, but it was so close to how it normally was that there was little point in acknowledging the disaster.

"I will be with him, Sire," Gaius promised. "He won't be alone. Go get some rest, please. I'm sure someone can find you a temporary servant until Merlin has recovered."

"He will recover, then?" Arthur said hopefully.

"The wounds are deep," said Gaius hesitantly. "It will take some time, but yes, I do think that with a lot of rest, he should be able to make a full recovery."

Gaius put a lot of emphasis on the word rest, and Arthur found himself bowing his head with chagrin at the obvious implication that he would not be allowed to work Merlin into the ground for a while. Gaius smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

"Return to your chambers for the night, Arthur," he said, not unkindly. "I will send for you if there is any change."

Arthur heaved a great sigh, looking back down at the young man in question, and then nodded to Gaius. He turned to leave.

"Oh, Sire," Gaius said hastily. "Before you leave, would you be so kind as to help me move Merlin to his bed?"

"Of course," Arthur agreed readily.

He moved to stand beside the table and leaned over it, very carefully sliding his arms beneath Merlin's slender body and lifting him up. Again he reveled at how light the young man was as he held him against his chest. The servant's left arm hung listlessly at his side, and his head lolled against the prince's shoulder, but other than the limp and unconscious movements of a man being moved without his knowledge, he did not stir. Arthur cautiously took him up the small set of stairs to what everyone called his bedroom, though it was incredibly barren of any of the comforts that made Arthur's chambers liveable. He sat Merlin down on what passed for a bed, being mindful of catching the bandages on anything, and pulled away.

"Thank you, Sire," said Gaius from the main room.

Arthur said nothing, but left Merlin on his bed, looking for all the world as though he was only sleeping but for the bloody cloth wrapped around his torso. When he stepped back into Gaius' study, the old physician was bustling around again, clearing up more of the mess.

"You should rest, too," Arthur noted.

"Oh, I think I'll have plenty of rest once I am dead, Sire," said Gaius dryly. "In the mean time, I must keep my space livable."

Arthur gave a weak smile. "Good night, Gaius," he said heavily.

"Good night, Sire," the man replied. "Try to get some sleep."

Arthur didn't reply, and he left without another word, very sure that on this night, sleep would never reach him, would probably not even come close. The door closed with loud finality behind him as he entered the narrow corridor, and a thin breeze from nowhere breathed down the hall, causing gooseflesh to erupt down his arms and neck. Arthur shivered and began walking, the heels of his boots clicking loudly through empty passageways.

If there had been few people out and about in the castle the previous morning, the halls were positively barren of life tonight. Everyone had already retired to their chambers, save the night watchmen, and Arthur's elongated shadow danced quite alone along the walls, cast there by the flickering of torches in brackets. Where he passed windows, he did not glance out, but caught out of his peripheral the sight of a black velvet sky scattered with silver stars, and the vastness of it all made him feel even more alone. There was never just one set of footsteps when he walked down a corridor, never just one shadow on the floor or walls. Merlin was always at his shoulder, his feet just slightly out of step with Arthur and an endless flood of meaningless chatter assaulting the prince's ears until he whipped around and told his useless servant to shut up. Merlin was always there. Always.

Arthur sighed and ran a hand wearily over his face. There was no use worrying now. Merlin had been found, wounded yes but alive, and he had received the best possible treatment that could be given to him in the whole of Camelot. In all likelihood he would make a full recovery and would be bouncing after Arthur like a lost puppy again in no time, talking his ears off and tripping over his own feet. The prince supposed that he should just enjoy the quiet while it lasted, but it was too heavy a quiet, too oppressive. It was the weight of guilt, of knowing that even though Merlin would probably be alright, it was his fault that the boy had been hurt in the first place. There was also fear; fear that Merlin wouldn't have forgiven him yet when he woke up, fear that Merlin would blame him as he blamed himself, and more than anything, fear that Merlin would forgive him the way he always did. He needed the boy to be angry with him, needed him to feel that Arthur had done something wrong, otherwise the apologies hanging on Arthur's lips would mean nothing. Even more than all of that, though, was that Arthur felt he deserved it. He deserved Merlin's anger, his blame, his pain. Though he couldn't take all that Hunith had told him to heart, it was true that he had been wrong to be so unkind as to call Merlin's oldest friend inherently evil because of something that he had been born with.

It was only when Arthur walked right past the doors to his chambers that the prince returned to himself, doubling back so that he could unlock the doors and slip inside. It was very dark in his chambers, and a reprimand was on his lips before he reminded himself that Merlin had hardly been able to light the fireplace and candles ahead of him. With a sigh, he made his way by moonlight to his bedside, stripping off his maroon doublet and kicking his boots beneath his bed. His socks peeled off and were tossed with the doublet into the basket of dirty laundry. Merlin would have a lot to do once he was well, Arthur noted. Still dressed in his trousers and tunic, the prince collapsed onto his bed, feeling inexplicably exhausted and altogether too weary to finish undressing himself. He turned onto his side and hugged a pillow beneath him, tucking it beneath his chin like a young child might.

"Too hot…" he grumbled.

This wasn't really the case; Arthur's chambers were usually warmed by a cheerfully crackling fire in the hearth, and once that was put out, he was safely beneath the covers of his magnificent bed. However, the mind plays funny little tricks on a person as full of worry as he, and he needed a reason with which to justify the sweat that lingered on his brow. He rolled over to look out the windows, the pillow still held against his chest as he gazed up at the thousands of stars glittering against the midnight sky.

When he had been smaller and the world had been kinder, Arthur had asked his father what those bright lights in the night sky were, and Uther had replied that they were the souls of all the greatest kings that had ever lived, floating high in the air to watch over their kingdoms forever and ever. Would Uther go there when he died, and Arthur? Of course the king had told him yes, but Arthur knew now that he had simply been entertaining a child's dreaming. The truly great kings were in Avalon, a place of eternal summer, and Arthur wondered if either he or his father could possibly be accepted into that wondrous place when they departed the world of man.

Merlin wouldn't go to Avalon when he died. The realization was like a blow to Arthur's midsection. He never thought that Merlin would be separated from him, had grown used to that constant presence, and though Merlin had very nearly died this day, he would live, and the prince thought the matter done with. He hadn't given any thought that he wouldn't be able to rest with Merlin serving him in the afterlife. He felt oddly berefit at the thought.

Aggravated by his train of thought, Arthur flung his pillow at the wall; it slid down and hit a chair, setting it tetering haphazardly. A muffled thump sounded, and Arthur squinted to see what had been knocked over. A messenger bag had fallen, its flap falling open to release the contents. Arthur rubbed his eyes and looked for what might have fallen out. There it was, lying maybe a foot or so away.

A book lay open on the floor.