Chapter 7: Comprehending Loss

Merlin was clean and bandaged. His belly full of more than his half of the dinner Gwaine had fixed and as much as he wanted of the cool stream water.

Still it was a horrible night.

He couldn't get comfortable, and shifting hurt. He tried lying on his back with his wrists propped on his ribs. He tried lying on either side, the lower hand resting gently on its back so the fingers could curl upward from the ground, the other dangling over his side. He tried lying on his – nope, couldn't lie chest-down, either.

As the darkness lifted slowly toward dawn, and the birds twittered and hopped and called – night prowlers returned to sleep the daylight away and curious day-dwellers began to rustle about, Merlin shivered. Feeling dull-witted and feverish, anxious and lazy at once.

Nothing to do, and he was bored. The first morning in – as long as he could remember – when he could lie and doze as long as he liked, and he couldn't sleep. Hadn't gotten enough sleep.

Dawn. He saw it behind his eyelids and couldn't help thinking of the prince he served. Had served, so long – still served? There would be no grouching back and forth until it became a good morning for both of them. He was no longer responsible for making a hundred decisions that affected Arthur's day in miniscule but very real ways; he was no longer responsible for trailing Arthur everywhere, physically clumsy and magically alert for any threat.

He realized he had no idea what Arthur would be doing today. What he was supposed to be doing, and how he might decide to change his schedule, on a whim.

It made him feel horribly empty and lost. His eyes burned; clutching bandaged hands to faintly-throbbing chest, he rolled to his side and drew his knees up.

Then realized, he couldn't hear Gwaine snoring. He opened his eyes to see his friend's blanket tucked in a neat roll where he'd stretched for the night. He could hear voices, though – and recognized them both.

Relief and a second wave of stinging sensation kept his eyes shut, even after he could hear what they said.

"… Told me, no one would be looking for him but you. So we spent some time yesterday afternoon after we ate, getting him cleaned up, though I expect he'll be happy for a change of clothes. I said, he was on his own with his lower half – just joking, you know – and he said to me, what makes you think I need to use my hands."

"So he seems in good spirits?"

"Hells, Gaius… I don't know. Relatively speaking." Merlin could hear their crunching footfalls. "For a man's who's been tortured and executed – yeah I'd say he's pretty cheerful."

Merlin could not stop his lips from twisting into a small, reluctant smile, and rolled a little further onto his elbow, trying to get his legs into position to maneuver himself upright the rest of the way.

"There, he's awake now," Gwaine's voice said, and Merlin turned to see the outlaw's merry grin and his old mentor's suspiciously moist-eyed glare.

"Merlin!" the old man said. "I might have died of the shock – why did you wait so long to use that transportation spell?"

"He left it a bit late, yeah?" Gwaine interjected. "His clothes were smoking, when I found him, and his boots are in a right state."

"They think I'm dead," Merlin said, making it to his knees. "That's best for everyone, don't you think?"

"Don't get up," Gaius told him. He handed a basket he carried on one elbow to Gwaine, and came to kneel – slowly and with some difficulty – next to Merlin, laying out his round physician's case in readiness. "Your chest, and your hands, if you please," he said. "I presume the bruising isn't bad enough to need my care?"

"There's a lot of it," Merlin said, cooperating with Gaius' insistent help removing the thin cheap shirt they'd given him – also intended to be burnt. "It hurts, but… nothing that can't heal on its own."

Gaius pressed his lips together at the first glance of the cuts on his chest, then inspected the bruising striping Merlin's eyes with a critical eye – purple welts, fading to yellow-brown at the edges. "Yes, I think you're right," he said. "Gwaine, perhaps you can let that alone long enough to get some water?"

Gwaine looked up from the basket, a small loaf of bread in his hand and a bite in his mouth. He mumbled a good-natured affirmative and stepped to them, pinching a good-sized bite which he offered for Merlin.

"Thanks," Merlin said, obligingly opening his mouth, and mumbled, "Save me some more?" Gwaine gave a nod and wave, snagging the pot and loping off toward the stream. "So it looked real enough?" he said, as Gaius began to poke at one area and another of the rune-cuts.

"I almost believed it," Gaius said. "I wasn't sure until Gwaine reassured me, just now."

"And – Arthur?" Merlin kept his gaze past the physician, focused on the first fork in the trunk of a willow tree, thirty paces distant.

"What would you like me to say to him?" Gaius asked. "I haven't seen him yet today."

After a pause, Merlin said, "I don't want him to know. He won't understand why he can't tell Morgana, and it'll kill him to keep it from Gwen, and if she knows then Morgana will figure it out – and then the whole thing was for nothing. If they think I'm dead… then I'm free."

"Merlin, what if he asks… other questions?" Gaius said, beginning to mix a paste in a palm-sized wooden bowl Merlin anticipated would bring relief to the skin of his chest. "You told Aerldan – quite a bit, it sounded like. Uther discounted it entirely, but Arthur recognized parts of it as truth."

Merlin switched his gaze to Gwaine, approaching now with the extra water. "I trust you," he said. "Tell him the truth." But speaking of telling the truth… "You've got to write to my mother," he added to Gaius, who was now fiddling with cleaning cloths and a small jar of honey that would help prevent infection. "She should know I'm alive. I don't think Uther would bother sending anyone, but… just in case?"

"I will," Gaius promised. "I suppose I should give her some idea, what you expect to do?"

Gwaine, who'd evidently heard enough to catch the gist of their conversation, gave Merlin a sharpish expectant look as he set down the pot of water convenient to Gaius' hand. But said only, "If you want it warm…"

"Somewhere between air and body temperature," Gaius requested, with a nod to show which young man he addressed.

Merlin gave the water a deliberate glance. It was a bit odd, doing magic in front of someone not Gaius, and by request of the old man who always preached such caution. Well. There would be no more hiding – now that he was in hiding. Almost, it was amusing.

"If you are heading for Ealdor, you can carry my letter yourself," Gaius added, dipping a bit of the warmer water into his paste, giving it a brisk stir, then beginning to smear it – surprisingly gently – over Merlin's cuts.

"Ealdor, is that your home?" Gwaine asked, setting back to watch, without offense.

Merlin answered carefully. "It's where my mother lives."

"Fancy a visit? I promise I'll behave." Merlin said nothing, and Gwaine's grin slipped a bit – he exchanged a quick look with Gaius. "If you haven't got anywhere in mind, mate, I know half a dozen places we'd be fairly welcome – and two or three more your magic would be appreciated."

Welcome. Appreciated.

Incongruous memory. His first week in Camelot, and still without a job, making enemies, it seemed, before he made friends. Arthur calling out sardonically, Oh, don't walk away.

I'm happy to be your servant. Heaven and hell and everywhere in between. Until the day I die.

"Give this another day or two, wash it, then you can it open," Gaius told him, not pushing Merlin's decision. "I might've put a stitch or two in if I'd had it to do, right away, but for now… there seems to be no infection."

"Is it going to scar?" Gwaine said.

"Probably not the whole thing," Gaius answered. "One or two lines might be slower to fade."

Several moments of silence passed – leisurely, and weighted.

Then Merlin said quietly, "I'm not leaving. Gwaine, please don't feel you have to stay, if you don't want to – I know it's dangerous for you to be in Camelot." Gwaine snorted. "But… he probably wouldn't last a day without me." He tried to smile at Gaius.

Then Gwaine spoke. "He. Arthur? Was it him that wouldn't look at you?"

Merlin felt a pain in his chest that had nothing to do with the paste or bandages Gaius was winding, preparing to tie. He didn't know what reaction he betrayed, but the old man glanced up to his face, and sat back, letting his hands rest momentarily in his lap.

"I want to tell you something, Merlin, and I didn't think it should influence your decision, of what to do now. Yesterday before your execution, Uther ordered me to dose Arthur with a type of sedative. He was awake, throughout, but it would have felt more like a dream to him, than reality."

Merlin closed his eyes and saw his prince, standing on the balcony just behind the king pronouncing sentence – motionless and inattentive. And understood.

"Why would –" Gwaine began.

"He didn't want Arthur to make a scene," Gaius said.

Merlin opened his eyes to search his mentor's lined face as if it could convey all the hope back to him, that had gone out of his world. "A scene?"

"I suspect," Gaius said, flipping his fingers as a wordless command for Merlin to extend his own, "that Arthur was making his own plans for your escape, Merlin."

"He wasn't angry?" Merlin said, shivering as he obeyed.

"He might be after today," Gaius said grimly.

Merlin closed his eyes as the old physician began to remove the bandages. It had been bad enough, shaking and sweating and biting his mouth shut as Gwaine wrapped them – he just knew this would be worse.

He was right.

"You can boil these bandages and re-use them," Gaius told Gwaine, soaking some areas that stuck, teasing each layer loose with a gentleness that still sent shocks of pain shooting up Merlin's arms. "For today, I brought clean ones."

"Can't you just – use magic?" Gwaine said.

Gaius shook his head regretfully, and Merlin answered, "Mine doesn't work on myself. That way." He propped his forearms along his thighs to help still the involuntary trembling that likely was making the process harder for Gaius.

By the time the physician got to the last fingers on Merlin's left hand – the one pinned under the thumbscrew – Merlin was covered in perspiration and gritting his teeth to keep from losing that one bite of bread. Ignoring the moisture that trickled in occasional drops from the corners of his eyes. Gaius looked at his smallest finger for a moment, then met Merlin's eyes.

Yes. He'd been afraid of that. He gave the old man a quick nod – instead of reassuring him, it only seemed to deepen Gaius' sorrow.

"You'd better have this before I do anything else," Gaius said, twisting to his case to retrieve a little glass dose-bottle.

Merlin took it awkwardly in the curve at the base of his thumb. "It'll knock me out?" he confirmed. Gaius nodded, and Merlin downed it in one swallow, sighing as he handed it back.

"You'll want to lie down," the physician advised, and Gwaine reached to straighten Merlin's blanket behind him, support his head as he relaxed back. "I made that one quite strong, on purpose."

"Thank you," Merlin said. He could feel that, too. Everything going soft and fuzzy, no reason to keep his eyes open. A pleasant spinning, sinking sensation. He felt also, Gaius gently spreading his fingers, touching them close to his palm, where it didn't hurt as much, as his muscles relaxed completely and almost involuntarily. It seemed to him that he was retreating, somehow, from the darkness – or through it, maybe.

"Merlin, can you still hear me?"

He meant to answer. But then consciousness ended.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Gwaine watched Merlin, and Gaius both. Watched Merlin go limp by degrees, watched Gaius watch Merlin succumb to the effects of the draught, and let his query, "Can you still hear me?" go unanswered.

"What do you think?" Gwaine asked.

"Could you come here, please," the physician said. "I set the dislocations yesterday morning, they should heal just fine. These two are fractured, I believe, though the bones are still in place – later on I'll need you to find a piece of willow bark, as long as his hand and slightly curved, to strap to those fingers and protect them as they heal."

Gwaine remembered there had been a willow not that far from their campsite, with its bark was peeling a bit from the trunk. He visually measured his friend's hand, and observed, "He's missing that fingernail."

"And this one will likely come off by itself within a week or so." Gaius pointed out Merlin's left forefinger. Scabbed blood at the very tip, bruising and swelling halfway to his hand, the nail discolored. "It's this one, that concerns me."

Gwaine knew without indication which one the physician referred to. Merlin's left last finger. "What are you going to do?"

Gaius made no move to begin. "The screw ground the bone of his last joint into… several pieces. Impossible to re-form, you understand me? I would do it if I could, but…"

"You've got to remove it," Gwaine realized. And wished he hadn't eaten anything yet that morning. He swallowed hard - or ever. Hells.

"You're going to have to hold his arm," Gaius told him.

Gwaine shuffled between the physician and the patient to obey, leaving the old man clear access to Merlin's hand. "I swear," he said, turning his face toward Merlin's, and away from the outstretched hand. "I'm going to hunt that bastard down and kill him slowly."

"Aerldan?" Gaius said, his voice absent as he focused on his work. "No need. Merlin killed him. Or rather, the results of his abuse of Merlin and his magic, killed him."

"Damn," Gwaine said. Trying not to think about the procedure going on behind him, or the sounds. "He's not really a servant, is he?" Memory flashed – Merlin coming through the door balancing a breakfast tray for Gwaine, lounging in the younger man's own bed – Merlin grinning at him, one arm down inside a high boot, the other employing the brush efficiently and expertly. "Or rather," he amended, "He's not just a servant."

"What do you mean?"

Merlin's eyebrows twitched faintly, drawing together momentarily; he squirmed a bit beneath Gwaine's grip.

"The first time I met him, and Arthur," Gwaine said. "Merlin jumped right into a bar fight without blinking. And when those two knights – who really weren't knights – had him cornered to torment him with throwing knives… I've known servants, Gaius. A servant finds a safe corner and watches horrified. A servant doesn't even consider getting involved. Merlin's a fighter, too, isn't he."

"Heaven bless him." Gaius blew out a breath of air in a sigh. "He has had to learn to be. Okay, make sure he doesn't move, now."

…..*….. …..*….. …*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur woke to the sounds of his curtains opening, and the glare of well-past-dawn sunlight. He groaned eloquently, struggling out from the thick fogginess behind his eyes, and his blankets.

This didn't feel normal for morning. What had happened?

He heard the faint but identifiable clink of dishes moved from tray to table, in the other part of his chamber. Merlin was being quiet – he was only quiet when Arthur was seriously injured, or seriously drunk. He felt no pain; it must be the latter. Morgana's birthday feast, maybe? He thought it was still three days away… two? four?

"What day is it?" he mumbled, not really expecting an answer. "Merlin?" He raised his voice, managing to kick his feet over the side of his bed, and rubbed his eyes.

"Ah – no, sire." An unfamiliar voice. Arthur straightened, dropping his hands and blinking – a man somewhere between young and middle-aged, brown hair so curly it was like a layer of fuzz over his head. "I'm – Orryn? I'm to be your new manservant, my lord, if it pleases you?"

"Where's Merlin?" he said stupidly, even as the events of the past few days filtered through memory. The magic – the arrest – the trial. Aerldan – it got foggier – Leon. He was quite sure he and Leon had planned to…

Orryn nervously plucked at the bottom hem of his jacket, head bowed so Arthur couldn't see his face. "Um. Mer – um, your previous manservant is… is… gone, my lord."

"Gone?"

"Yes my lord." Orryn rushed on, a bit desperately. "Would it please you to rise? I have your breakfast tray ready, and His Majesty suggested a visit with the physician today before you left the citadel at all and I think Sir Leon was coming to escort you but your clothing –"

Merlin was gone. Good. And yes, he needed to see Leon, then, ask him what he had done in Arthur's… absence. Was that why his head felt so thick, then, this morning – whatever Gaius had given him for the pain of his headache had knocked him out entirely. He shook his head – no pain this morning, but… hells, he couldn't shake the impression that he'd had awful nightmares.

Arthur dodged Orryn to fling open the wardrobe himself. He grabbed the first pair of trousers he found that he knew weren't ceremonial, and the first shirt – dark blue – not bothering with the dressing screen either, in his haste. Stepping right back into the boots he'd kicked off to change his clothes.

"My lord, you're supposed to –" Orryn stammered, as Arthur leaned over the table to stuff a quick sausage in his mouth and pick up two biscuits one-handed. "Wait for… my lord, have you orders for me?"

Arthur paused at the door. "I don't know – yes – I don't know," he said; he didn't have time for this.

Months he'd spent tossing careless orders at Merlin without concern for his servant's familiarity with his way around the palace, location of supplies, identity of other people involved, or the performance of the chore itself. Merlin had very nearly trained himself, trial and error, based on Arthur's abusive correction – or lack of it – keeping and learning his job through sheer stubbornness and unwillingness to quit. Attributes that Arthur suspected few other servants possessed. He regretted his treatment of the younger man now, but… he had no time for Orryn, today.

"Make yourself useful here," he suggested, closing the door behind him on the man's stunned look.

"Sire, you need an escort," the guard outside his door said, uncertain in his surprise – probably he hadn't expected Arthur to emerge for the better part of an hour, after Orryn had gone in with the breakfast tray.

"Come with me, then," Arthur tossed over his shoulder, not waiting.

"I can't… leave my post…" he heard as he strode around the corner, alone.

To learn Sir Leon's whereabouts, it was best to check with the duty officer, who kept a desk and shelf of records in a closet-sized alcove off the corridor leading to the side courtyard. Arthur schooled his expression to one of princely neutrality as he passed servants and others in the halls, hastily consuming his biscuits when there was no one near.

And halfway down the last gallery, he glimpsed Leon through one of the open arches, heading for the grand stair and the citadel's main entrance. Good, now he didn't have to ask; he quickened his steps.

"Sir Leon!" he called out, as he trotted around the corner.

Leon turned immediately – and there was something wrong with his expression. Something that made Arthur hesitated in instinctive alarm – and then his gaze was drawn to something almost between them, on the cobbles of the courtyard.

A great charry smear. As of a fire, whose ashes have been shoveled and carried away in buckets, but the stones had not been rinsed or scrubbed or sanded, yet.

As of a… pyre.

Leon was forgotten in a moment of desperate struggle for memory. Merlin was… gone. Escaped, right? rescued? The balcony – the fire – had been a dream. Hadn't it?

Arthur stopped when the toes of his boots reached the edge of the ash-smeared circle, staring down and willing sense to emerge, as all color leached from the world around him, to the gray of stone and the black of cinder-dust. Something glinted between two stones; he stepped and crouched to pry it free without knowing quite why he did it. He held it up between blackened thumb and forefinger.

He knew what it was instantly, though he continued to stare. Wishing, hoping, praying for reality to change, for the dream to end, for him to awaken to Merlin's annoying cheer. This sense of impending dread, inescapable horror, as he'd felt seeing Merlin in the prisoner's chair, intensified nauseatingly.

A buckle. One he'd seen almost every day for more than three years now, though he'd never noticed just how familiar it had become. One of Merlin's boot buckles. Which could only mean…

No. No nonono…

He lost his balance, suddenly, and had to put both knees and his free hand down to keep from falling. He cupped the buckle carefully in his palm, waiting for it to tell him a different story.

Because no. It couldn't be true.

A shadow fell across him, and he looked to see Leon reaching for him. Instinctively he gripped the knight's forearm, but he didn't rise. "Merlin – he's gone, right," he said desperately. "Escaped, right, not… not…"

"He's dead, sire," Leon said in an almost-whisper. "I'm so, so –"

Arthur's head dropped of its own accord; he felt suddenly twice as heavy, and entirely without hope. "They killed him."

"Arthur," Leon said. Hands now on Arthur's upper arms. "You can't – do this here. Not here, where everyone can see you." He allowed Leon, then, to draw him up to standing, and looked at the knight's hand on his sleeve.

Not a dream. All ye gods above, it hadn't been a dream.

"Leon," he said. His voice sounded strange in his ears. "They took my friend, and I didn't even notice."

Leon's face twisted, a bit. "Yes, my lord." He'd known, then, about whatever had been done to Arthur during the... during.

Arthur didn't hold that against the knight, or the failure to rescue Merlin. That was on him. For the rest of his life.

"Did Morgana know? Guinevere?"

"Probably." The word was spoken without much certainty.

Arthur's feet began to walk. His hand felt at his hip – no sword. That was fine. Where he was going, it would do him no good.

Two other incidents came to mind, times when he'd done what he was about to do – he allowed the recollection, even knowing it distanced him from a different realization too enormous, right now. The first, when Gaius at Uther's order had dosed Arthur and locked him in his room – not to carry out an execution Arthur had contested, but to risk his own life in a mortal duel.

I believed you would die, and that was a risk I could not take – you are too precious to me.

Did it not matter to Uther, who Arthur found precious? Even if he took after his father and never admitted it. Rarely showed it.

The second, then. When he blamed his father for the loss of someone irreplaceable also, someone he felt the lack of after two decades and more. His mother.

He'd gone in to his father armed that day, after the witch with her foul sorcery had shown him an image of his mother. It had been Merlin to follow him that day. Remind him that magic was not to be trusted- why did you turn to it, then, Merlin, why; it was your death also – open his eyes with earnest eloquence to see, this was not the answer.

Arthur found himself at the double oaken doors where his father held court in the mornings – informal meetings, short-notice audiences. There was no Merlin to stop him now – and it was his father's own fault.

He shoved the doors open.

"Arthur," his father greeted him evenly, almost warily. Did his gaze flicker briefly to Arthur's empty hip? Arthur was distantly aware that others in the room were drawing back.

"You killed Merlin," he said.

"A criminal's execution sentence was carried out yesterday, that is correct." The king looked away from him and waved a hand to indicate his wish that they two should be left alone.

No one should overhear this. A tiny rational honorable-prince part of his mind agreed. The rest of him snarled, why the hell not. Let everyone hear.

"You killed. My servant."

"Your servant had confessed to breaking a law that carries a capital punishment, Arthur," Uther reminded him, tapping his fingers impatiently on the pages before him.

"You killed my friend." He kept himself from screaming it, with an effort.

Instead of arguing that the status of servant precluded that of friend, Uther snapped, "You should have chosen a better friend."

This time, Arthur screamed. "There is no better friend!" And gripped the back of the nearest chair hard enough to make his fingers ache, to mimic the control he took over the emotions that threatened. "You had Gaius drug me."

"Of course I did," Uther said, at once tolerant and dismissive. "I expected you would be difficult about it."

"No." Arthur realized something else, right that moment. Because Uther could have had Arthur put to sleep and locked in, as before. "No, you had Gaius give me something to make me compliant. To make me complicit. To stand on that balcony at your side before all the townspeople, quiet as a mouse, while you burned my servant. My friend. As if I agreed with you."

Uther leaned his elbows on the table in front of him, fitting his fingers together into one big fist. "You mean to say you don't?"

Arthur stared at him. He'd argued that Guinevere – if she had used magic to heal her father – had done so with the best of intentions and should be given mercy. He'd helped Morgana sneak the druid child back to his people – he had yet to meet a corrupt druid; presumably they had safeguards in place to prevent corruption from use of magic, but it was a razor-fine line they walked and he had to believe they knew what they risked.

"I hardly ever agreed with you, where Merlin was concerned," he heard himself say, and realized it was true.

"Well. Good riddance then." Uther turned his attention back to his papers.

And that was why Arthur was glad he wasn't armed. Merlin hadn't wanted Arthur to kill his father over the grief he felt at the loss of his mother. He thought it a pretty fair guess Merlin would not want this, either.

Don't hate, no matter what. You're better than that.

After a moment of Arthur controlling himself ruthlessly and silently, Uther looked up, wearily resigned. "Look, Arthur, what's done is done. And you'd do well to think of your responsibilities to the law, once you become king. You cannot pick and choose when to apply it and when not, else it means nothing. And surely this incident is proof of the vigilance necessary against sorcery – anyone can be tempted, for any number of reasons, and succumb."

It seemed to Arthur that though the words, taken individually, should be true, yet there was something in how they were put together, that sounded wrong.

His life isn't worthless, it's worth less than yours. This boy won't be the last to die for you, when you are king.

The sort of thing, he'd look over his shoulder as he left the room and say, What do you think, Merlin? And somewhere in his servant's peculiar babbling and peasant's simplicity, he'd find the insight that initially eluded him.

But Merlin was gone.

"Father, I…" He couldn't bring himself to say excuse me, or to apologize for his interruption. "I'm… not feeling quite myself. I think I'll pay a visit to our court physician."

"Good idea, Arthur, but… no theatrics with Gaius, if you please?" Uther's smile was complacent. "You mustn't blame him if he is more obedient to his sovereign's command than the boy was. He's been quite understanding and cooperative with this whole incident – you might learn something from him."

Arthur bowed his head briefly before turning to stalk from the room. Yes, he'd keep his temper – it wasn't really Gaius' fault, after all, and Arthur's responsibility to get Merlin to safety – but. He fully intended to learn something from Gaius, too.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin woke to a sense of hot thickness, throbbing uncomfortably through his head, through his hands. And slurred Gaius' name, without trying to move.

"He's coming round." Gwaine was still there.

He blinked up at a smear of green, felt the earth warm and hard beneath his back. And his left hand pulsed with fresh agony, sharper and clearer with every beat of his heart.

"Merlin?"

He blinked a little more clarity into his vision, and turned his head to focus on the old man. Gaius was on his left; he couldn't help his gaze dropping to his hand, to the little finger – shorter now by an inch or so, maybe, he couldn't tell because of the bandaging.

"Merlin, I am… sorrier than I can say. It had to be done… you will heal, now. I know you know this, but I'm going to remind you anyway. There will be pain, swelling, stiffness – especially in that finger. The breaks can heal in four to six weeks, but that last one maybe two weeks longer until you regain full normal function. If you're determined to remain in Camelot…"

He managed to nod. He thought, a little water, in a little while, and he'd be capable of speaking, again. Right now he felt sick to his stomach at the mere thought of his hand.

"I will return in two or three days," Gaius went on. "Until then, rest your hands, keep them elevated – but work the unaffected joints periodically, up to and including your shoulder. Watch for signs of infection, and the amount of bleeding – some will be normal. After that, I can leave town to meet you – here or somewhere - maybe twice a week, without arousing suspicion."
"News and supplies?" Gwaine suggested. "We're not going to be able to go to market."

Gaius nodded. "As I have to gather my own herbs now, I don't think anyone will wonder too much at more frequent absences."

"I can… still do that… for you," Merlin offered, in a slow whisper. He lifted his right hand slightly, feeling the clumsy sensation of thorough bandaging. "Probably. Before too long."

"I'll help out," Gwaine promised. "I might even arrange something to repay you, in addition to leaves and flowers? Something of the meat and fur sort?"

"My concern is for the two of you," Gaius told him. "I have managed on my own for many years, after all."

"We'll survive," Gwaine said, reaching to give Merlin's shoulder a pat as he still lay flat on the blanket.

Merlin's throat was tight. He couldn't help but feel he'd let Gaius down, somehow – having to leave him, too. "I should've been more careful," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Gaius' expression softened into a rueful smile, the one he wore when Merlin was laughing right out loud at something and he couldn't quite resist joining in. "Nothing happens without a reason, my boy," he told Merlin. "Good will come of even this. You'll see."

Merlin nodded, rumpling his blanket under the back of his head. Circumstances had seemed impossible before, but…

Trust… hope… wait.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Once again, Arthur found the physician's quarters empty. He exchanged a look with Leon, who'd shadowed him here as well – probably under orders not to leave him unescorted; Arthur didn't ask and he didn't say – thinking of the knight's suggestion the last time they waited here for Gaius.

Maybe he just… left.

While they waited, Arthur paced. Once he allowed himself to glance three stairs up, at the closed door of the Merlin's room. Let himself think, with a pang of anger-regret-guilt-sorrow, of Merlin's things, which Gaius would probably have to deal with, at some point. Get rid of, at some point, because why would you keep them.

He wondered if he should go up there – not today and probably not anytime soon… then again, he never had reason to, before Merlin. No one would remark on it if he just… never went up there again.

Then he thought of Merlin's mother. He'd have to face her. Sometime.

And he was suddenly tired to death, and collapsed on a bench by Gaius' table. Leon remained tactfully silent.

It wasn't long, really, until the old man pushed through the door, head down and shoulders bowed, the strap of his physician's case over one shoulder and an empty basket over the other elbow. He shuffled inside and closed the door, leaving his open hand on it for a moment, before turning to find his company.

"Good morning, Gaius," Arthur said evenly. "Or should I say, afternoon? You've been busy already today."

"Fennel," the old man stated unapologetically. "Dragonwort, and rosemary. I have my own supplies to procure now, you know."

Arthur felt a bit selfish, remembering how many times Merlin had run errands for the old man, also. And a bit guilty. And a bit resentful. "But your basket is empty."

"Clearly I was unsuccessful, then," Gaius snapped. And almost immediately relented from his mood, coming toward Arthur. "I am sorry, sire, this hasn't been easy on any of us. How is your head?"

"Fine." Arthur avoided Gaius' hands, standing and moving away. It's my heart that's the problem. Rather blindly, he poked at the clutter on the room's second table. "That wasn't only a tonic for the pain you gave me yesterday, Gaius."

Pause. "No." Another pause. "Your father –"

"I know. I've already spoken to him this morning." Arthur turned, leaning carefully back against the table, gripping the edge to remind himself, this was actually happening. As hellishly impossible as it seemed, this was all real. "My friend died right in front of me, Gaius, and I didn't even notice."

Gaius deflated a bit. "You might prefer not to remember the event, my lord."

That, Arthur reflected, was very likely truth. "How could you do that to him, though, Gaius?" he asked, more gently. "It must have looked to him like I didn't care."

"You mustn't concern yourself too much," Gaius returned in much the same way, crossing to stand nearer him. "If he minded, it wasn't for long."

Arthur dropped his head and dug his nails into the wood of the table to keep his sob silently within his chest.

"His last words yesterday in the courtyard." The old man's voice was so soft Leon couldn't have heard it from his place by the door. "Were for you, Arthur. He said he was sorry. That he used magic only for good. For you."

Arthur nodded to show he'd heard, that he'd taken in the words. His fault. It was his responsibility, to see that his servant upheld, rather than broke, the law. To make sure he understood the danger of magic, to protect him from the consequences of a well-intentioned mistake.

But. Arthur lifted his head to look at Gaius. Who didn't seem to show much remorse – though he ought to have shared all those responsibilities.

"If you hadn't followed that order," he said hoarsely. "If you had told me what my father ordered, so I could decide for myself – we might have been able to save him, Gaius. We might have been able to help him, and he might be alive right now, somewhere out there, alive and well how could you? If you had any hint that he was interested in using magic –"

"Prince Arthur." The old man drew himself up with all the stern authority of his years and experience. "You may return to ask such questions when you are ready for the answers but for now I'll thank you not to imply that I didn't care for my boy! Please excuse me, I expect to be very busy today."

He glared at them both; Leon opened the door and Arthur found himself leaving without another word, or backward glance.