Chapter 8

So, I have to confess something- multiple things actually:

I absolutely have a lying problem when it comes to update promises

And 2- Yes, I may have for a little while completely forgotten about this fic just a teensy tiny amount. It wasn't until I checked my emails and saw that a few of you marvellous people had favourited this that I went back to check on this, and realised that it has been over a YEAR since my last update. *hides behind laptop* Please don't kill me.

So to those of you who took the time to dig this out of the archives and like it I salute you- as all of you should as it is them that kick-started me back into action!

So, here goes…

I do not own Merlin, regrettably.

Chapter 8

"Wait! Merlin! You can't just leave!"

"I'm sorry, Gaius,"

His pale hands shake as he crams the last of his clothing into the small bag. A gentle touch comes to lay on his shoulders, slowly turning him.

"My boy" – his voice is calm and soothing – "whatever this is – whatever it is that is wrong- it will right itself. You are injured, stay a little at least, even if it is only until I can treat you"

He shakes his head violently, face twisting and eyes clenched tightly shut. "I'm sorry", he whispers, bloodshot eyes opening slowly to meet the older man's concerned gaze,

"I'm sorry, Gaius, I can't… I can't stay"

He turns as if to leave, heart clenching as the warmth of the physician's hands leave his skin. His arm throbs sharply and the world tilts a little as he tries to control his breathing.

"Merli-"

"No!" He cuts in, anguish ripping the sound from his throat harshly.

"No, Gaius! He knows! He knows, and he hates me for it! I…." He shakes his head despairingly, eyes shutting tightly over the rapidly pooling tears. "I cannot stay, not now. It is not safe; it is not safe for me"

He looks up into the face of his mentor and tries not to let his sorrow show- tries not to let himself think that this may be the last time that he looks into the eyes of the man that he would call father. He grips the elder's shoulders tightly, "and it is not safe for you". The words leave his lips softly. Leaning his shaking body into the physician's embrace, he allows himself this one last moment of comfort. Footsteps echo in the corridors around them.

Pulling back slowly, he smiles at the old man fondly.

"Goodbye, Gaius".

He feels his magic surging beneath his skin, and when he blinks there is nothing but dark woodland before him, silent and shadowed in the cool dusk.

Voices drifting from behind Camelot's walls echo around the clearing, calling to each other merrily as they celebrate the return of their king. Blue eyes catch the orange glow of the torches briefly as they glance back towards the castle, before shutting tightly. They do not open again until they are once again turned to face into the darkening woods. Trembling hands clutching weakly at his bag of meagre possessions, Merlin slowly makes his way forwards into the night.

He walks for as long as he can, leaning on the trees for support. Blood still trickles steadily from his arm, soaking through his threadbare tunic and leaving crimson prints in the rough bark. He sinks to his knees slowly, breaths gasping from his chest raggedly as he crawls along the damp floor. The snapping of wood echoes loudly in the silence as the sorcerer crawls beneath a bush, crying out brokenly as his wounds snag on the sharp twigs. Curling up in a hollow beneath the branches, he allows himself to imagine that he is safe, that the arms of the sheltering plant are the arms of another; warm and comforting. He basks in the memory silently, before allowing the sobs to finally break free from his chest, their fractured echoes carrying as they bounce between the trees in the darkness.

He had left the feast early. He'd had to, it was too much. Too much to sit there surrounded by merriment when he felt the furthest thing from it. Too much to see Gaius sitting there, slouched and sorrowful, and being the only one to truly know why.

He'd had no appetite. Any food he had tried to swallow had tasted bitter in his mouth.
The wine in his goblet had done nothing to combat the numbness spreading through his chest. He had frowned every time the servant had come to replenish the emptying cup, the boy's brown eyes and fair hair sticking out offensively to the young king, though he did not care to linger on the thought as to why.

No. It was too much.

And so it was that the king of Camelot now stood, alone in his bedchambers, whilst the rest of his kingdom celebrated merrily around him in honour of his safe return. A return that had nothing to do with Arthur, and everything to do with the figure that he had left, lying small and pale in the grass.

The king closed his eyes wearily, making his way over to the fire and sinking in to the faded armchair. He ached. His limbs felt heavy and his head thick as he tried to process his thoughts. His blue eyes stared vacantly at the flames before him, seeing not the orange of the flickering heat but the gold of burning irises. He saw the bloodied chains hanging from the ceiling and the cruel smirks of his captors. But the worst of all was the image that he could not banish; of pained blue eyes watching him as he had turned his back and walked away.

Merlin had been so weak. Where was he now?

Arthur had made his way to Gaius' chambers not long after returning; the pain in his ribs had been throbbing harshly, and he knew the physician would want to take a look at them. He had paused at the heavy oaken door before knocking, mind whirling.

Did Gaius know? He was Merlin's guardian after all, and Arthur knew how much the servant cared for the man; he was like a father to him - to both of them.

As he had lingered outside the chambers, the king imagined he heard voices, hushed but urgent, coming from inside. When he had knocked and entered, however, it was to find the old physician alone in the room, aged skin pale as he had turned to greet his visitor.

A small part of the king had been disappointed to find only Gaius upon entering, a tiny part of him hoping to spy a familiar mop of black hair disappearing into the back room.

Arthur stood from his chair suddenly, pacing before the hearth stiffly as anger laced through him at the thought of Merlin. His manservant, who had won his affection and his trust, who had become so important to him. The manservant who had lied to him from the moment they had met, who represented all that he fought against.

The same manservant who had never tried to harm him, who had protected him for years.
The same manservant who had lain with him in his bed, and whispered that he loved him.
The same manservant who had saved him from his captors earlier that day.

The king growled in frustration, his strong hand coming to slap harshly against the cold stone wall as he leaned against the mantelpiece, head leaning on one arm, facing the flames.

How could he know what to trust? Everything he knew of sorcerers and everything he knew of Merlin were different.

Sorcerers were evil. Dangerous.

And yet Merlin had never appeared to be. He had been kind, clumsy, and gentle.

Stinging tears filled the eyes of the young king of Camelot.

Everything was a lie.

The laughter of Camelot's people echoed through the halls of the kingdom, all celebrating at what had been returned to them.

All were merry but one- A king - crowned with sorrow, who sat and wept for all that he had lost.

For sorcerers could not be good. – could they?

I will try my hardest HARDEST to update soon- I do promise that I shall never make you wait a whole year again though, this I swear!

Thanks for reading.