Merlin knew it was a dream. The lights were too bright, the colors were too vibrant, and the air was too sweet. It wasn't unpleasant, it was merely out of place and unreal.
Everywhere he looked, people in the Lower Town were going about their day. No one seemed to pay him any mind. In fact, no one even acknowledged him at all. Merlin felt disconnected. Like he was there, but he wasn't.
If he paid close attention, it was clear that nothing was as it seemed. He could hear voices in the midst of conversation, and he could see the people milling about and laughing with one another. But nothing fit.
When one person's mouth would open, as if they were about to speak, there was nothing but silence. And then when it would close, their voice would drift over to him. He felt like the world was a step behind. Or was he the one unable to catch up?
People would walk from one doorway to another just to go back again, some would lift their arms in a jerking manner, and the expressions they all wore were downright unnerving. All of it was overwhelming.
Backing away, Merlin turned and ventured towards the outskirts of the town, desperate to find something that would make sense. He knew it was a dream, but he'd never had one that was so strange.
The buildings grew taller behind him the further he walked, and the ground became muddy beneath his feet. Trees that towered in the forest were alive with the brightest hues he'd ever seen, all the while they looked thin and brittle and dead.
The further he walked to get away, the slower he seemed to go. A crushing weight began to press against his shoulders, and a weariness that appeared out of nowhere had the boy wanting to stop and curl up on the ground where he stood to sleep. It was beyond odd, and that was before reality began to seep in.
It started slow at first, with an ache that sparked through his chest and made the act of breathing more tedious. Then pain sprouted in his calf, and Merlin was forced to adjust how he walked, his right foot dragging through the muck. The ache was nothing more than an inconvenience until it shifted into discomfort, and then transformed into outright agony.
His leg could no longer bear his weight, and his lungs were screaming for air that he could not get enough of. Not without the pain. Unable to continue on, the warlock came to a stop at the edge of the trees and pulled in a short, sharp breath that sent lightening shooting through the side of his chest.
He didn't think it could get any worse, didn't think that anything could outweigh the misery he felt from just trying to breathe. Of course, with his luck, he should have known better.
He could see it happening all around him—the color bleeding out of the world. The leaves on the trees that had been the most vibrant shades of green were now beginning to grey, making them look sickly and frail. The grass had curled and darkened before his eyes, as if some invisible force had swept through and burned each blade with the sole purpose of turning them to ash.
The sky had transformed into a murky sea of fog, and when Merlin turned, he found that the buildings behind him were nothing more than shapes overrun by shadows. He knew he was dreaming, but now it had morphed into a nightmare.
He tried to walk, tried to get away from the ruins of his home that were creeping in on him, but even the smallest act was proving impossible. The warlock could barely even lift his hand, let alone his feet, and fear began to claw up his throat.
This was not his world. It had looked similar, and in the beginning it had felt the same, but this version of Camelot was not his home. His world was chaotic and unpredictable, but it was not lifeless and grey. His world was filled with sarcastic comments and entertaining jabs. It was wrapped in friendly hugs, and parental scolding, and the hope for a future without lies.
Merlin knew he had to be dreaming, so why did it all feel so real? Why did his pain bring tears to his eyes and dread into his heart? The colors had faded entirely, and darkness began to sweep mercilessly through the kingdom. Everything he knew and loved, be it his world or not, was being overwhelmed by the darkness, and Merlin was powerless to stop it.
His body began to shake, and his mind begged for him to do something. Anything. But he could not move. He could not hide. The world was disappearing into an abyss of shadows that was steeped in misery and he was nothing. Just a small piece that had been left behind that was soon to be consumed like all the rest.
He couldn't watch.
Merlin's eyes closed, and he waited for the inevitable. Only the inevitable never came. Instead of silence, he heard voices. Quiet whispers that were soft and familiar, but with words that were just out of reach. He couldn't discern anything more than a gentle tone, but his fear melted away the longer they spoke.
They brought comfort and warmth, and the feeling of a hand holding onto his arm. He no longer cared about what was happening around him, whether the darkness had devoured the world or if everything had simply gone back to the way it was. All he cared about was the hand holding on tight and grounding him while the murmuring continued around him. The voice was soothing, and with those whispers came a blessed reprieve from the pain.
Merlin woke slowly, his mind a haze of weariness and confusion. Everything was dark, and warm, and tinged with an ache that came from everywhere at once. The sound of rain slowly drifted into his consciousness, as did the soft echo of voices.
Pulling his eyes open, the young warlock stared up at the blurry ceiling of his home. Gradually blinking the sleep from his eyes, Merlin struggled to grasp ahold of a coherent thought, his head feeling jumbled and heavy. Finally, the boy settled on the fact that he was safe. He could see a fire burning in the peripherals of his vision, and the scent of steeping herbs was one that he'd grown familiar with over his time living with Gaius.
His eyes had just begun to close again with that thought when he felt pressure building in his chest. The coughing fit that struck him was abrupt and strong, jerking the boy's body from the force.
Pain erupted in his chest, and Merlin half sat up in an attempt to draw in air while fire raged through his side. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he barely registered something falling from his head to his lap before he was falling back against the cot in agony.
His throat was raw from the outburst, and a fresh wave of exhaustion swept over him at the effort it had taken out of him. Merlin's head was swimming, and he squeezed his eyes shut to fight off the nausea that left his stomach rolling. He couldn't remember when he last ate, but he got the sense that if he wasn't careful, that meal would make an appearance.
Several moments passed as the warlock waited for his body to relax, and he finally fell into a pattern of short, measured breaths that lessoned the ache of his ribs. When he'd calmed down, Merlin took note of the silence, the voices that had previously been there now quiet.
Prying his eyes open, the boy turned his head and stared at the shadow of a woman standing next to his cot. For a fleeting moment he thought it was his mother, a kind smile appearing out of the darkness and a gentle hand touching his. But then the shadow moved, letting a piece of firelight brighten her face, and Gwen was looking down at him with an expression rife with worry.
A wave of homesickness that he hadn't been prepared for crashed over the boy, and his eyes slid shut again as the girl's hand tightened around his wrist. "Merlin?" She urged, and it was only when he begrudgingly opened his eyes again at her insistence that he noticed her sitting beside him with a cup in hand. "You need to drink this. Can you sit up?" Her voice was gentle, concern forming the words and pulling down the corners of her lips.
Barely nodding his head in response, the warlock pushed his arm beneath him and lifted, managing to prop up on his elbow before the pain was too great and prevented him from going further. Gwen leaned closer to meet him, her hand braced against his shoulder while the other brought the cup to his lips.
A flush of embarrassment and a stab of frustration struck Merlin as he drank, hating that he did not have the strength to do it himself. He was grateful to Gwen however, because the moment she pulled away he was falling back, unable to keep his body upright by himself any longer. The water had soothed his throat but had only added to the nausea he felt, his stomach cramping uncomfortably as he dug his fingers into the blanket that covered him.
Closing his eyes against the spinning room that had turned against him, Merlin stayed quiet when he felt the cool of a cloth being smoothed across his forehead. He didn't want to think about anything, but he didn't want to sleep either. His dreams were strange, and even in them he hadn't been able to escape the pain he felt.
"How is he?" Another question, and Merlin recognized the lilt of Morgana's voice.
"His fever is rising, and I haven't been able to get him to drink very much. Gaius isn't back yet either." Gwen. She sounded worried. He'd done that, had caused the unease that molded her tone.
"Is he still awake?" The question was absurd, because of course he was. Only when he tried to say as much, his mouth refused to cooperate.
"He's been in and out this whole time, I don't really know." A hand was on his arm again, and the touch was cool against his flushed skin. "Has the rain let up any?"
"No. I've never seen it storm like this before." Morgana again, and the concern had changed her voice as well.
Turning his head towards them, the same exhaustion from before begged for sleep, but worry of his own crept in as the hand on his arm drew away. He didn't want to dream. He didn't want to be left alone again.
"Let's go over there. I don't want to wake him."
Stay. He wanted to say. Please stay.
But the sound of their departing footsteps told him that his silent please were useless. Slipping back into the darkness that beckoned him, Merlin drifted off to the symphony of rain and the fading hope of a dreamless sleep.
He didn't know where he was. Shadows hung over the world and Merlin couldn't make out anything in the darkness. The ground was solid beneath his feet, but he could feel heat rising up through the soles of his boots. The air was heavy as Merlin stumbled along through an endless night while sweat dripped down his face and neck.
He wandered around aimlessly for what seemed like hours, arms stretched out to feel for what he could, trying to figure out where he was. On he went, one foot in front of the other. On and on and on.
He walked until his clothes stuck to his body, soaked with sweat and rubbing uncomfortably against his skin. There was nothing around him. Only silence and darkness and the scorching heat. He wasn't sure where it was coming from, but the temperature was steadily rising, and he began to pant with every breath.
Finally, when he was ready to collapse from exhaustion, Merlin's foot connected with something heavy and hard. Kneeling down and stretching out his hands, the boy's fingers brushed over what felt like a plank of wood. Dragging the tips over the coarse grain and following it to the edge, Merlin found another plank propped against that.
Moving around in a large circle, the warlock discovered piece after piece stacked together in an odd formation. Some were smaller than others, some thinner, but all of it was wood. Confusion and curiosity had taken over his thoughts, and he was trying to determine what exactly was in front of him when he heard a sound breaking through the silence.
It was familiar, and Merlin froze, listening intently as the noise repeated. It reminded him of rocks clattering together, and the boy's brows knit in thought as it sounded a third time. That was when he saw it. A spark of light in the midst of the darkness.
Merlin's hand still rested against the pile of wood, and fear replaced every other thought as he stumbled back. The noise echoed a fourth time, and the world lit up around him. The pile of wood in front of him erupted in flames, faster than he could've ever thought possible, and the force of the heat shoved him to the ground.
Shuffling backwards with his hands, Merlin stared in awestruck horror at the massive pyre that burned bright and tall and hungry. The sudden spike of heat burned against the boy's skin, and the warlock scrambled to get away. As he did, he bumped against a wall, and when he looked behind him his stomach dropped at the sight of more wood piled high.
Jerking away from the second pyre, Merlin looked to his left and right and spotted smaller piles circling around him, each igniting in turn from the first fire until they reached the mountainous stack. Flames had trapped the boy within their circle, and the acrid smoke had begun to choke him as the warlock stayed low to the ground.
Terror kept his adrenaline high as he looked for an escape, but the smoke was gathering fast and clouding the air, making it nearly impossible to see. What had once been an expansive, never ending space had turned into a cell of fire and wood that was determined to either suffocate or burn him before he got free.
The flames were creeping closer, the circle closing in on him, and Merlin coughed against the smoke. His throat was raw, and his vision was swimming, but the warlock climbed to his knees and watched the thick trails of smog linger in the air. He was desperate, and he was scared. His thoughts were clouding, and his eyes were brimming with tears, and he knew he was running out of time. So, he did the one thing that came naturally.
Lifting a hand into the air, he swallowed uselessly and croaked out a single spell. "Tídrénas!"
And for a moment the world stilled. The fire sank lower, the smoke thinned, and Merlin nearly smiled with relief. Then everything changed. The flames leapt higher and inched closer while the smoke turned the air grey.
Blinking against the heat, tears fell fast down his cheeks as the boy tried to move away from the fire, his desperation morphing into despair. He could barely move, managing only to shuffle back a few paces before he was sinking to the ground. The flames were close enough that he could feel the embers sticking to his clothes and burning small holes through them, and even his tears had dried against his flush skin.
For the first time in a long time, Merlin was overwhelmed with the sense of being completely alone. The air became toxic, and he choked trying to breathe it in, and a piece of the warlock prayed that if this was his end, that it would come before the fire reached him.
His eyes slid shut and he collapsed to the floor, feeling the same scorching heat beneath him as he did everywhere else. The flames reached for his boots, and it was growing unbearable, pain enveloping him as a hoarse scream rang out, bringing with it the taste of smoke and blood. He squeezed his eyes tightly together as the promise of unconsciousness crept in, and for once, Merlin welcomed it with open arms.
He came around to a clap of thunder that shook the whole room. Or perhaps he was the one who was shaking. Heavy breaths dragged out of the warlock despite the stabbing pain in his chest, and Merlin was leaning over the cot before he could think better of it. Be it foresight on Gaius' part, or just insane luck, a bucket was lying beside him, and the boy was shoving himself over it just as he began to heave.
Nothing but a meager amount of water came out, and Merlin's stomach cramped as he continued to be sick, the sound of empty retching agony to his ears that was only outweighed by the searing pain of his ribs.
Slumping back onto the cot when he was finished, the boy's head was swimming, and every inch of his body ached and burned. In fact, the burning was bothering him more than the pain. His whole body was hot, and as his vision began to clear, he was acutely aware of the heavy blanket draped over him that was just making it worse.
Starting to push the fabric away, a sense of claustrophobia hit him, and he was frantically trying to free himself from the confines of the material. He was panting and tired by the time he'd shoved it to the floor, and he looked around him for water that promised a cool relief. His throat was begging for it, and when he attempted to call out for Gaius, he could not even manage a single word.
Heaving in a breath, Merlin pushed his arms beneath him and shoved his body up, pain striking through him at the movement but allowing him to see the rest of the room. It was evident immediately that something wasn't right.
For a moment he wondered if he was still dreaming, if he'd lost the ability to tell what was real and what wasn't. For a moment he hoped he still was because that would mean he was not as alone in reality as he had been in sleep.
The main room of the physician's chambers was dark, and the fire long since dead. Straining to listen against the rain that pelted the windows, his home seemed hollow and empty, and he knew there wasn't another soul around. It wasn't like Gaius to leave the room dark unless he was sleeping. The man always had some form of herbs brewing, or dinner stewing, or tea steeping. To have emptiness and silence surrounding him now was disconcerting.
He had to wonder if something had happened or if a dire illness had drawn his guardian away. Whatever it is was, Merlin was useless to help, an annoying realization that was brought prominently to mind the moment he tried to move his leg.
The limb was bound tight, with a brace firmly in place. It was propped on a pillow, and there was only a dull ache that resided in it so long as he kept it still. His chest however was another story. His ribs had been securely wrapped, and the bandages circled a large portion of his chest. His tunic was missing, and his trousers were in ruins from where Gaius had cut them away, but those were details to worry about later.
For now, the ache in his leg spiked with his movement, and Merlin scowled at the limb in offense. It felt like a betrayal, and as soon as he found water, he planned to rectify it. Looking around the room again, the boy spotted a pitcher of water on one of Gaius' tables near the door. It was frustratingly far away, but once he'd caught sight of it, his throat craved it even more.
Lifting his uninjured leg and lowering it to the ground, Merlin pushed himself up with shaking arms. Gritting his teeth, the warlock pulled his right leg off the pillow and down onto the cot itself. Pinpricks of pain raced through the limb, but the need for water outweighed his thoughts that screamed for him to stop.
With a final move, he swung his leg to the ground and let out a groan as his foot hit the floor. The regret was immediate, and those few small actions had left the boy winded, but it was too late to go back now.
Pushing himself up with more effort than it should have taken, Merlin finally stood from his cot, only to have the room sway around him. The tables turned on their sides, the floor had completely shifted, and the warlock was falling.
His hands flew out in an attempt to brace himself and managed to grab hold of a nearby stool, catching himself moments before he would have landed face first on the ground. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he could feel the heat coming off his body as he stared across the room at where the water sat.
Shadows swarmed the edges of his vision, and what he could manage to still make out was distorted and spinning, but still he pushed himself on. Moving from stool to table, and table to bench, the warlock could see his goal getting closer.
Staggering forward another step, his hand slid across the surface of the table he balanced against and knocked into something heavy, hearing it clatter to the ground and roll away. He'd managed to create a trail in his wake that Gaius was sure to disapprove of, but the only thing that Merlin could focus on was taking a drink and cooling off.
He felt like he was back in that darkness, about to be burned. Everything was too warm, as if he were just moments away from catching on fire. Pushing himself off of the table and reaching for the one across from him, Merlin stretched out a hand and caught hold of the handle of the pitcher.
He felt proud.
Victorious.
Stupid.
In his haste to grab it, he'd forgotten about his leg. As he shifted back to brace himself, his right leg gave out and the boy, the pitcher, and the water went down together. The pitcher slammed against the edge of the table as he fell and the dish shattered, pieces of pottery smashing to the floor while Merlin's elbows hit the ground.
Something sharp cut into his arm as he fell, but the pain was outweighed by the relief of water splashing over him. It wasn't the outcome he'd hoped for, but it was better than it had been.
The room spun above him as he lay sprawled by the table, and as his eyes fell shut he found himself thinking about his mother again. When he was young and would fall ill, she used to hold him. She would brush away his messy hair and she would tell him stories to pass the long nights when he couldn't sleep from the chills and the fevers.
Gentle fingers would curl into his, and her voice would carry him away as she wove tales of a world bettered by magic. A world where magic was revered and cherished and used for good. Merlin wanted to hear those stories again. He wanted to hear them more than anything in the world. But all he could hear was the rain.
Heavy drops that splattered against the glass with so much force he wondered if the panes would hold. Lightening streaked across the sky, and for the briefest moment light shined through his closed eyes. Thunder boomed close by and the sound was loud, reverberating through his head.
Merlin used to love rainstorms. He and Will would go out after their chores and splash in the puddles. They would run and play in the forest and behind the buildings. Their mothers would get so frustrated when they returned, seeing their clothes covered in mud and their tiny forms soaked to the bone.
The adventures they had were always worth it though. The knights they pretended to be, the monsters they imagined they fought. Even before Will knew about his magic, they'd been best friends. Merlin missed him. He missed his mother, and a piece of him missed Ealdor.
He wondered if the kids in the village still played in the rain. If they splashed around and looked up at the sky to feel the rain on their faces. He could feel the rain. It dripped on his face and rolled down his cheek. It was pleasant and cool. And very out of place.
In the back of his mind, past the memories, and the aches, and the homesickness, Merlin knew something was different. Hadn't he been indoors? How had the rain gotten inside? How could—
"Merlin." Arthur. That was Arthur's voice. What was the prince doing outside in the rain with him? "What the hell were you trying to do? Why are you lying on the floor?" He sounded annoyed. Not that that was different from any other day, but that didn't explain the rain that was still falling on his face. "Wake up, you idiot." A hand began to shake his arm, and Merlin struggled to open his eyes.
After several tries he managed to crack them open and found the prince hovering over him. Suddenly the rain he'd felt made much more sense. The water was coming from Arthur, who was drenched head to toe. Had he been playing out in the rain himself? Did prince's do that sort of thing? He wondered if Uther ever played with him the way his mother could sometimes be convinced to. Royalty was so different though, and Uther was high strung all the time so—
"Merlin. Open your eyes. Look at me." Forcing his eyes open again at the command—though he wasn't sure when he'd closed them—Merlin blinked hazily up at the blond. "Can you sit up?" He asked the same question Gwen had. Why was that the one thing they wanted to know? And where even was Gwen?
He couldn't remember when he'd last her. He had seen her, hadn't he? Everything was so jumbled in his head; he couldn't tell what had been dreams and what had been real. Was he dreaming now? When had everything stopped making sense?
The hand on his arm shook him again, and Merlin stared up at intent blue eyes. Arthur had asked him a question, hadn't he? He couldn't remember what it was though, and he was so tired and hot. Why was the room so hot? His eyelids were heavy, and they were falling closed again despite his efforts. He heard a sigh above him, felt the hand on his arm tighten, and the sound of a door slamming.
"Arthur?" Morgana. Her voice was so easy to recognize. Hadn't she been with Gwen? "What happened, is he alright?" More concern for him. They needed to stop worrying over him and be more concerned with what was making the room so warm.
"I just found him like this. I think he was trying to get to the water."
"Is that blood?" The woman gasped, and Merlin could just imagine her hand lifting to her face as she spoke the words.
"He cut himself on something, but its not bad. He is burning up though. Did you find any sign of Gaius?" Burning up. That was such a strange term. Though, he supposed it was accurate. It did feel like he was burning. Every last inch of him.
"One of the guards saw him go towards the Lower Town." It was said nervously, as if the Lower Town were somewhere to be feared. But there was nothing wrong with it, not at all. Merlin enjoyed it when he found time to go there for any reason other than Arthur's errands.
"What?" Arthur again. He sounded shocked. Upset. Why should he be upset about Gaius being there?
"Gwen said she would try to get to him, but the roads are so bad. We haven't had this much rain in so long." Was Gaius in trouble? If his mentor was in danger, he had to go help him. He couldn't afford to worry about his own problems if he had family in trouble.
Digging his fingers into the floor, Merlin began to push himself up and pull his eyes open. As he did, another bout of nausea struck him and the boy shut his eyes just as quickly, dizziness making it hard to discern which way was up and which was down as his back collided with the hard ground again.
"Merlin? Morgana, fetch some water. Now." Footsteps hurried away, and Merlin grimaced at the pain throbbing simultaneously in his head and his chest.
With strength he didn't know he had, the boy was pushing himself onto his side, his hands holding him up as the wave of sickness crashed down on him. There was no bucket in sight this time around as he heaved, though it mattered very little, not a single thing coming up with the painful action.
His throat burned at the effort, and Merlin barely acknowledged the arms holding him steady or the voice speaking above him until he'd finished, his body trembling and crashing against Arthur.
"Relax, Merlin. Breathe." The prince's voice was controlled and calm, a hand moving to the boy's shoulder as he leaned against him. "How do you manage to get yourself into these sorts of positions?" Arthur questioned, though a gentle tone accompanied the scolding words as the prince eased the boy back until he was resting on the ground again.
Merlin's head fell to the side and he worked to pry his eyes open until he was staring at the blond kneeling beside him, a firm hand still on his shoulder.
"Come on, Morgana.." Arthur mumbled, and Merlin continued to stare at the prince's arm until the door opened again and a pair of wet shoes stopped nearby.
"Here." Morgana knelt down on his other side, and as he turned to look at her, the hand on his shoulder was sliding beneath them instead, helping to raise him up while the cup was brought carefully to his lips. "He's too warm, Arthur." She murmured while he drank, the water blissful against his aching throat.
"Gaius was concerned about his fever, but I don't think he thought it would get this high. I don't understand why it hasn't broken yet." The man muttered, his other hand pushing away the cup before the warlock had finished as the boy weakly reached towards it. "You'll be sick again if you drink it too fast." Arthur chided.
"What do we do? It could be hours still before Gaius returns."
"We'll have to wait it out." The prince shifted beside him and the arm behind his shoulders wrapped tighter while a second slipped beneath the bend of knees.
The action sent a burst of pain through Merlin's broken leg and caused his eyes to squeeze shut against the stars that danced around him. A quiet grunt sounded the same time as he was lifted, and he fell back into the prince, his head colliding with the man's shoulder.
In all his time working for Arthur, it wasn't often that he thought of the prince as anything more than abrasive, and he certainly would have never considered him gentle. Then again, since falling ill, nothing in his world had remained the same. Perhaps he'd been right before, and all of this was just another dream.
In moments Merlin was back on his cot, and the prince was pulling away, though for a moment the boy could swear that he'd felt Arthur's hand lingering in his hair.
"If it doesn't break soon we won't have a choice. We'll have to get Gaius back here." The man's voice was strained and filled with what sounded like doubt.
"He's going to be alright, won't he?" Morgana again, and her voice was thick with emotion.
"I don't know." This time, the unsurety in Arthur's voice was clear, and it unsettled the warlock.
Merlin wanted to speak up, wanted to thank them or to apologize, wanted to ask why Gaius was gone and why he couldn't return. Instead, the pull of darkness urged him into it's embrace, and just like every time before, the boy was unable to resist the call.
Merlin was floating in a stream. The water was cool and calm, carrying him down the river in a relaxing flow. His body felt weightless, and as he looked up into a cloudless sky that stretched on for forever, the boy smiled.
Turning his head, water splashed against his cheek, and he could see his mother sitting on the bank to his left. A wide smile was on her face, and she had a pile of flowers in her lap that she was intricately weaving together.
She'd taught him how to do that once, how to create crowns out of nothing but flowers and stems. He'd been teased relentless about it while growing up, and he'd stopped doing it once Will had mentioned how odd it was, but he remembered how much he used to enjoy it. How calming it had been.
Merlin continued floating, drifting past his mother and smiling even wider as she leaned forward and placed the crown she had been making on his head. As she disappeared behind him, the warlock looked to his right and spotted Gwen and Arthur sitting together near the trees on the other bank.
They were close, incredibly so, and Gwen's fingers were entangled with Arthur's. They looked happy. They looked in love. Merlin smiled again, and as Arthur's head turned to follow him, the prince smirked, the same teasing expression lighting up his face that he always gave the boy. He waved a hand to usher the warlock off before he turned back to Gwen, and the last thing that Merlin saw of them was Arthur leaning in to kiss her before they were out of view.
Looking back to the bank on his left, the trees grew closer together and stretched even taller, creating dark spots of shadows that destroyed the picturesque scene he'd been enjoying. He was about to turn away when another familiar face caught his eye, and Merlin found Morgana hiding amongst those darkened trees.
Her cloak was drawn over her head and her hair was hanging loose and wild around her shoulders. Her green eyes were hard and carried with them a darkness of their own that he'd never seen. Unlike everyone else, there was no smile on the woman's face, and concern struck the boy as to why. He started to call out to her, but the moment his lips parted she was turning and disappearing into the forest, and guilt crept over him for not trying to reach her sooner.
The banks on either side were empty now, the branches overhead creating shade while the gentle current lulled him towards sleep.
"Merlin." All at once the boy stopped drifting, and Merlin's eyes pulled open as he looked from one side of the river to the other. "You can't stay here, you know. They all need you."
Blinking, the warlock looked directly in front of him and stared up at where Will was standing in the middle of the water. "Will?" Sitting up and feeling the crown of flowers fall away, the boy found his body only half submerged in the water, the heat of the day washing over him while his friend grinned.
"They're looking out for you, which is more than I expected. But soon, soon you'll need to look out for them. More than you ever have before."
"I don't understand." Merlin shook his head, grief at seeing his lost friend making it hard to fully focus on what he was saying. "How can you be here?"
"You and your tricks, Merlin. When will you learn how to use them?"
"I don't—"
"You need to go back now. But be careful. Not everyone is who they seem. Not all those that say they are your friend really are." Extending a hand out to him, Will grinned wider and flashed his teeth. "I didn't save that prince of yours just so he could die later on. You have some great destiny waiting, don't you? So, go back and get to it."
Reaching up, Merlin's fingers wrapped around Will's and his friend pulled, tugging the warlock up and out of the water as everything around him faded except for the hand in his.
When he woke, Merlin could still feel the weight of Will's hand in his. Blinking groggily, the boy was weak and disoriented, having to take several seconds to focus enough to turn his head and look at the person seated beside him.
Morgana was asleep in a chair, her arms stretched across the cot and her head resting peacefully on top of them. Her hair was frizzy and damp, and he realized belatedly that it was her hand that had firmly taken hold of his.
Closing his eyes and drawing in a shallow breath, Merlin tried to recall the dream to mind. All he could remember was Will and a warning he tried to give. It had been about a friend.. A friend who would betray him, only the exact words he'd used were already fading from his fevered mind.
Opening his eyes again, the warlock listened to the never ending rain that played a rhythm to match the beating in his head. Looking across the room where a fire burned bright in the hearth once more, Merlin watched as Arthur halfheartedly poked at the flames. Turning around with a sigh, the prince caught his eye, and the two stared at one another in silence.
Will had said a friend. But he couldn't have meant any of his friends because he trusted them with his life, the prince most of all. Arthur was an absolute pain, but even without his destiny he could no longer picture his life without the irritating blond being in it.
"She has been worried about you." The man spoke, breaking their lingering silence as he stepped closer, keeping his eyes on the boy. "She hasn't left your side." Blinking, Merlin shifted his gaze to Morgana as she let out a slow breath, moving her head and pulling her fingers away from his hand while she slept.
"I don't know what I'm doing." Looking back to Arthur, the boy found the man had moved closer and was leaning against a table with his eyes on the ground. "Gaius still isn't here, and your fever won't break. Why is it that you pick the worst possible times to be ill?"
The comment was tinged with irritation, but Merlin knew it wasn't at him. It was usually easy to tell the difference, even as sleep laden and fog ridden as his mind currently was. But there was something going on. For Arthur to admit he didn't know something, it was often because of serious circumstances.
"You're not going to die." Surprise struck the warlock at his words, and Merlin wanted to agree, but his mouth was stubbornly remaining shut, and he didn't have the energy to fight it. "Some ridiculous illness won't be what takes you out, and it certainly won't happen while under my watch. I won't allow it. Is that clear, Merlin?"
He wasn't sure if the prince expected a response, but after a moment of holding his gaze Arthur looked satisfied and continued on. "Hurry up and get better. I'm sick of standing around waiting for your health to return. You're the one who should be waiting on me, in case you'd forgotten."
The words would have made the warlock laugh if he'd had the strength, but his lip did quirk up, and by Arthur's raised brow he knew he'd seen it. The royal looked away after that, and Merlin was fading again.
"You'd better be fine, you idiot." Arthur muttered gruffly, and as the boy sank back into sleep, he did so with the smallest smile on his face.
He didn't dream. Or perhaps he was just finally waking up. Merlin wasn't sure anymore which was which, but he found himself thrown back into consciousness with a heavy cough that racked through weary frame.
When one fit ended another began, and the warlock came to the conclusion that his body had decided to rebel against his lungs. He tried to breathe between the bouts, but all he managed were short bursts of air that were expelled almost as soon as he drew them in. It took several tries before he successfully managed to draw a deep enough breath in to calm the fits, and his chest throbbed at the exertion.
The room seemed brighter than before as the boy squeezed his eyes shut, but he noted that his body was no longer burning from the inside out. He also noticed that Morgana was no longer beside him, and that the scent of lavender was strong throughout the room.
Pulling his eyes open again, Merlin stared at the sunlight that filtered into the chambers through the windows and lit up the floor. And there, standing next to the fire on the other side of the room was his guardian.
"You're awake." Gaius murmured as he turned around, looking at his ward with a mixed expression of relief and exhaustion. Dark circles were prominent beneath his eyes, and concern for the elder brought a frown to Merlin's lips.
"You've had quite the fever." The man continued, seemingly unphased by his charge's silence as he moved closer with a cup in hand. "Between the storm and your illness, a few of Camelot's people have been worried." The small smile he wore was strained but genuine, and the physician helped to ease the boy up a few inches to drink.
The water carried an herbal taste, though it wasn't unpleasant, and as Merlin settled back he finally found the strength to speak. "How long?" He croaked, hoping the elder understood what he was asking.
"Two days." Gaius replied, taking a seat beside the boy and setting the cup next to him. "Had your fever remained much longer, I would have feared for your life." The words came out easily, but something in the man's tone told him that he already had.
"..m sorry.." Merlin mumbled, swallowing away the pain that arose when he spoke.
"Do not apologize for being sick, my boy." Gaius smiled, reaching out a hand that settled comfortingly in his hair. "Though you can apologize for my broken pitcher once you are well." The teasing expression lit up his face and cleared away some of the stress, and Merlin managed a weak version of his own smile as he leaned into the man's touch.
"You're still fighting off the last of it, so try to rest a bit more. There will be time for talk later." His eyelids were heavy as he blinked, and the boy barely nodded at the advice. His guardian's fingers brushed through his hair for a moment longer before it was pulling away, and Merlin was looking up at him again. "Rest, my boy." His guardian encouraged, beginning to turn away as fear shot through the boy.
He'd been in and out so many times, and so many things had happened. Conversations, and fears, and kindness, and departed friends. So much so that he wasn't sure what had been real and what hadn't. Had he imagined Arthur and Morgana being with him? Merely envisioned Gwen helping him? He was certain he was awake now, but the idea of drifting off and being thrust back into confusion and chaos was frightening on a level he did not expect.
"Gaius.." He spoke, forcing the words past his dry lips while his hand lifted towards the elder. "..will you stay?"
It was a foolish request, one reserved for children who had suffered from dreams they believed to be real. But then again, he was faced with the same dilemma, and the embarrassment of the request gave way to the fear of what his dreams might do next.
Gaius paused at his words, and suddenly Merlin regretted asking. It was obvious how tired the man was, and who was he to make such a selfish request? The boy's hand was pulling away, willing what he'd spoken to vanish into the air, but then his guardian smiled. It was small, and kind, and reminded him strongly of his mother.
"I forget how young you still are sometimes." Sitting back in the chair, Gaius' hand returned to his head and a thumb brushed against his still warm temple. "With all you do, and everyone you save, I forget that you're still learning. Still growing."
Merlin's eyes closed against his wishes and instead responded by tipping his head towards the physician. "I am right here." The man assured, his presence offering a sense of calm that had the warlock relaxing immediately into the cot. "Perhaps a story will help to guide your dreams."
Gaius' voice carried a soothing tone as he began to speak, his words weaving colorful tales of knights and kings and servants with magical talents. His words lulled Merlin back to sleep, and for the first time in two days, the boy fell into a peaceful slumber.
A/N
Wow this was.. this was a trip. This was just shameless physical and emotional trauma for the sake of the comfort after.. Poor boy.. But hey, there will be fluff next chapter so.. that makes up for all of this right?
I threw in a LOT of foreshadowing here, not just for the show but for future chapters as well. I'm really excited to get into it. Hope y'all are prepared!
Leave some comments or reviews if you're so inclined, I am obsessed with feedback and you guys are seriously the best with it! Hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you in the next chapter!