Chapter Text
Dead branches slashed at Merlin's face as he bolted through the forest, his heart pounding in desperate counterpoint to the heavy footfalls of the tall man crashing after him - footfalls that thumped ever louder as the man's long stride ate the distance between them.
Flashes of glinting metal and golden hair raced a safe interval ahead, blinking in and out of view. Merlin snatched a glance to either side; his pursuers had fanned out so he couldn’t veer – they were corralling him. He grasped for options – he didn’t dare reveal his magic to their sorcerer, but he might get away with a gentle nudge to the weather for some cover… “Hréohnes cume!”
He plunged through another spider web; the sticky threads sucked into his mouth and plastered his head and something tickled across his ear. “Blech!” He shuddered and spat and batted at his hair and face, but he had to leave it and focus on evading the gnarled roots that grabbed for his feet - if he stumbled he'd be finished.
A fallen trunk loomed across his path and with a surge of adrenaline he took a flying leap; as he cleared the obstacle with a shout of triumph that shrank to a squeak as his toe stubbed on the bark and for a horrible moment his trajectory threatened to take him face down into the mulch. He managed to recover his balance by scrabbling on all fours, grabbing for branches and bushes for several paces, but even the forest seemed to be out to get him as a wiry yew branch he swatted out of his way sprang back to thwack him in the head.
Each such misstep further shaved his lead; shouts rang out around him as his pursuers tightened their noose and now the tall man’s breath heaved mere steps behind him, and Merlin pictured his powerful muscles tensing to spring and tackle him to the ground.
A huge thorn tore his hand and the sharp pain made him hiss. He took his eyes off the path for only an instant to glare at his wound, distraction enough to cause him to shoulder a passing tree with a bruising thud and a grunt. A ragged choir of caws erupted as a cloud of spooked crows took flight from the tree and Merlin seized this lucky break. "Fuglas forstendeaþ!" At his command the flock looped back and dived at the tall man’s head, whose howled curses receded as he fell behind, and Merlin huffed a pant of relief at the respite. He hoped none of the poor birds got hurt for helping him.
With burning lungs and throbbing feet ill-protected by his shabby boots, he feared his reprieve would be short-lived, although the thinning trees made for an easier stride…
He came crashing out of the forest and skidded to a halt, and huffed in exasperation at the steep embankment blocking his path. Why do they put these everywhere? Impossible to climb, and even if he managed, they'd shoot him down with their crossbows.
Merlin spun at the sound of the soldiers emerging from the woods and stepped backward to keep his flank covered by the embankment as they moved to surround him in a wide semi-circle, around thirty strong, swords drawn and crossbows raised. The sorcerer burst into the clearing a few seconds after them and without pause hurled a chain at Merlin. "Weorc untoworpenlic!" The glinting metal spun through the air at him and, as if alive, wound itself around him from waist to shoulders, trapping his arms at his side.
Merlin glanced down at his entangled body. "Oh."
***
Cadoc paused to catch his breath and wipe his brow, grateful for the rising breeze. Puzzled, he approached the lone captive. His men reported spotting Pendragon with one companion, and this sorry creature before him was no king by any stretch…
The captain stumbled out of the trees and jogged to Cadoc’s side, his face bleeding from numerous small wounds, his body plastered with black feathers and bird droppings. Cadoc scanned him up and down. Odd. “The men say there were two of them. Where’s this ‘armoured man’?”
The captain frowned and swept his gaze around the clearing. “Sometimes in the heat of things men see what they want to… but I saw him too. Not clearly, but I’m pretty sure he was blond and wearing armour.”
Cadoc rubbed his chin; why had everyone seen two men? A shadow fell over him; a chill crept through the air and the leaves rustled in the strengthening breeze. He glanced up at the sky – the dark clouds rolling in promised rain.
A jangling drew his attention back to the captive as he struggled against the chain, his efforts causing the enchanted links to tighten; he sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut, gave up and sulked in silence. Cadoc scrutinised him from head to toe – judging by his clothes, a peasant, most likely one of the king’s servants.
Cadoc stilled his tapping foot and pursed his lips. "Where is the king?" The captive remained sullen and downcast. There’s no time for this. He raised his arm and clenched his fist. "Nearwe!" The chains constricted further.
The prisoner gasped and bent forward. “Ah! I don't know!"
Cadoc narrowed his eyes. "You were just with someone. Where is he?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. There's nobody else!"
"You're lying." Yet no one could have slipped past them and there was nowhere to hide. Something didn’t add up. Why would several people spot the same phantom man? Why would a servant throw away his life like this for his master?
The servant’s defiance melted; his stooped shoulders and hanging head betrayed his resignation. "Does it look like there's anyone else to you? I'm alone."
His patience at its end, Cadoc make one last effort and tightened the chain again. The captive gasped and winced, his pale skin reddening as he struggled for breath. “Where is the king?"
The prisoner gave him a weak smirk. "If I were to guess, several miles in the opposite direction." He lowered his head, wheezing and grimacing, his body contorted in awkward angles.
This had been a waste of valuable time.They needed to move fast to have any chance of catching up with their quarry; the now vigorous wind continued to rise and the imminent storm would wash away Pendragon's trail. Cadoc frowned, angry, mostly with himself. He’d been tricked by a servant, and now the tyrant would likely escape. He sighed. "Kill him."
The captain pressed his lips together, gave a hesitant nod. "He may prove useful as bait."
Cadoc scoffed. "Why would Pendragon care? He's just a servant. We can’t risk leaving him and we can’t drag him with us."
The captain shrugged, drew a knife, and took a step forward.
The trembling prisoner’s eyes shot wide. "Wait…" His gaze darted between Cadoc and the captain, and when he recognised they were serious, he sighed and his hunched posture straightened like a snake uncoiling as he rose to his full height and lifted his head, his eyes flaring gold. Caught off guard, Cadoc gasped and stumbled backward, tripping and falling as the chain dissolved into individual links, spinning around the prisoner's body. The captain lunged forward.
Cadoc’s reflexes kicked in. "Scildan!" He summoned the shield a fraction of a second before the links shot away in a deadly arc and scythed through the troops; they fell en masse with clipped grunts. Cadoc gaped, stunned by this sudden reversal.
The sky darkened to a deathly black as the wind rose in force to whip up clouds of debris and leave the clearing illuminated only by strikes of angry lightning. The servant approached, a grim silhouette, his golden gaze fixed on Cadoc, who scuttled away from him hyperventilating and his heartbeat thrashing in his ears. The oppressive weight of the man’s power now assailed him, and his body tingled with magical energy making his hairs stood on end. He threw out an arm. "Hleap on bæc!"
The servant raised a careless hand and the magic of the spell dispersed around him, and unharmed, he continued to advance. He reached Cadoc's shield, his arm extended. “Tófére þone scield!” His shield collapsed and Cadoc rose to his feet and backed away, struggling to maintain his footing against the roaring winds.
The man held the reins of the strengthening storm in his hands, shaping the winds to his will, and sent a cyclone whirling around Cadoc with furious strength. My God. He had never before encountered magic like this.
"Hafene þone mann!" At the man’s command, the cyclone lifted Cadoc off the ground and forced him to keep his arms pressed to his body lest they be torn away.
The servant halted before him. "How did you find us?"
Pulse racing and fighting for air, Cadoc didn’t answer.
"How did you find us?"
Cadoc took deep calming breaths through his nose, exhaled from his mouth, and girded his will to remain silent; not even fear of death would make him betray the cause.
The man sighed. "I'm sorry, but I have to know. Ácwiðe ángilde sóþsegena!"
Cadoc gasped as the servant's will pressed upon his with terrible force and he resisted with all his strength, throwing up every mental barrier he had.
The man's voice reverberated in his mind as well as his ears. "How did you find us?"
"I… I… d-d-d-don't…" The words dragged from him like the undertow before a crash of surf.
"How did you find us?"
Even Cadoc’s middling power should be enough to resist a spell like this, yet he had been overcome with frightening ease and compelled to speak the truth. "I don't know. We were told where to go."
The servant pushed through his remaining defenses as if they were paper to ransack his mind. A stream of memories flashed in his head as the intruder disturbed and discarded them, some falling back into place, others dissolving into nothingness and leaving behind a swirling emptiness.
The man spotted the raven. Cadoc resolved to keep this crucial memory out of his hands at any cost. Maybe he couldn’t hide, but he could run.
***
Exploring the sorcerer’s mind was like standing in a crowded market with a migraine – so much noise, impossible to think, the sensation of spinning around and around until Merlin became ill as each memory demanded his attention with equal yearning. A broken doll lying half under a woodpile. Swatting a broom at a bat in the house. A beautiful young woman smiling. A leaky boat, a foaling horse rancid meat bell chiming flutter of dark wings. There – that one. Merlin focused on this memory, and everything else receded into a white blur of sensations. The raven studied him, wary, glinting black eyes never leaving him for more than an instant as its head darted about considering an escape route.
Merlin crept toward the bird, nonchalant; he spotted a small scroll affixed to its leg that it tried to conceal with a wing. The moment he got close enough to detect the intelligence and awareness in its eyes, it launched away from his grasping hand. Merlin dived after the raven into the depths of the sorcerer’s mind, heedless of the danger. He needed this – if he followed the memory to its source, he might discover how they had tracked Arthur.
As they delved deeper, the memories grew darker, formative, compelling. Merlin experienced the euphoria of his first youthful kiss; shuddered in dread and hate as his best friend burned on the pyre; choked with grief at his mother’s funeral; the overpowering thumping of a heart as he endured the agony of birth… They reached a gaping maw of blackness Merlin feared to enter, into which the vortex of memories bled, only to be returned, altered and warped in an endless cycle.
Merlin made a final effort to reach the raven before it escaped into the dark, but something reached back.
Merlin travelled along an unswerving path through a bleak desert with a stranger at his side. The stranger asked him, “What do you want?”
Merlin shrugged. "I want nothing."
The stranger laughed. "Everyone wants something. What is it? Power? Wealth? Immortality?"
Merlin pondered for a moment. “To keep Arthur safe. To keep everyone safe.”
His companion nodded. “A worthy goal. How?”
Merlin stopped, frowned, but no answer would come to him. “I don’t know…” But the man had disappeared. Merlin spun to his rear to find only the path. When he faced forward again, he found himself in a circle of great standing stones, a terrible storm raging.
The stranger stood in the middle of the circle. “There is only one way. Shall I show you?”
Merlin nodded. “Yes.”
“Then here it is.” Now the gale and thunder were the stranger’s voice, and Merlin realised the man had no face as he reached for Merlin with terrible power that dwarfed his own, tearing the threads of fate with the cold grasp of entropy.
Merlin shot back through the vortex of memory and out of the sorcerer’s mind; recoiling several steps and losing his hold on the wind, he dumped the sorcerer to the ground. Merlin’s attention scattered in the deafening chaos of dissipating images, and he cowered from the last, shaken.
A burst of magic snapped his mind free. The sorcerer had recovered first, familiar with the nightmare that haunted him and faster to shake it off. Seizing his opportunity, he gathered all his strength and hurled a crackling fireball at Merlin. “Forbaerne!"
Merlin reacted by instinct. “Scinnfell!” He raised his hand and the fireball struck him and exploded with terrible force; he emerged unharmed, but only a trail of ash remained of the sorcerer.
“No!” Merlin had experienced the sorcerer’s life in his memories and the man's death wrenched him with nausea. They had such similar goals, even if their paths travelled in different directions. The sorcerer's enmity for Arthur came from tragic experience, not madness or evil – he had been a good man doing what he thought right. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head. His own failures had caused this. His failure with Morgana, his failure with Arthur.
And he had failed to determine who sent the raven. Did Camelot harbour yet another traitor?
Groans from the fallen men around him pulled him back into awareness of his surroundings. Some of them might survive; he couldn’t kill them in cold blood, so he altered their memories to recall him as Dragoon.
That done, he turned around trying to get his bearings, but with no clue as to where he’d ended up, he let out a long, low sigh. He was lost.
His crow allies had followed to collect payment for their services at the grisly table Merlin had set for them; perhaps they’d help him once more. He knelt and snapped his fingers until he drew eye contact with an enterprising bird. “Áfindaþ rídend.” The crow took to the sky and flew in a broad circle before landing at Merlin’s feet to point with its beak to the southwest. Merlin focused his thoughts and projected his mind through the forest in a straight line at the indicated bearing and smiled when he ran into Percival.
He thanked the crow, cast a homing spell on Percival, and trudged in his direction, but as he did, a sharp pain lanced through his side and he winced as his hand shot to his ribs. He couldn’t tell how bad his injuries were – the stupid chain had painted his entire upper body with bruises and lacerations, but he didn’t identify any breaks as he probed along his side, and he convinced himself that the pain was manageable.
And of course, the rain he’d summoned chose now to begin falling. Groaning, he slogged off, doing his best to avoid jarring his ribs.
***
Minutes into his trek the rain increased to torrents, soaking him through, covering the ground with treacherous puddles and making every step in his waterlogged boots laborious. The trees provided no shelter and the trickling streams he’d passed over before had swelled into serious water hazards. He put aside the ache in his ribs to deal with later; if he didn’t get to Arthur before his force turned for home, Merlin would be stuck making his way back to Camelot on foot.
After the clouds had emptied and as nature reasserted the balance disrupted by his magic, the rain petered away into a depressing drizzle. He continued to home in on Percival, and sensed him moving in a slow, erratic path – searching? In any case, this allowed Merlin to catch up to him despite his exhausted and injured condition, and as he came near, he made enough noise to avoid surprising Percival and getting himself decapitated.
As expected, Percival detected his approach and tensed in readiness. "Declare yourself!"
Merlin’s body slumped, tension released and a slow smile inched its way onto his face. "It's only me."
Percival straightened and beamed as Merlin approached. "Merlin!” He took a step forward… frowned in thought… His eyes widened and he raised his sword to Merlin's throat as they drew close. Merlin pursed his lips and raised his hands in surrender; Arthur had ordered them to take no chances – appearances could be deceiving. "What's the code phrase?"
Merlin sighed and rolled his eyes. "'Merlin is an idiot.'"
Percival's face lit up in a smile that eased Merlin’s glum mood; he sheathed his sword and Merlin suppressed a wince as Percival clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Thank God, Merlin, we were worried.”
Merlin shrugged. “It took me some time to circle back after I lost them. I was actually worried about all of you.”
Percival nodded. “They only left a pinning force and we drove them off easily. Strange that almost all of them went after you. That was really brave of you.” The praise gave Merlin a flush of pride, even if the ‘strange’ had been the glamour of Arthur he’d used to trick the soldiers. Percival lowered his voice, stooped his head closer to Merlin’s level. "But brave or not, Merlin, the king’s not very happy with you right now."
Merlin grimaced – this he’d expected too. "On a scale of 'late with breakfast' to 'spilling wine on the speech he spent all night writing', where would he be?"
"Setting fire to his bed while he's still in it."
"Maybe I'll just stay here."
Percival shook his head, a sympathetic grin on his face. "It’s too dangerous. We don’t know how many of the enemy are about… and I’ve been feeling like someone’s watching me.” Merlin snapped his face up, surprised Percival had sensed Merlin tracing him. “And we need to hurry back in case it starts pouring again." He glanced at the sky as he proceeded to Arthur’s location, or so Merlin assumed. "The weather really turned suddenly."
Merlin schooled his features into an innocent look.
Minutes after starting on their way, Merlin misjudged a step and slipped enough to cause a stab of pain that made him suck in his breath. Percival stopped and turned, forehead furling as he appraised Merlin’s condition. “You’re hurt.”
“My side. It’s not bad.” Percival gave him a doubtful frown. “I checked and nothing’s broken.”
“Do you want me to carry you?”
Merlin did his best not to gawk at the sheen of moisture on Percival’s bulging arms and the ample breadth of his shoulders, or think about how his chilled body could use the warmth. Tempting. “Thanks, Percival, but do you think my using one of his knights as a beast of burden will improve the king’s mood?”
Percival laughed. “No, probably not. We’re not far anyway.”
Meaning not long until he had to face Arthur, which made his stomach roll. Percival glanced at him in concern from time to time as they walked, but asked no questions; he seemed more worried about Merlin’s injuries than how he got them and Merlin was grateful he didn’t need to make up a story.
He tried to walk in smooth and careful strides, but every other step jarred his side. If he had foreseen how much the pain would swell after his adrenaline faded he would have healed himself, but now it was too late; if he did, he would draw suspicion.
They reached the assembly point and Percival squeezed his shoulder. "Look who’s turned up!" The men jumped up with happy shouts of “Merlin!” But before anyone had a chance to do anything else, an onrushing vortex of fury sent them scattering to safety.
"Merlin!" Arthur barrelled toward them, face red and jaw clenched. Merlin took one look at him and hid behind Percival. "Come out here right now!" Arthur tried to reach around to grab him, and they ended up circling a hapless Percival until Arthur faked Merlin out, caught him by the scarf and yanked him in, fist raised.
Merlin threw up his hands to shield his face, but Percival thrust himself between them and pushed Merlin to safety behind him. "Sire!" He gaped at Arthur, wide-eyed. Arthur struggled to lower his hand, and his behavior stunned Merlin more than an actual punch ever would.
Arthur stepped around Percival to grab Merlin; Percival tensed and readied to intervene if necessary, but Arthur merely pulled Merlin aside, throwing a glower Percival’s way.
Eyes blazing, Arthur shook Merlin to punctuate his shouting, sending stabs of pain through him. "What is wrong with you? How many times have I told you to stay out of… You've made our entire troop spend an hour searching for you with the enemy at large! You…! That’s it! I’ve had it! It's the stocks for you, Merlin!"
Merlin blinked in uncomprehending frustration and growing anger. "Wha? I led their main body away! They would have—"
Arthur pulled him so close that spittle struck Merlin's face as he shouted. Merlin couldn’t meet his furious gaze, didn’t want to behold such rage directed at him; he dropped his eyes to where Arthur’s hands gripped his scarf and followed a spider that had been hiding in its folds as it crawled onto Arthur’s sleeve. "You fucking idiotic, suicidal… They had a sorcerer, Merlin, a sorcerer! I could have… You could have… you could have been... tortured for information!"
"I'm fine, thanks, how are you?"
"Don't even talk to me. I don't want to hear a peep out of you. Go sit over there." Arthur pointed to a log on the edge of the clearing and without looking back, Merlin slunk over and plopped down, seething in silence as his soggy clothes squelched and the cold seeped into his bones. Arthur would have struck him, even injured him. For what? His loyalty in doing his duty to defend his king? How ironic that the enemy had never posed as much of a danger to Merlin as Arthur himself.
He glanced over at Percival, who had been prepared to defy the king to protect him. Percival gave him a sad smile and a nod; Merlin tried to thank him by returning his smile but he was afraid it came out a grimace.
Arthur kept his eyes on the ground and appeared to be taking deep breaths to calm himself, and Merlin frowned in confusion as Leon approached his furious king. “Arthur…”
Arthur lifted his head, jaw clenched, fire in his gaze; he raised a finger and opened his mouth to shout, but Leon gasped and pointed at Arthur’s shoulder. “Spider!”
“Nnnnnggggg!” Arthur swiped at himself in a frenzy.
Merlin hoped it bit him.
***
“Is it gone?” Arthur twisted desperately to check his shoulder and back.
Leon nodded. “You got it.” Arthur sighed, relieved, but scanned the ground around him to make sure the fiend wasn’t planning a counterattack.
Leon leaned in to comment in a near-whisper, "Arthur, if he hadn't done what he did we'd all have been—"
Arthur lowered his voice to a hiss. "I know, and don't let him hear you. Ever."
***
The moment they arrived back at Camelot, Arthur ordered two guards to escort Merlin to the market plaza, where they handed him over to the hooded executioner, whose towering bulk cast a long shadow in the dying light of the afternoon sun. Merlin gave him a sad smile. "Hi Carl. It’s been a while."
"Hey, Merlin. How’re things?"
Merlin shrugged and glanced at the stocks, unable to raise his characteristic grin. "They've been better."
The executioner nodded and raised the upper board. "Sorry, Merlin. Would you mind?"
Merlin sighed. "Yeah, sure." Slumped and staring at the ground, he shuffled the last few steps and placed his head and arms where they belonged, and the executioner locked him in with tender care. Merlin wondered which vegetables were in season.
From the instant the lock clicked, he could tell this would be awful; bent at an angle that put pressure on his injured ribcage, he couldn’t find a comfortable position to hold, and his wet clothing chafed and clung to his soggy, chilled body. But even worse than the pain and discomfort was his hurt that after all these years, Arthur would still humiliate him in public like this – like a petty criminal – when all he’d done was save his life, yet again.
A flash of red drew his attention. Sir Bors and Sir Lionel entered the square, set up a target board and tossed daggers at it, pausing to shoot menacing glares at anyone passing near Merlin while resting their hands on their sword hilts. Merlin’s eyes prickled. He hadn’t even thought Lionel liked him.
Minutes later, a small girl approached, shy but earnest, her blonde hair pulled into a scruffy ponytail and her clothes dusty with the odd feather stuck to her pinafore from where she’d been feeding the chickens, Merlin guessed, and she carried a basket in her arms. Despite the grim situation, Merlin found the girl adorable and beamed at her. "Well hello, sweetie! What have you got in the basket?"
The girl blushed and lowered her eyes. "Strawberries."
Merlin mock-gasped. "Strawberries! But those are too nice to throw! Wouldn't you rather eat them?"
The girl shook her head. "Mum said you looked hungry and she sent me because she says I'm too little to get in trouble."
Merlin blinked back tears, touched that someone would risk difficulty with the law to show him such kindness. He responded with a shaky voice, "Oh… I—"
The girl stuck a strawberry in his mouth.
Likely emulating tactics her parents used on her, she made a game of feeding him, one strawberry a buzzing fly taking a circuitous route to his mouth, another a horse whinnying and galloping straight in, and Merlin laughed with cheerful abandon at this bright spot in an otherwise awful, dispiriting day.
Soon, two townsmen dragged a brazier into the plaza for no apparent reason, set it near Merlin and pretended to warm their hands over the hot coals.
***
Leon climbed the stairs of the watchtower overlooking the plaza to find Arthur observing the scene below, arms crossed and his neck and shoulders rigid with tension. Without turning, Arthur muttered, "You know me too well." Leon smiled; he did indeed, enough to tread with care when the king was in an irritable mood like this.
He came to stand beside Arthur, used a calming cadence. "This won't accomplish anything.”
"I know.”
Leon took no offense at the snapped reply, certain Arthur was angry with himself, not Leon. “Permission to speak freely, sire?”
Arthur’s shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Yes, Leon, you may speak freely.”
“Sire… Arthur, you must always be seen to uphold the Knight’s Code. You cannot strike an unarmed civilian in front of the troops – especially not Merlin.”
Arthur remained silent for some time, and Leon worried he’d overstepped, but the king bowed his head. “I am not proud I raised my hand. But I would not have… I could not have struck him.” Leon studied Arthur for a moment before nodding, relieved, although he found it troubling that Arthur had even needed to restrain himself. The tension had been rising between the two for months, and that never ended well.
Arthur tore his eyes from the window to face Leon, shook his head, wrung his hands behind his back. "They all love him."
Leon nodded. "The men believe he brings them luck, and they're braver when he's with them." He didn’t think Merlin recognised his influence, but Leon had seen even knights obeying the “mere” manservant’s suggestions and requests as orders. In truth, the army loved Merlin nearly as much as it did the king.
Arthur turned back to the window. "But is it luck, Merlin?"
***
Soon after dusk, Merlin entered the infirmary limping, arm holding his side and his back and neck stiff. Gaius took one look at him and rushed over to him as fast as his old bones would allow; Merlin was grateful for the support as Gaius led him to the stool and removed his tunic with care. He regarded with detachment the welts and purpling bruises streaked across his arms and torso while Gaius grimaced and tutted and probed Merlin’s side until he hissed in pain.
Gaius shook his head and sighed, though his eyes remained soft. "You have a fracture. The ride back here must have been sheer torture. You should have said something, Merlin. Arthur wouldn't have put you in the stocks if he had known."
Merlin pinched his lips together, downcast; Arthur had not spoken to or even glanced at him since the incident in the forest. "I'm not sure about that…"
Gaius brushed the hair from Merlin’s forehead. "Oh, Merlin. What happened?" He went to search through the bottles and vials on his workbench.
Merlin sighed. "A sorcerer and his men found us. I led them away. When I rejoined the others, Arthur…" He glanced up at Gaius. "He was furious, almost struck me… would have, if Percival hadn't stopped him. And then the stocks... Not since Uther…" He didn’t continue the thought.
Gaius returned and handed him a vial. “For the pain.” He took Merlin’s shoulders and gazed into his eyes with warmth. “Merlin, he shouldn't ever strike you, but he was only angry because you put yourself at risk and he's afraid to lose you."
Or afraid I’d give up information. Merlin recognised that was an uncharitable thought, but Arthur had been growing harsh and distant with him for months now, and he didn’t understand why. He downed the contents of the vial, ran his hand through his hair. "I’m so tired, Gaius. I...." He shook his head.
Without words, Gaius patted the side of Merlin’s face and smiled. He helped him to his room and put him to bed.
***
Merlin woke to a knock on his door, followed by a creak as it swung open. Arthur? Wearing the sheer white tunic, that even in the weak candlelight revealed the alluring contours of his muscular body. Merlin gave a heavy sigh.
"Gaius tells me you'll need a couple of days rest," Arthur traversed the short distance between the door and Merlin’s bed, rolling his eyes as he sidestepped the myriad of clothing and books spewed across the floor to sit on the edge of the bed. "Found another way to get out of honest work, have you?" Merlin didn't respond – he lacked the spirit for banter. "What are you reading?"
Merlin had been studying when he dozed off, and the book lay open on his chest. He paused before answering, wondering what Arthur wanted; he could count on one hand the number of times Arthur had entered his room. "It's about herbs."
"Herbs? Oh, that sounds fascinating. Scoot over." Merlin gave him a puzzled frown, but pulled himself wincing into a sitting position against the headboard and slid to the far edge. Arthur sat, their sides pressed together, and his warmth flooded into Merlin and made his stomach churn with butterflies. Arthur picked up the book.
"'Stinging nettle: If a man is forgetful and would be cured of it, let him crush out the juice of the stinging nettle, and add some olive oil, and when he goes to bed, let him anoint his chest and temples with it, and do this often, and his forgetfulness will be alleviated.' So if I anoint you every night you'll remember to get up on time to bring me breakfast?" He made a circular motion with his finger on Merlin's temple. Merlin ducked away, but he let a faint smile escape, and Arthur beamed.
"Let's see what else we've got here." He thumbed a few pages. "'Cloves: And if anyone have a headache, and his head is buzzing as if he were deaf, let him eat often of cloves, and they will ameliorate the buzzing in his head.' Hmm. I'm not sure all the cloves in the world would stop whatever's buzzing around up here…" He reached to knock on Merlin's head, but Merlin grabbed his wrist and pulled it back down with a feeble pretense of irritation.
"Prat." He hated himself for his weakness, that Arthur could vanquish his resentment with such ease, by offering him a scrap of the closeness his heart ached for.
"'Hemp: Its seed is salubrious, and diminishes bad humours, and fortifies good humours. Nevertheless, if one who is weak in the head, and has a vacant brain, eats hemp, it easily afflicts his head.’" Arthur glanced sidelong at Merlin.
"Don't even." Merlin wanted to glare, but his exhaustion and the effects of the drug made his eyelids heavy, and so, guard lowered, he leaned against Arthur instead and rested his head on his shoulder.
"You must admit, it would explain a lot. ‘Poppy: Its seeds, if they be eaten, induce sleep and decrease itching. They suppress the torments of lice and nits.' Well, you'll certainly find that useful. 'Fennel: However fennel is eaten, it makes men merry, and gives them a pleasant warmth, and makes them sweat well, and causes good digestion.' You know, this is actually half interesting."
"Mmm." Merlin's eyes shut, and Arthur’s voice and warm, solid presence began to lull him to sleep.
"'Bramble leaves: The bramble, on which blackberries grow, is warm rather than cold. If anyone suffers a disorder of the lungs, and has a cough from his chest…'"