Fic: The Coming of Arthur: An Interlude (4/6), for lolryne ♥
Title: The Coming of Arthur: An Interlude (4/6)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur, established relationship, but Arthur knows nothing of Merlin's magic
Summary: What happens after the last scene of 3.12.
Warnings: violence, angst, spoilers for Merlin 3.12
Disclaimer: I disclaim.
Author's Notes: This gift for lolryne is supposed to ease her waiting for episode 3.13! It is my take on what could possibly happen between 3.12 and 3.13, and will be posted in six parts, one part on each day that we spent waiting. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Also, apologies for the lame title. It was late (hey, lame excuses go with lame titles, right? ;))
“How are they doing?”
“Gwaine, do you not want to go to sleep at all?”
The voices are too distant to comprehend, exchanged whispers intruding into Arthur's sleep-fuddled mind.
“I can't. There's not a drop of ale in my body. How are they, Elyan?”
“I - the prince seems on his way to recovery, but Merlin ...”
Violently, the name pulls him into consciousness. Merlin. He wants to speak, but his lips will not open. They feel parched, his throat too dry to talk. Luckily, Gwaine asks the question for him.
“What? What about him?”
“He's dying, Gwaine. The way Gaius looks at him, he might as well be dead already. I don't know what is happening to him. At times it seems like he has been seized by a deadly fever, others he just lies there, so pale as if he'd passed away already.”
Silence reigns for a while. Arthur finally manages to pry his eyes open. Elyan and Gwaine are standing outside, with their backs to the open door. Gwen's brother has put a hand on the other man's shaking shoulder.
“I don't understand!”, Gwaine suddenly bursts out. “We didn't let anyone come near them. We didn't break the circle once. How could he have gotten hurt?”
Elyan only shakes his head. He does not understand himself.
Neither does Arthur.
Again, he tries to move, but all he manages is a weak shuffle.
“It's not your fault.”
“Then whose is it?! Yours? Arthur's? We should have protected them with our lives!”
“Gwaine.” Elyan's voice is perfectly calm. “Please, get some sleep. I will take over watch.”
“No, it's fine.”
“You're too exhausted.”
“So are you.”
“Too worried, then.”
“So are you! It's your sister that's still stuck in Camelot with an army of immortals, after all!”
Elyan's hand drops from the other man's shoulder as if burned. Again, silence engulfs them, in which Gwaine awkwardly rubs his neck before he says: “Look, Elyan - forgive me, I didn't-”
“Do not worry about it.”
“We will save her. I swear to you that I will not rest until we have returned her to safety.”
A small smile graces Elyan's lips. “And how will you attempt to do that when you're too tired to stand on your own two feet?”
Gwaine laughs. It is a strangely pure sound in this darkest hour of the night. “Touché, my friend! I will leave you to watch. Promise to wake me when the action starts, though.”
Elyan nodds. “Not much in way of action, though, is there?”
“I haven't even heard an owl screech. Either these immortals are dumber thank we think or your hideout is that good.”
“It is that good.”
Gwaine laughs again, claps Elyan on the back, his hand lingering for a moment before he turns away and disappears towards the trees.
“Where are you going now?”, Elyan calls after him, to which Gwaine's distant voice calls: “Need to piss like a dragon!”
Arthur wants to join in on Elyan's soft laughter, but his lips do not seem to remember how to do so. Instead, he is suddenly overwhelmed by a violent fit, coughing and choking on the air he is breathing.
Gaius is by his side immediately, skilled hands examining his leg. “Stay still, Sire. How are you feeling?”
“Don't … call me … that”, Arthur presses out between clenched teeth.
The eyebrow arches, even as Gaius smiles: “If you're fit enough to give orders, I'm sure you can't be in too much pain.”
Arthur tries to glare, but manages no more than a half-hearted growl. He actually does not feel as bad as he would have thought. His back and neck are stiff from sleeping on the floor of the cabin, and his leg seems rather useless, but at least it does not feel as if a dagger was put into him on every step.
Finally, he trusts his own strength enough to sit up. His clothes and skin feel disgusting, sweaty, his hair sticking to his head, but he could not care less - not when he sees the state Merlin is in.
His friend is lying on the floor, motionless, his skin white, so white, oh Gods, he's dead, he's died!
“Gaius - is he - is he … de-?”
Before he can finish, Merlin's body is suddenly torn off the floor by a violent seizure. Arthur cannot suppress the surprised shout leaving his throat as the other man is pulled up, as if by a ghost's hand, his back arched, arms flailing, words streaming out of his mouth that make no sense, no sense at all, Merlin!
Elyan comes bursting through the door. Together, they push Merlin back down, hold his bucking body. The servant is shouting now, nonsense, utter nonsense - or is it? -, his fingers balled into fists, knuckles white, nails digging so hard into his skin that they draw blood.
It only lasts a few seconds, but Arthur knows that during these he met his hell.
Gaius sends Elyan back outside when the seizures have subdued to mere trembling, but Arthur cannot leave. Instead, he draws one of Merlin's hands into his own, tries to unclench the fist, soothe the bloodied palm.
“Gaius”, he hisses, “Gaius, for the love of Camelot, what is wrong with him?”
The physician seems as shaken as Arthur himself, his hand trembling as hard as Merlin's body when he feels the boy's forehead. He does not answer at first, but when he does, his voice is surprisingly steady: “The wound must be very bad, Sire. An almost instant infection, I believe.
But there's no blood. No blood, no wound on Merlin that Arthur could see. No bloodied bandage. No salve next to his head that would treat an infection. It seems as if Gaius has not treated him at all.
Then, abruptly, Arthur knows.
And then it is as if he has always known.
His arrogance allowed him to see past it before. Past the coincidences, the chance, the fate, that always seemed to save him when in peril. He congratulated himself on his skill, his capabilities, his brilliance, all the while ignoring what was right in front of him.
the blooguard, vanished - “He … He must have gotten injured in the battle.” - no blood - a fever, why a fever? - “Not much in way of action, though, is there?” - “I haven't even heard an owl screech.” - those fingers, those lips, that voice, “Destiny”, that light, and Merlin, Merlin, good as dead on the ground, how on earth could he not have seen it before?!
A sorcerer.
Merlin is a sorcerer.
Suddenly, the crown on Morgana's head does not seem the greatest of all betrayals anymore.
A/N: Anyone who wants the reveal to happen on Sat as badly as I do, raise your hands!
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur, established relationship, but Arthur knows nothing of Merlin's magic
Summary: What happens after the last scene of 3.12.
Warnings: violence, angst, spoilers for Merlin 3.12
Disclaimer: I disclaim.
Author's Notes: This gift for lolryne is supposed to ease her waiting for episode 3.13! It is my take on what could possibly happen between 3.12 and 3.13, and will be posted in six parts, one part on each day that we spent waiting. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Also, apologies for the lame title. It was late (hey, lame excuses go with lame titles, right? ;))
“How are they doing?”
“Gwaine, do you not want to go to sleep at all?”
The voices are too distant to comprehend, exchanged whispers intruding into Arthur's sleep-fuddled mind.
“I can't. There's not a drop of ale in my body. How are they, Elyan?”
“I - the prince seems on his way to recovery, but Merlin ...”
Violently, the name pulls him into consciousness. Merlin. He wants to speak, but his lips will not open. They feel parched, his throat too dry to talk. Luckily, Gwaine asks the question for him.
“What? What about him?”
“He's dying, Gwaine. The way Gaius looks at him, he might as well be dead already. I don't know what is happening to him. At times it seems like he has been seized by a deadly fever, others he just lies there, so pale as if he'd passed away already.”
Silence reigns for a while. Arthur finally manages to pry his eyes open. Elyan and Gwaine are standing outside, with their backs to the open door. Gwen's brother has put a hand on the other man's shaking shoulder.
“I don't understand!”, Gwaine suddenly bursts out. “We didn't let anyone come near them. We didn't break the circle once. How could he have gotten hurt?”
Elyan only shakes his head. He does not understand himself.
Neither does Arthur.
Again, he tries to move, but all he manages is a weak shuffle.
“It's not your fault.”
“Then whose is it?! Yours? Arthur's? We should have protected them with our lives!”
“Gwaine.” Elyan's voice is perfectly calm. “Please, get some sleep. I will take over watch.”
“No, it's fine.”
“You're too exhausted.”
“So are you.”
“Too worried, then.”
“So are you! It's your sister that's still stuck in Camelot with an army of immortals, after all!”
Elyan's hand drops from the other man's shoulder as if burned. Again, silence engulfs them, in which Gwaine awkwardly rubs his neck before he says: “Look, Elyan - forgive me, I didn't-”
“Do not worry about it.”
“We will save her. I swear to you that I will not rest until we have returned her to safety.”
A small smile graces Elyan's lips. “And how will you attempt to do that when you're too tired to stand on your own two feet?”
Gwaine laughs. It is a strangely pure sound in this darkest hour of the night. “Touché, my friend! I will leave you to watch. Promise to wake me when the action starts, though.”
Elyan nodds. “Not much in way of action, though, is there?”
“I haven't even heard an owl screech. Either these immortals are dumber thank we think or your hideout is that good.”
“It is that good.”
Gwaine laughs again, claps Elyan on the back, his hand lingering for a moment before he turns away and disappears towards the trees.
“Where are you going now?”, Elyan calls after him, to which Gwaine's distant voice calls: “Need to piss like a dragon!”
Arthur wants to join in on Elyan's soft laughter, but his lips do not seem to remember how to do so. Instead, he is suddenly overwhelmed by a violent fit, coughing and choking on the air he is breathing.
Gaius is by his side immediately, skilled hands examining his leg. “Stay still, Sire. How are you feeling?”
“Don't … call me … that”, Arthur presses out between clenched teeth.
The eyebrow arches, even as Gaius smiles: “If you're fit enough to give orders, I'm sure you can't be in too much pain.”
Arthur tries to glare, but manages no more than a half-hearted growl. He actually does not feel as bad as he would have thought. His back and neck are stiff from sleeping on the floor of the cabin, and his leg seems rather useless, but at least it does not feel as if a dagger was put into him on every step.
Finally, he trusts his own strength enough to sit up. His clothes and skin feel disgusting, sweaty, his hair sticking to his head, but he could not care less - not when he sees the state Merlin is in.
His friend is lying on the floor, motionless, his skin white, so white, oh Gods, he's dead, he's died!
“Gaius - is he - is he … de-?”
Before he can finish, Merlin's body is suddenly torn off the floor by a violent seizure. Arthur cannot suppress the surprised shout leaving his throat as the other man is pulled up, as if by a ghost's hand, his back arched, arms flailing, words streaming out of his mouth that make no sense, no sense at all, Merlin!
Elyan comes bursting through the door. Together, they push Merlin back down, hold his bucking body. The servant is shouting now, nonsense, utter nonsense - or is it? -, his fingers balled into fists, knuckles white, nails digging so hard into his skin that they draw blood.
It only lasts a few seconds, but Arthur knows that during these he met his hell.
Gaius sends Elyan back outside when the seizures have subdued to mere trembling, but Arthur cannot leave. Instead, he draws one of Merlin's hands into his own, tries to unclench the fist, soothe the bloodied palm.
“Gaius”, he hisses, “Gaius, for the love of Camelot, what is wrong with him?”
The physician seems as shaken as Arthur himself, his hand trembling as hard as Merlin's body when he feels the boy's forehead. He does not answer at first, but when he does, his voice is surprisingly steady: “The wound must be very bad, Sire. An almost instant infection, I believe.
But there's no blood. No blood, no wound on Merlin that Arthur could see. No bloodied bandage. No salve next to his head that would treat an infection. It seems as if Gaius has not treated him at all.
Then, abruptly, Arthur knows.
And then it is as if he has always known.
His arrogance allowed him to see past it before. Past the coincidences, the chance, the fate, that always seemed to save him when in peril. He congratulated himself on his skill, his capabilities, his brilliance, all the while ignoring what was right in front of him.
the blooguard, vanished - “He … He must have gotten injured in the battle.” - no blood - a fever, why a fever? - “Not much in way of action, though, is there?” - “I haven't even heard an owl screech.” - those fingers, those lips, that voice, “Destiny”, that light, and Merlin, Merlin, good as dead on the ground, how on earth could he not have seen it before?!
A sorcerer.
Merlin is a sorcerer.
Suddenly, the crown on Morgana's head does not seem the greatest of all betrayals anymore.
A/N: Anyone who wants the reveal to happen on Sat as badly as I do, raise your hands!