BROKEN, Part 1
Author’s note: This is a pinch-hit for
merlinreversebb. It’s canon-era, set eleven years after Merlin arrives in Camelot. Arthur has been king for about six years.
Lance is still alive because I like him that way.
Many thanks to my cheerleader, lolafeist, who kept me writing, and my two betas, gwylliondream and stagarden, who made the story much better than it was when they first got their hands on it and whose friendship and support were invaluable.
I also want to thank the artist who did the picture prompt, sandrainthesun. Her artwork is totally gorgeous. Please take a look and comment. It’s HERE
BROKEN
It took Arthur three weeks to find Merlin, and when he did, Merlin was out of his mind.
*****
The battle against Mercia was intense, but with Merlin’s help the tide had turned in Camelot’s favor.
At dawn, Merlin had helped Arthur into his armor. Arthur had plenty of squires, and it was menial work for the court sorcerer, but it was a ritual that they both treasured. They never actually spoke the words, but they both knew that Merlin wanted Arthur to himself in the last moments, in case this was the day Arthur fell in battle.
Arthur had never let himself imagine that it would be Merlin who would fall.
He had told the idiot to stay back from battle, to use his magic from well behind the lines. He couldn’t spare Percival or Elyan or any other of his key knights to be Merlin’s minder, but he had assigned a new knight that he trusted, Geraint, to stay by Merlin’s side and make sure he didn’t do something stupid.
He’d known the man for eleven years, and he should have known better than to think he would refrain from stupidity.
As near as he could reconstruct it afterward by questioning everyone involved, Merlin had seen that Gwaine was in trouble, cut off from the main force with a small group and under heavy attack. Merlin had left the safe overlook where Arthur had ordered him to stay, and tried to get closer to Gwaine to assist him with magic.
Fucking Gwaine, always Merlin’s knight, and his friend. Arthur knew that Gwaine stayed in Camelot not for him, but for Merlin.
Fucking Gwaine, who he knew had shared Merlin’s bed before Merlin was even twenty. And who still looked at Merlin longingly, despite Merlin’s many faithful years with Arthur.
Fucking Gwaine, who had had the balls to come to Arthur on the day after his wedding to Gwen, and tell Arthur it was time to let Merlin go.
Arthur had let his hand stray to his dagger, and had told Gwaine that his relationship with Merlin was none of his business. He had forbidden Gwaine to bring the subject up again, and Gwaine had swaggered away after favoring Arthur with a look of contempt.
Gwaine needed to know that Arthur was never going to let Merlin go, no matter what.
To his credit, Geraint had tried to stop Merlin from going to Gwaine. But Merlin had shaken him off like a leaf, his magic giving him the strength of three Percivals. Geraint had followed him, hurriedly gathering a few knights to protect the King’s consort, but Merlin had been too fast for them.
Merlin had used a lot of magic that day, bringing a hail of fire down from the sky and shielding Arthur and the knights around him as best he could. Apparently he was tiring by the time he went to rescue Gwaine, and he didn’t have enough strength to protect himself while he blasted magic at the enemy soldiers surrounding Gwaine’s little band.
A lucky arrow pierced Merlin’s side and brought him down, bright red blood blooming on his simple blue tunic. And then one of Mercia’s men clubbed him in the head, and as Geraint and the other knights watched in horror, an unconscious Merlin was lifted like the featherweight he was and carried off behind enemy lines.
Gwaine saw what was happening and fought like a demon to get to Merlin, but it was too late. The witnesses speculated that sorcery was involved, because Merlin seemed to disappear as soon as he was a few feet away from the skirmish.
The battle still raged, and none of the knights was able to go after Merlin’s captors. They had to take the field before they did anything else.
Arthur had seen none of it, busy on another part of the line. Afterward, he wondered at himself, that he could have not felt it when his love was spirited away. But he just kept wielding his sword and rallying his men, oblivious to what had occurred.
And when it was over and the prisoners were being rounded up and the wounded were being tended, Arthur saw Leon’s face and knew that something terrible had happened.
He kept calm, because he was a soldier first and always. But his lips were stiff as he forced out the words. “What is it?”
Leon’s face was white and drawn, but he was a brave man, and he kept his eyes on Arthur’s as he said evenly, “It’s Merlin, sire.”
Time seemed to come to a standstill for Arthur as he said, “Dead?”
“No, sire. Or rather, we’re not sure, but we think not. He was wounded, and carried off the field by the enemy.”
And then Arthur gave the orders that were necessary to make all secure following the battle, and turned his attention to recovering Merlin.
*****
The three weeks they searched for Merlin were the longest of Arthur’s life.
They picked up a trail that seemed hopeful, but it was a dead end. Arthur sent out spies and used his gold liberally to find any news of Merlin, and finally it paid off when a Mercian peasant stepped forward with a possible sighting of Merlin. He was questioned first by Leon and then by Arthur, and he seemed reliable.
The Mercian told them of a village with an inn where shady business was conducted, and where a dark-haired man appearing to be near death had been carried on the day after the battle.
Arthur had gone into the inn with a dozen of his most trusted knights, expecting a fight and getting one. By the time he fought his way to Merlin, chained to the wall in a room in the basement, his sword was red with blood, and so was his mail.
He was the first one in the room, automatically sweeping it with his eyes to make sure there were no guards other than the two he and Gwaine had already slain. Then he rushed to where a body was huddled in the corner, chained at the ankle and so small and frail that it looked like a bundle of rags.
He wasn’t even positive that it was Merlin until he pulled the man into his arms, and he gasped at how awful he looked. He’d tried to prepare himself mentally for finding an ill-treated Merlin, but this was far worse than he’d been able to let himself imagine during the long weeks of the search.
Merlin seemed semi-conscious, and he wasn’t opening his eyes. He looked half-starved, the skin stretched tightly over his cheekbones, and when Arthur pulled up his filthy shirt to check on his wound, his ribs showed in sharp relief. The wound itself seemed to be healing well, and Arthur briefly gave thanks for that, even as he yelled over his shoulder, “Find the key to the shackles. Now! And a cup of water.”
Lance plucked the key ring from one of the dead men’s belts, and quickly freed Merlin, exclaiming over the sores on his ankle. Percival brought the water, and Arthur looked up from where he’d been stroking Merlin’s hair, crooning to him and trying to get him to open his eyes.
Percival said, “Let me, sire,” and pulled Merlin semi-upright so that Arthur could hold the cup to his lips. Arthur tilted the cup so a little water went into Merlin’s mouth, and he seemed to wake at that, reaching greedily for the cup.
“Not too fast, love,” Arthur said, unashamed to be openly affectionate under these circumstances. He wasn’t revealing anything to his knights that they didn’t already know.
He let Merlin have some sips of water, then moved the cup away and promised, “More in a minute or two.” His brow creased as he realized that Merlin hadn’t acknowledged him or looked at him directly, and he said softly, “Merlin, can you look at me? Please?”
Arthur had faced many horrors since he first became a squire at fourteen. Manticores, were-creatures, witches, the Darocha, an attack on Camelot by a girl he had grown up with and loved like a sister. But he had never been as frightened as he was when Merlin finally met his eyes, and he saw an icy blueness that he did not recognize.
Merlin tried to speak, his voice rusty from disuse. “Why…” he started, and then had to pause to cough. Arthur gave him another sip of water, and rubbed his back, wishing he had time to take off his gloves so Merlin could feel the warmth of his skin. But he was determined to get Merlin out of this hellhole as soon as possible.
When the dry coughing ceased, Merlin looked straight at him and said, “Why did you do this to me?”
Arthur could see on the faces of his men that they were as dumbfounded as he was, and he sat back, unable to think for a moment. Leon, who was always there when he needed him, said quickly, “Sire, he’s in shock. We need to move quickly, this is a raid in Mercia’s kingdom, and we need to get Merlin out of here now.”
Arthur nodded his agreement, and reached to take Merlin from Percival. But Merlin flinched away from him, looking terrified, and Percival hurriedly intervened. “I’ll take him, Sire, his weight will be lighter to me.” He rose with Merlin in his arms and turned to Gwaine and said, “A blanket? He’s cold.”
That snapped Arthur into activity, and he rose from where he’d been kneeling on the floor. His voice was sharp as he said, “No. We’ll wrap him in our cloaks. I want nothing from this place touching him.”
Percival nodded, and moved toward the stairs. The other knights grouped around Percival and Arthur, automatically protecting their king and their injured friend.
All of the men who had been in the inn when Arthur arrived were dead, the price of trying to keep Arthur from Merlin. There were a couple of whores who probably also served as barmaids standing outside of the building, blank-faced and scantily dressed with their arms crossed across their chests.
Arthur watched as Elyan and Leon wrapped Merlin in several warm cloaks and handed him up to ride in front of Gwaine, already in the saddle. He fought down his hurt, knowing that he should be the one to ride with Merlin. But the mission was to get Merlin safely home, and with Merlin so confused Arthur could not take the chance that Merlin would fight him and injure himself more.
He realized with a pang that Merlin didn’t seem to be afraid of anyone but him.
But he was not in the bed he shared with Merlin, where he had the time to explore tender feelings. He was a commander behind enemy lines, and he was responsible for all of their lives.
He didn’t take his eyes off the scene in front of him, Gwaine settling Merlin in front of him and wrapping strong arms around him, as he said tersely to Lance, “You have checked that no one is left in the building?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Burn it,” he ordered, swinging into the saddle.
*****
They rode hard for an hour before Arthur signaled for a halt. They wouldn’t be able to take a real break until they were safely within Camelot’s borders, but the horses needed a rest, and Merlin needed what medical attention they could give him.
They stopped by a stream, and the team of knights worked efficiently, those who were not in the inner circle of Arthur’s friends moving to water the horses while Leon and Lance laid out a bedroll on the ground and Percival carefully settled Merlin on it.
Gwaine was hovering, staring down at Merlin with a face like stone, and Arthur stepped past him, saying, “Make yourself useful and fetch some water for him.”
He kept his voice neutral. It wasn’t Gwaine’s fault that Merlin loved him, and was a loyal friend who would do anything for any of the Round Table knights. And he knew how fearful they had all been for Merlin’s life, and how hard they had tried to hide that fear from Arthur.
He knelt down next to Merlin to feel for his pulse, holding on and saying “I’m not going to hurt you,” when Merlin pulled away. It seemed steady enough, although rapid. Lance was lifting Merlin’s shirt to check for additional injuries, gently turning him over to look at his back. He briefly looked to Arthur for permission before loosening Merlin’s trousers and examining his lower body.
Merlin was filthy and covered in bruises, and the wound on his side had been inexpertly stitched. But it didn’t seem to be infected, and except for undernourishment and general mistreatment, he didn’t seem to be too badly off in a physical sense. There was dried blood in his hair, which was sticky and matted, and Arthur felt sick when he realized that the blood must have been there since the day of the battle.
Gwaine appeared with a water flask, and Arthur tried to give Merlin some water. But he flinched away again, shaking in terror, and Arthur wordlessly handed the flask to Lance. He heard Elyan behind him saying worriedly, “What on earth do you think happened to him, he always responds best to Arthur…” and Gwaine answering quickly, “Not now.”
Arthur would have liked to heat some water to clean the dirt off Merlin’s face, at least, and a fire would enable them to make something soft and bland enough for Merlin to eat. But there was no time, so he told Lance, “Soak some bread in water, see if you can get him to eat it. We leave in five minutes.” He said, “Elyan, trade horses with Gwaine. His will be tired from the double weight.”
He accepted Merlin riding with Gwaine again, knowing that right now, all he could do was get Merlin back to Gaius. Whatever was wrong with Merlin, it couldn’t be fixed on the road.
*****
When they stopped to make camp that night, they were within Camelot’s borders, but still a hard day’s ride away from the castle.
They started a fire, and Arthur motioned Lance over. “You know what to do. Clean him up, put some salve on his ankle, get some porridge in him. There’s a sleeping draught if we need it. He seems calmest around you and Gwaine, see if you can get him to talk about what happened to him. There are some spare clothes in my pack, his are ruined.”
Lancelot nodded his understanding and turned to leave, but paused and laid a hand on Arthur’s arm. “It will be all right, Arthur. He’ll be all right.”
“I hope so,” the king answered grimly.
He decided to take a couple of the others hunting, needing to get away from this nightmarish place where Merlin cowered away from his touch instead of welcoming it. They had good luck, bagging three rabbits within half an hour. When they returned to camp, they heard raised voices, and they ran back to view an uncomfortable scene.
Merlin was crouched low to the ground, looking like a panicked animal. Percival and Gwaine and Lance were in a circle around him, and Lance was holding Arthur’s spare tunic. Merlin looked cleaner, although they hadn’t been able to do much with his hair except sponge the dried blood out. Without the dirt, the various cuts and bruises stood out more clearly, and Merlin’s emaciated condition was even more striking. He was wearing a pair of trousers that were only staying on him because they were belted tightly. Arthur could see that there had been considerable damage to his hands.
He strode over, saying to Lance, “What happened?”
Lance’s concern was heavy in his voice. “He was fine while we bathed him, but when I went to put the shirt on him, he tried to bolt.”
Merlin looked at Arthur, then ducked his head. He said in a small but clear voice, “The shirt. It smells like him.” And he shot Arthur a look of revulsion.
Arthur could see Percival behind Merlin, ready to grab him if necessary. Merlin was shivering in the cold, half-naked, and Arthur knew it was time to end this stand-off. “For pity’s sake, find him another shirt. It doesn’t have to be mine.”
He handed the game to Sir Lionel to clean, and stalked off into the woods, muttering something about relieving himself. He couldn’t bear the shocked gazes of his knights, their eyes flickering between him and Merlin in disbelief.
Leon, ever tactful, gave him ten minutes alone before he followed him. Arthur was slumped on a log in the twilight, trying to stop his whirling thoughts.
Leon sat next to him. “It’s cold, Sire, you’d be better to sit by the fire. And supper is ready. You should come back.”
Arthur ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “It doesn’t feel like him, Leon. It feels like a stranger. What the hell do you think happened to him?”
Leon sighed. “You aren’t going to like this, but I can’t keep it from you. He was deliberately hurt. All ten of his fingers… they’re badly damaged. One of his thumbs is broken, and it looks like they tortured him by slipping a dagger underneath his fingernails.”
Arthur bit back a sound. He knew how exquisitely painful that was.
Leon pretended he didn’t hear, and continued, “It appears that sorcery was used to create an illusion. Merlin thinks that the man who tortured him was you.”
“Wha-a-a-at?” Arthur said slowly, unable to believe his ears. How could Merlin believe this, bright Merlin, his Merlin?
Leon plowed on. “We tried to explain it to him, to tell him that you were with us the whole time, that you searched tirelessly for him and would never hurt him. But he doesn’t believe us. In fact, he recognizes us, but he won’t say our names, and we’re not entirely certain that he remembers anything about us except for our faces.” Leon paused and seemed to be choosing his next words with care. “Sire, while his physical condition is poor, I’m afraid his mental condition is much worse. He’s very fearful, and doesn’t seem to have his wits about him. He seems to have lost big chunks of his memory; he seems to think he was kidnapped on his way from Ealdor to Camelot to apprentice for Gaius. We asked him how old he was, and he said he was eighteen. ”
It was a blow, and Arthur bowed his head to let his body absorb it. Then he rose and said, “Go back to camp. I’ll be along in a minute. We’ll get him back to Camelot and go from there.”
Arthur watched Leon leave, the bile rising in his throat at the thought of Merlin’s beautiful skillful fingers being deliberately harmed like that. When he was sure that Leon was out of hearing, he let go of his control and retched up what was left of his breakfast in painful dry heaves.
Then he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and headed back.
*****
Arthur was a man of iron discipline when it was necessary.
He choked down some food, knowing that he would need his strength the next day. He sat across the fire from Merlin and didn’t try to touch him or make eye contact with him, because he knew that was what Merlin needed.
He wished Merlin would respond to him. He wished he had Gwen here; his wife’s calm good sense and nurturing heart were badly needed. He wished he could snap his fingers and they would be in the courtyard of Camelot without the grueling journey that faced them tomorrow.
But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. He had to deal in reality.
He watched as Lance and Leon fussed over Merlin, who was now dressed in somebody else’s spare tunic, and a leather vest that he was pretty sure belonged to Gwaine. They gave him a bowl of porridge and coaxed him to eat it, praising him when he was able to hold the bowl on his own.
Percival kept a watchful eye on Merlin, and Gwaine glowered at Arthur from his position at Merlin's side. But that was a matter of indifference to Arthur, who was busy making mental notes about Merlin’s demeanor and condition, so that he could share it all with Gaius.
The biggest thing he noticed watching Merlin was that he never smiled, not once.
After everyone was finished eating, they arranged the bedrolls in a circle around the fire, and Arthur had Leon give the orders for the watch, and to prepare the camp for the night. He was just too mentally exhausted to deal with it.
He lay down with the others, but sleep eluded him. Which was just as well, because it meant he wasn’t roused from a sound sleep when Merlin started screaming.
The others rolled out of their bedrolls with their swords already in their hands, but fortunately they were well-trained enough to realize that they were not under attack, and to grab Merlin as he crawled to the fire. When Elyan jumped on top of him, he was reaching for the embers, about to stick his hand into them.
Arthur called for a torch, and again that day found himself crouching in front of a terrified Merlin. He took him by the shoulders and shook him, not too hard, demanding angrily, “Merlin! What do you think you’re doing? You almost put your hand right in the fire.”
Merlin’s voice was anguished as he answered, “My hands hurt. The fire will clean them, and they won’t hurt anymore.” And then he wrapped his arms around his legs and started rocking back and forth, sobbing inconsolably. “I want to burn, let me burn.” He repeated those phrases over and over again, his voice rising.
Arthur had seen cases of hysteria stopped in their tracks by a brisk slap to the face, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that after all that Merlin had been through. He looked at Lance, and asked quietly, “Did you give him something for the pain?”
“I did, Sire, before he ate.”
“Then it will have to be the sleeping draught,” Arthur said grimly. Lance got it from their bags, and Gwaine and Elyan and Leon held a struggling Merlin down as Arthur poured it down his throat.
He seemed to calm as the medicine took effect, and Arthur gave new orders. “Everyone back to sleep, we have a hard day in front of us to get to Camelot by nightfall. Percival, I want you to sleep next to Merlin, and keep your arms around him. The man standing watch is to make sure Merlin doesn’t get up until morning.”
They lay Merlin’s bedroll down next to Percival’s, and by this time Merlin was groggy and pliable from the strong medicine. Percival curled up behind him, his front to Merlin’s back, and clamped an arm around him.
Arthur finally drifted off to sleep with his mind playing an endless loop of Merlin skittering away like a crab from a shirt that smelled like Arthur.
Just before he lost consciousness he found another memory, one that broke his heart with the contrast to the day’s events.
He’d come upon Merlin sitting on the floor in a sunny alcove, reading a book and eating an apple, wearing a ratty old tunic that was too big for him and that Arthur distinctly remembered consigning to the rag bin.
“Mer-lin!” he scolded. “You’re supposed to look like a court sorcerer, not a ragamuffin! And I threw that tunic away, it’s worn out.”
Merlin took another bite of his apple and answered with his mouth half full. “I like it. It smells like you.”
*****
They broke camp quickly in the morning. They’d brought an extra horse for Merlin, and he seemed somewhat stronger, so they let him ride alone, knowing they would make better time that way. Arthur took Elyan and Percival aside and told them to make sure they never got more than a few yards from Merlin.
Merlin’s horse was a sturdy gelding named Abloec, personally chosen by Arthur as a mount suitable for Merlin’s horsemanship, which to Arthur’s chagrin was still only average despite years of his best efforts. Merlin and Abloec had a bond, and Arthur hoped that being on his back, doing something familiar, would be good for Merlin’s mood.
But while Abloec seemed glad to see Merlin, it didn’t seem to Arthur that the reverse was true. Lance helped get him in the saddle, and gave him his own gloves to protect his hands, and they set out.
They had to take more breaks than they usually would have because Merlin tired easily. By the time they finally reached the castle, it was nearly dark, and Merlin seemed about to fall off his horse.
Gwaine and Elyan helped him down this time, and Arthur choked back the bitter feelings that came from seeing Merlin accepting everyone’s touch but his. Merlin was staggering when he tried to walk, and Gwaine had an arm around him instantly. He looked at Arthur and said, “Shall I take him to Gaius?”
Arthur nodded his agreement. “Take someone else with you in case Merlin tries something funny again, and wait with him until I can get there.” He turned to Leon, saying, “Please inform the Queen of our return, and of what has happened to Merlin. Then you are all relieved for the night.”
He would get to Merlin as soon as he could, but he still had a kingdom to run. He walked to the armory, listening as his seneschal walked beside him and reported on events in Camelot since he’d been gone. He also needed to hear a report from the acting Captain of the Guard, and he did that as a squire helped him out of his armor.
With those obligations out of the way, he went to his chambers, where a fire was already lit and a hot bath was waiting for him. An efficient manservant was standing by, and there was ale and a plate of bread and cheese on the table. He silently blessed Gwen for her attentiveness, and slipped into the bath with a groan.
He’d been living rough for three weeks, bathing in streams when he could and most of the time just washing his face and hands in camp. The water felt like heaven on his sore bones. He was thirty now, and when he was away from home he missed his hot baths and soft mattress.
He didn’t have long, he needed to check with Gaius. And he was sick with worry about Merlin. But he suspected that this was not a problem that was going to disappear overnight, and there was no point in appearing in Gaius’s rooms filthy and disheveled.
He washed his hair and his body quickly, then let himself soak for a few minutes as he puzzled over Merlin’s situation.
As near as he could figure, Merlin was either too ill to use magic, or didn’t know he had it. Which was probably a good thing, because an insane sorcerer would be very difficult to control. The last thing he wanted to have to do was to put Merlin in iron chains to cut off his magic. The very thought made him heartsick.
As he rose from the bath and dressed, a third possibility occurred to him, and it wasn’t comforting. If Merlin thought he was still a boy and on his way to Camelot, he would still be listening to the advice his mother had given him- to never reveal his magic to anyone.
If that was the case, and Merlin knew he had magic but was concealing it, there could be serious trouble ahead.
*****
When he got to Gaius’s chambers, what he saw was not reassuring.
Merlin was slumped in a chair near the fire, appearing totally listless and withdrawn. Gaius looked grave, and Gwaine and Lance looked like they had just received some very bad news.
“How is he?” Arthur quietly asked, trying not to be hurt by the way Merlin hunched his shoulders when he saw him.
“We need to speak privately, Sire,” Gaius answered. He led him to a table in the far corner of the room, the same table where Merlin had sat wrapped in a blanket when he first came to Camelot and had drunk poison for Arthur.
Arthur saw no point in delaying bad news. “Tell me,” he ordered.
“Physically, he’s weak, and I think in pain. The wound isn’t infected, which is something of a miracle considering the conditions he was kept in, from what Gwaine said. He’ll need rest and proper nutrition, of course.” Gaius paused, and Arthur stifled his desire to rush the old man, knowing that he was being careful to be precise in his wording.
He continued, “He seems very confused, and he thinks Uther is still the King. As far as he knows, he met me for the first time today. He seems well-disposed toward your knights, but he told me that “Arthur” is an evil man who tortured him. He’s afraid of you, and he seems to hate you. Which is understandable if he thinks that you are the one who hurt him in such horrific ways.”
Arthur nodded his understanding. “We will have to clear that up for him, and he will learn to trust me again.”
“I hope so, Sire. But I have to tell you my biggest concern; Merlin seems to be suffering from a form of hysteria. He thinks that there is a creature of some sort, like an insect, inside his brain, telling him to do bad things. It’s telling him to harm himself, and he says it is angry with him. He will have to be closely watched to make sure he doesn’t do himself an injury.”
Arthur felt a chill run down his spine, but he made himself sound confident as he said, “Believe me, he will be watched. In the meantime, I would like you to look into the possibility that he is bespelled, or even that some malicious magical object has been introduced into his body. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
When Merlin had finally told Arthur about his magic, a year after he had taken the throne and three years after they became lovers, they had spent many long nights in front of the fire in Arthur’s chambers. Merlin had told him many stories, including the one about how Morgana had implanted the Fomorroh under his skin. It hadn’t been the easiest time for them, with Arthur learning that much of what he believed about his life since Merlin had arrived in Camelot had been based on the quicksand of lies and deception.
But they had worked through it, and Arthur had eventually come to understand that Merlin had acted as he did out of fear for his own life, and the lives of Gaius and even Hunith.
It was sobering to realize that in a sense they had stepped back in time, and that he was once again dealing with a Merlin who would go to great lengths to conceal his secret. And who was possibly too fragile to just be told outright that everyone knew about his magic.
It was late, and Merlin was drowsing in his chair. Arthur told Gaius “Keep me advised on the progress of your investigation,” and went over to Merlin, reaching out to touch him before remembering and pulling his hand back.
“It’s time for you to come with me,” he told Merlin gently.
The look he got back was full of fear, but also had a trace of “sullen teenager” in it. Merlin said, “Why?” at the same time as Gaius said, “Sire,” and Lance said warningly, “Arthur…”
“It’s late, and your hair is still filthy, you need a bath and then some sleep,” Arthur said patiently.
Gaius cleared his throat. “I thought it might be best for Merlin to spend the night here, in his old room. It will be less disorienting.”
“I don’t see how,” Arthur answered. “Every room in this castle is as strange to him as the next.” Gaius didn’t have an answer to that.
Gwaine said urgently, “Arthur, a word.”
Arthur’s patience was fraying fast, but he let Gwaine lead him out to the hallway. “Make it quick,” he ordered.
Gwaine lifted his chin defiantly as he locked eyes with Arthur. “Excuse me, your highness. But while you were having a nice bath and checking in with your wife, I was holding Merlin’s head while he vomited after Gaius re-set his thumb. And I’m thinking that you are not the best person for Merlin to be staying with tonight.”
Arthur moved a step closer to Gwaine and kept his voice low so Merlin wouldn’t hear him. “I am letting this pass because I know how concerned you are about Merlin. But in the future you will refer to the Queen by her title. And you will not meddle in things that you know nothing about.”
Gwaine stood his ground, too stubborn to yield.
“I know a lot about Merlin.”
“That may be, Gwaine. But you don’t know much about me and Merlin.” He walked away, but turned back angrily and said, “Merlin will sleep where he always does. With me.”
*****
Arthur wasn’t afraid to be alone with Merlin, although a small part of him thought that perhaps he should be. But at Lance’s insistence he had brought two guards with him to station at the door of his chambers, and they trailed along as he walked Merlin back, a hand on his elbow because he was weaving from exhaustion.
He’d ordered another bath brought up before he left and also sent a maid to get some clean clothes from the chambers where Merlin nominally lived. The atmosphere when they returned was reminiscent of many other nights the two of them had spent together in these rooms: a steaming bath, a roaring fire, candles lit to give the room a soft glow. But the emotional temperature was all wrong.
Merlin hesitated by the bath, and Arthur’s frustration with the situation came out in his clipped tone. “You aren’t getting into my bed with all that dirt on you. No one is going to make an attempt on your virtue. Now get your clothes off and get in the bath, or I’ll call the guards to assist you.”
Merlin turned pink at his words, and Arthur remembered that in Merlin’s mind, he was a virgin. Hell, maybe he still thought he liked girls. He turned his back to him so he could get undressed and went to sit by the fire, picking up a book to pretend to read. He positioned himself so he could keep an eye on Merlin without being too obvious about it.
Merlin was half-heartedly washing himself when Gwen came into the room, and his look of outrage at being naked in front of her might have been funny in other circumstances. Gwen crossed the room to Arthur and said, “Don’t get up,” as he started to rise. She leaned down and kissed his cheek, and said, “I’m glad you’re back, both of you.”
She went over to the tub, where Merlin was trying to sink under the water, and said, “Hello, Merlin. I’m Gwen. I’m Arthur’s wife. Don’t be embarrassed, please. I used to be a servant, and I’ve done my fair share of assisting tired men in the bath.” She knelt down next to him and gave him a genuine smile. “Would you let me wash your hair for you? I could help you get the tangles out. It would be a shame if we had to cut it.” She didn’t wait for him to answer, just dipped a cup in the bathwater and said, “Tilt your head back for me.”
He seemed to respond to her easy confidence, and looking across the room Arthur could see his tight shoulders relaxing as the warm water and Gwen’s gentle touch worked their magic. She kept talking to him softly as she took the washcloth from his hand and washed his back and his hands and arms and legs.
When she was done, she said, “I’m going to go talk to Arthur now. Don’t worry, I won’t peek. There are clean clothes for you on the bed.”
She joined Arthur at the fire, and they talked about castle business, giving Merlin privacy to get dressed. Then she said, “Walk me to my room, dearest?” and Arthur answered, “Of course.” She paused by the bed, where Merlin was sitting stiffly in sleeping clothes, and said, “I will see you tomorrow, Merlin.” He nodded but didn’t look up at her.
Arthur tilted his head at one of the guards to indicate that he should go in the room while he was gone, and walked Gwen the short distance down the corridor to her suite. “What do you think, Gwen?” She looked up at him and he could see how concerned she was.
“He’s obviously very damaged. I could see traces of the nice boy he was when he first came to Camelot, but he seemed so passive and so weary. Like he’d given up hope.”
“He was alone for three weeks, and he was tortured.” He saw her wince at his words, but plunged ahead. “That can destroy a man’s mind forever.”
“But not Merlin’s,” she said firmly.
“But not Merlin’s,” he agreed. Because the alternative was unthinkable.
*****
It wasn’t the easiest night Arthur had ever had.
Merlin flat out refused to get in the bed, his voice rising toward hysteria again, and Arthur finally called for a pallet to be brought and set on the floor next to the bed.
Fearful of Merlin trying to burn himself again, he ordered the fire doused. It was a cold night, and would be colder by morning, but he couldn’t afford to take any chances. He also had all of his weapons removed from the room, except for the dagger that he always kept under his pillow. His Merlin knew about the dagger, but this one didn’t, and Arthur and his father before him had been attacked in their chambers too often to go without weapons entirely.
Merlin was lying rigidly on the floor, his back to Arthur, when Arthur doused the last candle. Arthur could tell the difference between when Merlin was asleep and when he was pretending to be asleep, but in this case Merlin wasn’t even trying to pretend. Arthur lay there, too, until exhaustion finally claimed him.
He woke well before dawn to the sound of sobbing, and immediately looked for Merlin on the pallet. But he wasn’t there. He lit a candle with hands that were shaking, the sound of Merlin’s muffled sobs tearing his heart out.
He found him in the corner of the room furthest from the bed, rocking and clawing at his arms. Arthur slid down until he was sitting against the cold stone wall, close enough to touch Merlin but careful not to do so.
“Merlin, what’s wrong?”
“Go away. I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t know me well enough to hate me. This has been explained to you. Someone used sorcery to take on my form and my face and my voice, but it wasn’t me. You and I are friends, and eventually you will come to remember that.”
Merlin quieted somewhat at Arthur’s calm words, and Arthur continued, “If you tell me what is wrong, I will do my best to help you.”
Merlin scrubbed the heel of his hand at his eyes, and said sadly, “No one can help.”
“Try me.”
“There are insects in my brain, and some of them have hatched and crawled out of my ears and now they are crawling all over me!” He scratched more deeply at his arms and drew blood.
Arthur yelled, deliberately. “Stop that!”
He’d forgotten the guards just outside the door, who rushed in at the sound of his raised voice, weapons at the ready.
He waved at them in dismissal. “Go away. We’re just talking.” They backed out, bowing, but he was already done with them.
He said firmly, “Merlin, if you don’t stop hurting yourself, I will call the guards back and have them bind your wrists. Neither one of us wants that, so please stop.”
Fresh tears started. “But what will I do about the bugs?”
Arthur sighed. “We have medicine for the bugs.”
*****
The poppy syrup put Merlin back to sleep, although he refused to come out of his corner. Arthur waited until his head was drooping and went to the door to get the guards, telling them, “Put him in the bed. Gently.” He covered Merlin with the warm blankets and slid in next to him, trying to warm his icy cold limbs .
It was a long time before Arthur fell asleep again.
The next morning Merlin was fairly cooperative, and Arthur made a mental note to ask Gaius why Merlin seemed so much worse at night. They sat at Arthur’s work table for breakfast, and Merlin mostly pushed his food around his plate, even though the kitchen had sent up some of his favorites.
Which probably meant that gossip about Merlin’s condition had reached to the lower hall.
Merlin eyed Arthur warily. “They tell me you are the king?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Then you have the power to grant me a request?”
Arthur didn’t like the idea of bargaining with Merlin in the condition he was in, but he said, “Yes, I can grant you a request if it is reasonable and it is not contrary to your best interests or the best interests of the kingdom.” He looked over at his lover, who looked so thin and ethereal that it seemed like he might float out of the chair. “I will not hear any requests until your plate is empty.”
Merlin looked mutinous, so Arthur tried to tease him. “You’re nothing but skin and bones. We could stand you up in a corn field and you would frighten away the crows.”
The teasing didn’t get the response Arthur had hoped for, but Merlin did reluctantly pick up his fork and make a manful effort. Arthur felt that he had made some progress with Merlin, and it seemed that Merlin had accepted that Arthur was not the same man who had tortured him.
When Merlin was finished eating, Arthur said, “You may ask now.”
Merlin’s simple honesty was heartbreaking. “I am very sick in my head. I know that. I think I would be better off if I returned to Ealdor.” He paused and said softly, “I think my mother would know what to do.”
Arthur had to look down so Merlin wouldn’t see the shock in his eyes. He tried to center himself, so that he could sound convincing.
“It isn’t safe for you to travel right now. The people who took you before might try again, and I can’t risk that.” He could see the disappointment in Merlin’s face and continued hurriedly, “But I can send to Ealdor for your mother, and ask her to come and visit you.”
Merlin said, “Thank you,” and added awkwardly, “Sire.”
He told Merlin, “Get dressed. I have things to do today, but we will figure out something to occupy you.” Merlin left the table, and Arthur leaned back in his chair, a hand shading his eyes.
He couldn’t escape the irony that the first smile he’d gotten from Merlin since he’d been recovered was based on a lie.
Hunith had been dead for over a year.
Part Two is here