Merlin - Aftermath
Title: Aftermath
Rating: PG
Characters: Merlin, Gwaine, Percival, Arthur
Spoilers: 5.02. Major spoilers.
Summary: Missing scene from Arthur's Bane Pt 2. Merlin is having a really, really bad day. I think you may know what this is going to address ;)
Aftermath
Merlin staggered shaky as a new born colt from the tunnel. The being in the cave had healed him enough to save his life but even Merlin knew a full healing, even by a creature with unimaginable power, took time - time neither of them had if they both wanted to get away. Merlin's head ached abominably and he throbbed from shoulder-blade to the base of his ribs. He was tired, hungry, cold and, oh, look, completely and utterly alone.
“Hello?” Merlin called with a voice that croaked like a frog. He cleared it and tried again. “Hello!”
No one answered, which may or may not have been a good thing depending on who was still about. But he stumbled to the mouth of the tunnel, where it opened up into one of the vast caverns, and not a single soul - Saxon or slave - was in sight.
Merlin's heart began to race like a rabbit fleeing from a fox. It made his head pound without mercy. He made to take a step forward but when he did the world tilted dangerously, forcing him to stop.
“Hello!”
Had he really been left behind? He understood well enough the need to get the king to safety but couldn't at least one person have gone back to look for him?
“Please, anyone!” He attempted another step, this one buckling beneath him and sending him crashing into the wall, thankfully onto his good shoulder.
“Hello,” he said, his voice small. Merlin felt suddenly sick - sick and furious and afraid all at once. He wanted to weep, to shout, to bellow in the voice of a dragon lord merely for the sake of it, to feel the very air shake around him as he shook.
Morded, Arthur's doom, had saved the man he was meant to kill. Morgana had vanished. Aithusa - poor, broken Aithusa who had been wounded beyond body to her very soul - had not come when Merlin had tried to call, to save her (lords, what had happened to her, why hadn't I known?), Arthur was wounded, perhaps gravely, and his own bloody damn worst enemy, and Merlin had been left behind.
And if that wasn't bad enough, even if he could walk without falling, Merlin couldn't remember the way out of the cave.
Then, “Merlin!” The roughish voice of salvation. Merlin lifted his aching head and saw through vision that still wanted to blur Gwaine trotting his way.
But where relief should have been there was only that anger, fear, and sickness.
“Where the hell have you been!” Merlin snapped loud enough for the words to ricochet sharply off the cavern walls. Gwaine, dressed in an old stained shirt and the jacket of one of the task-masters, came to a bewildered stop.
“Looking for you, mate,” Gwaine said, hands raised like a man calming a spooked horse.
“Not bloody hard enough, I was right where you bloody left me,” Merlin growled, not caring if there was a chance he was being unfair, and that this was Gwaine - the one who'd come back - he was growling at. The sickness was getting worse, the pain, his knees were trying to knock together and all Merlin could think of was Morded, Aithusa, Arthur bleeding and him walking into an empty cave as though the whole world had forgotten him.
Gwaine's face softened, both apologetic and sympathetic. “I'm sorry, Merlin. We didn't know. Mordred hadn't said anything even when we asked. We thought you were being typical Merlin, off dealing with something to the side and that you'd show up at any moment. When Morded did finally answer he said he thought you were dead. I didn't believe him, of course,” Gwaine said with a weak smile. He approached Merlin slowly, still as though Merlin were some frazzled animal liable to pounce at any moment, not that Merlin had the strength to.
Then Gwaine's hand was on his shoulder - his bad shoulder. Merlin hissed in pain. Gwaine snatched his arm back, looked Merlin up and down shrewdly and gaped.
“Hell, Merlin, you're shaking like a damn leaf. What happened?”
Gwaine didn't wait for Merlin to answer, shifting Merlin enough to get to his good arm and sling it across his shoulders.
“Morgana,” Merlin said.
“Thought as much. How did you survive... oh, lords, Merlin,” Gwaine said sadly, because Merlin had thrown up. It was mostly bile, the bit of bread Mordred had given him and Arthur long since digested, leaving his stomach a gaping pit of hunger.
“Our mutual friend,” Merlin gasped. He dry heaved twice, then nodded, sure he was done for now.
“Lords, Merlin, I'm so sorry,” Gwaine said. “We truly didn't know. You're always so... bloody plucky about these things, you know? Doesn't matter how dangerous the situation, you're always coming out of it without a lick of help from us. I'm sorry. Guess we took it for granted this time.”
“S'okay,” Merlin said, feeling slightly more generous now that he wasn't alone.
As Gwaine supported Merlin through the cave, he told him everything that had happened. It seemed gathering enough slaves to outnumber your own men wasn't wise, and to arm a few was to arm them all. One guard would go down and another slave had a sword. Gwaine could have sworn the battle was over in a blink. By the time they got Arthur top-side, the fortress was there's. It was only once Arthur was safe that Mordred said anything about Merlin.
What Merlin's rattled brain couldn't decide was whether Mordred had honestly thought him dead, or had only hoped he was dead. Merlin chose the latter - too sick and pained to feel kind, even if Mordred had saved Arthur.
After much stumbling and Merlin fighting to keep his knees locked, they reached the mouth of the cave where they were met by Sir Richard and Sir Kay. But since there was no way to touch Merlin's injured side without causing him pain, they settled for settling an old fir-trimmed cloak around his shoulders. It did little against the cold that had settled into the marrow of Merlin's bones.
Merlin must have nearly blacked out more than once, that was all he could figure, when he suddenly found himself inside the dark gray walls of the keep.
“Here, set him here,” said someone urgently, and Merlin was being lowered to the floor - in front of a hearth, he eventually noticed, crackling with a cheery blaze. He was being held upright, which was probably a good thing according to the way he was swaying. His hands settled limply to his sides and his fingers idly caressed the soft furs that he was now sitting on.
“We'll get you to a bed in a minute, Merlin,” Gwaine was saying. “After we get you warmed up and checked over. Kay, get one of the healers, he's not in a good way. We've been fortunate, Merlin. Five of the lads we liberated were healers before they were taken. Oh, he's here, thank goodness...”
Merlin felt, like in a hazy dream, his body being handled like a doll. People shifted around him as they removed his disguise, jacket and shirt, trying not to jostle him and doing a mostly piss poor job of it. He shivered, the fire doing little against the cool air that soaked into his bare back. Calloused fingers worked themselves into the joint of his shoulder, then his shoulder blade, then down his ribs. They took his face and lifted his eyelids, and all the while Merlin stared into the flames. He didn't see a gentle hearth fire, he saw an all-consuming conflagration, death screams, blood, bodies, and Mordred impassive as stone as he ran Arthur through. He saw Aithusa in pain and the endless solitude of an ancient creature of magic burdened with the knowledge of the ages, and he wanted to weep.
“Nothing's broken,” said a gruff voice. “Badly bruised, though, and his head's been rattled something fierce. But he'll live with some rest, warmth and food. That's more than just pain giving him the shakes. Poor lad's exhausted beyond sanity.”
“How's Arthur?” Merlin asked no one in particular but hoped someone would answer. Exhausted beyond sanity or not, he needed to know while he was still conscious.
“Alive,” Gwaine said. “The cuts to him were shallow, mostly meant to torture. He lost some blood but not a dangerous amount. He'll be all right.”
Merlin nodded, then began to tip to the side.
“Oh no you don't,” Gwaine said, catching him gently. “No passing out for you until we've gotten you off the damn floor. Percival, aren't you a sight for sore eyes. Give us a hand, here. Careful, he's been banged up bad.”
Merlin felt himself being gathered, then lifted, like he weighed no more than a child, but then it was Percival doing the lifting. Gwaine babbled on about how there were plenty of beds, plenty of food and that Gwaine was going to make sure Merlin stuffed himself stupid once he was able.
The rest of the one-sided conversation was lost to Merlin's body having finally had enough and shutting down. When he woke, he was in one of the promised beds in what looked to be either the garrison or a room converted into a physician's chamber - Merlin's blurred eyes cleared enough for him to see rows of beds, a few of them occupied by the injured or weary.
Percival was sitting up in the bed next to Merlin's and looked to be dozing. He, too, was dressed in a “borrowed” shirt and jacket.
Merlin shifted, attempting to get up and happy to feel the coarse cloth of his shirt brush against his back. He'd never been fond of being shirtless, most especially when around the bigger, burlier knights. Merlin managed to get to his elbows, and it was quite the noisy endeavor because Percival twitched awake. One look at Merlin and Percival was off the bed and helping him sit up.
“About time you woke,” Percival said happily.
“Actually, I kind of wish I was still asleep,” Merlin said groggily, still wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and bury himself back into the warmth of the bed. But at least he was able to sit up on his own. He glanced around blearily. “Where is everyone?”
“Patrol, guard duty, keeping an eye on Arthur,” Percival said. He grinned. “And you. We're on a rotation. Who ever's with you at the time is supposed to make sure you eat as soon as you're up. Here.”
Percival produced a cloth bundle that had been hidden by his body, set it in his own lap and opened it. Inside there was bread, cheese, some meat and even an apple. Merlin, stomach feeling rebellious, grimaced.
“I don't know if I can eat anything.”
“It might help to try,” Percival said, breaking off a chunk of bread and holding it out with an almost anxious hope toward Merlin. “Gaius always said that what feels like sickness might just be extreme hunger. Try a little. If it doesn't help, then it doesn't help, but at least we'll know.”
Merlin took the bread and nibbled on it, then nibbled some more, then finished it off in one bite. A smiling Percival then handed him a bit of cheese and meat and Merlin wolfed it down like one of Arthur's hounds at feeding time.
“Guess you were hungry after all,” Percival said, well-pleased. He pulled a flagon of water out from under the bed and tossed it to Merlin. Merlin caught it with one hand, still feeding himself with the other.
“Guess I am,” he said with a smile back. But the smile faded, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “What of... When I woke, in the caves...”
Percival looked almost panicked. “Merlin, I am so sorry. We didn't know--”
Merlin shook his head. “It's... it's all right.” And he supposed it was, deep down and logically speaking. “You had to get Arthur to safety.”
But it still ached some, the thought of walking out of the tunnel and seeing that no one was there. Of knowing that Arthur was somewhere with Mordred, and Merlin unable to move and no one there to help him.
“When I woke in the caves,” Merlin said, pushing past the overwrought emotions that he had hoped would diminish with food and rest. “Morgana's body wasn't there.”
And he already knew it wasn't because one of their own had found her, or they would have found him.
Percival frowned. “She was gone?”
Merlin nodded.
“Then either one of her men must have taken her or her wound was not yet fatal and she was able to escape.”
Merlin sighed heavily, rubbing his still-aching head. “That's just... wonderful.”
“She won't survive, Merlin,” Percival said. “Mordred told us what he did. A wound like that...”
Merlin laughed humorously. “Yeah, that's what we said last time. Look at how that turned out.”
Percival pursed his lips sympathetically. Then he ducked his head as though to get a better look at Merlin's face. “Merlin, are you all right? And I don't mean merely in body.”
“Where's Mordred?” Merlin asked.
“Probably guard duty, I don't know. Don't change the subject, Merlin.”
“I was thrown into a wall and nearly killed.” Merlin smiled what he hoped was a light and jesting smile. “A bit hard to be all right after that.”
Percival, however, didn't look convinced, he looked worried, and it made Merlin wonder with a prick of irritation if Gwaine had said something. A snappish Merlin wasn't uncommon - far from it - but to these knights a truly angry Merlin was.
But Percival nodded, and said, “If you need to talk...” and left it at that.
And it was tempting - so agonizingly tempting - for Merlin to open his mouth and let the images that haunted his mind to pour out in words. To tell anyone right here, right now, of all that he had seen, of the vision and Arthur being his own doom and Mordred and that Merlin was a dragonlord and he had failed his dragon, the dragon he had hatched and named and was supposed to look out for. He wanted to let spill his doubts and fears but couldn't, because those same doubts and fears wouldn't let him.
He wondered if that made him a coward or a wise man, and would he regret it later.
Merlin nodded anyway, to let Percival know he heard and in the hopes of one day calling him on that request. He asked, “How's Arthur?”
Percival smiled. “Awake. His state not unlike your own but the physician thinks that another two days and the both of you should be up for travel. We found wagons so the wounded shouldn't have to ride.”
“Can I go see him?” Merlin asked.
Percival's brow furrowed in consternation. “You really shouldn't be up and about, yet, if you don't have to be.”
“I'll be quick, promise.” Merlin smiled, and this time it felt a little closer towards real. “I'll even give you permission to carry me if I start to waver.”
Percival smiled back, pointing a mock-stern finger at him. “I will hold you to that.”
The rest and food had done Merlin worlds of good but there was still a fatigue in his bones that cautioned him against over exertion. Percival kept close to Merlin, and Merlin was grateful, unable to completely trust his own legs.
The chamber where Arthur was healing was not far, five doors down the corridor. It was dusty just like the rest of this place, cobwebs veiling every nook and cranny save for the bed that had been cleaned up as much as possible and covered with furs and blankets. Arthur - who was not one for self-consciousness and never had been, having no reason to - was sitting up in the bed shirtless, wrapped in bandages and holding some sort of council with the knights, a few of the slaves...
And Mordred.
They all looked up when the door opened, the knights happy and the former slaves impassive, Mordred included, but neither did he look particularly disappointed.
Arthur's face wore a look of surprise, which was soon followed by annoyance.
“Merlin what the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
Merlin, still not up for much, most especially pratty kings, glared. “Making sure you're not dead.” His gaze flickered to and from Mordred.
Arthur took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If you will excuse us?” he said calmly. Everyone began filing from the room, everyone except Gwaine until Arthur gave him a pointed look. The knights gave Merlin claps on the good shoulder as they past, the former slaves nods. Mordred glanced at him, his features registering nothing. Percival was the last to leave, having taken the time to move a chair next to the bed.
“Sit,” Arthur ordered the moment the door had shut. Merlin did so and pretended he was anything but happy to do so. Arthur scooted himself around until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and he looked Merlin up and down with a frown.
Suddenly, Arthur pitched forward, and Merlin, panicked, moved to grab him. But it was Merlin who was caught; an arm hooked around the back of his neck, another across his shoulder blades, and Merlin found himself pressed against Arthur's shoulder.
“Damn it, Merlin, I thought you were dead,” Arthur said as though this were any other day and Merlin had just done something idiotic. Then Merlin was suddenly released, Arthur sitting back with the nonchalant look of “that didn't just happen and don't you dare speak of it again.”
“Don't do it again,” Arthur said. He then frowned, balled up a blanket, and tossed it to Merlin. “Specifically by not making arduous treks through freezing hallways when you're barely able to stand. Really, Merlin, have you know common sense at all?”
Merlin wrapped himself in the blanket. He smiled, and knew it was a real smile. Because Arthur was always doing that - nearly dying only to live, and just when Merlin thought his resolve was crumbling, he would find it again, feel it fill him like a pillar to support the destiny he thought would crush him.
“Mmm-hm. You do know I could say the same about you when it comes to facing witches with a grudge against you.”
“Says the man who came bumbling in just in time to get thrown into a wall.”
“Says the man being used as a pin-cushion for a sword.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. Merlin laughed, and in that moment, for that moment, he allowed himself to bask in the here and now and tell himself that tomorrow could wait. He needed this, needed these moments, these small victories and respites as they came more than ever.
Because he knew what was coming, and he would find a way to stop it.
The End
A/N: I don't care if Arthur hugging Merlin came across as OOC. Merlin needed a hug, dang it! I, too, was a little upset over poor unconscious Merlin being left behind. Although I do understand why it needed to happen, it could have benefited from at least Gwaine asking where Merlin is.
Rating: PG
Characters: Merlin, Gwaine, Percival, Arthur
Spoilers: 5.02. Major spoilers.
Summary: Missing scene from Arthur's Bane Pt 2. Merlin is having a really, really bad day. I think you may know what this is going to address ;)
Aftermath
Merlin staggered shaky as a new born colt from the tunnel. The being in the cave had healed him enough to save his life but even Merlin knew a full healing, even by a creature with unimaginable power, took time - time neither of them had if they both wanted to get away. Merlin's head ached abominably and he throbbed from shoulder-blade to the base of his ribs. He was tired, hungry, cold and, oh, look, completely and utterly alone.
“Hello?” Merlin called with a voice that croaked like a frog. He cleared it and tried again. “Hello!”
No one answered, which may or may not have been a good thing depending on who was still about. But he stumbled to the mouth of the tunnel, where it opened up into one of the vast caverns, and not a single soul - Saxon or slave - was in sight.
Merlin's heart began to race like a rabbit fleeing from a fox. It made his head pound without mercy. He made to take a step forward but when he did the world tilted dangerously, forcing him to stop.
“Hello!”
Had he really been left behind? He understood well enough the need to get the king to safety but couldn't at least one person have gone back to look for him?
“Please, anyone!” He attempted another step, this one buckling beneath him and sending him crashing into the wall, thankfully onto his good shoulder.
“Hello,” he said, his voice small. Merlin felt suddenly sick - sick and furious and afraid all at once. He wanted to weep, to shout, to bellow in the voice of a dragon lord merely for the sake of it, to feel the very air shake around him as he shook.
Morded, Arthur's doom, had saved the man he was meant to kill. Morgana had vanished. Aithusa - poor, broken Aithusa who had been wounded beyond body to her very soul - had not come when Merlin had tried to call, to save her (lords, what had happened to her, why hadn't I known?), Arthur was wounded, perhaps gravely, and his own bloody damn worst enemy, and Merlin had been left behind.
And if that wasn't bad enough, even if he could walk without falling, Merlin couldn't remember the way out of the cave.
Then, “Merlin!” The roughish voice of salvation. Merlin lifted his aching head and saw through vision that still wanted to blur Gwaine trotting his way.
But where relief should have been there was only that anger, fear, and sickness.
“Where the hell have you been!” Merlin snapped loud enough for the words to ricochet sharply off the cavern walls. Gwaine, dressed in an old stained shirt and the jacket of one of the task-masters, came to a bewildered stop.
“Looking for you, mate,” Gwaine said, hands raised like a man calming a spooked horse.
“Not bloody hard enough, I was right where you bloody left me,” Merlin growled, not caring if there was a chance he was being unfair, and that this was Gwaine - the one who'd come back - he was growling at. The sickness was getting worse, the pain, his knees were trying to knock together and all Merlin could think of was Morded, Aithusa, Arthur bleeding and him walking into an empty cave as though the whole world had forgotten him.
Gwaine's face softened, both apologetic and sympathetic. “I'm sorry, Merlin. We didn't know. Mordred hadn't said anything even when we asked. We thought you were being typical Merlin, off dealing with something to the side and that you'd show up at any moment. When Morded did finally answer he said he thought you were dead. I didn't believe him, of course,” Gwaine said with a weak smile. He approached Merlin slowly, still as though Merlin were some frazzled animal liable to pounce at any moment, not that Merlin had the strength to.
Then Gwaine's hand was on his shoulder - his bad shoulder. Merlin hissed in pain. Gwaine snatched his arm back, looked Merlin up and down shrewdly and gaped.
“Hell, Merlin, you're shaking like a damn leaf. What happened?”
Gwaine didn't wait for Merlin to answer, shifting Merlin enough to get to his good arm and sling it across his shoulders.
“Morgana,” Merlin said.
“Thought as much. How did you survive... oh, lords, Merlin,” Gwaine said sadly, because Merlin had thrown up. It was mostly bile, the bit of bread Mordred had given him and Arthur long since digested, leaving his stomach a gaping pit of hunger.
“Our mutual friend,” Merlin gasped. He dry heaved twice, then nodded, sure he was done for now.
“Lords, Merlin, I'm so sorry,” Gwaine said. “We truly didn't know. You're always so... bloody plucky about these things, you know? Doesn't matter how dangerous the situation, you're always coming out of it without a lick of help from us. I'm sorry. Guess we took it for granted this time.”
“S'okay,” Merlin said, feeling slightly more generous now that he wasn't alone.
As Gwaine supported Merlin through the cave, he told him everything that had happened. It seemed gathering enough slaves to outnumber your own men wasn't wise, and to arm a few was to arm them all. One guard would go down and another slave had a sword. Gwaine could have sworn the battle was over in a blink. By the time they got Arthur top-side, the fortress was there's. It was only once Arthur was safe that Mordred said anything about Merlin.
What Merlin's rattled brain couldn't decide was whether Mordred had honestly thought him dead, or had only hoped he was dead. Merlin chose the latter - too sick and pained to feel kind, even if Mordred had saved Arthur.
After much stumbling and Merlin fighting to keep his knees locked, they reached the mouth of the cave where they were met by Sir Richard and Sir Kay. But since there was no way to touch Merlin's injured side without causing him pain, they settled for settling an old fir-trimmed cloak around his shoulders. It did little against the cold that had settled into the marrow of Merlin's bones.
Merlin must have nearly blacked out more than once, that was all he could figure, when he suddenly found himself inside the dark gray walls of the keep.
“Here, set him here,” said someone urgently, and Merlin was being lowered to the floor - in front of a hearth, he eventually noticed, crackling with a cheery blaze. He was being held upright, which was probably a good thing according to the way he was swaying. His hands settled limply to his sides and his fingers idly caressed the soft furs that he was now sitting on.
“We'll get you to a bed in a minute, Merlin,” Gwaine was saying. “After we get you warmed up and checked over. Kay, get one of the healers, he's not in a good way. We've been fortunate, Merlin. Five of the lads we liberated were healers before they were taken. Oh, he's here, thank goodness...”
Merlin felt, like in a hazy dream, his body being handled like a doll. People shifted around him as they removed his disguise, jacket and shirt, trying not to jostle him and doing a mostly piss poor job of it. He shivered, the fire doing little against the cool air that soaked into his bare back. Calloused fingers worked themselves into the joint of his shoulder, then his shoulder blade, then down his ribs. They took his face and lifted his eyelids, and all the while Merlin stared into the flames. He didn't see a gentle hearth fire, he saw an all-consuming conflagration, death screams, blood, bodies, and Mordred impassive as stone as he ran Arthur through. He saw Aithusa in pain and the endless solitude of an ancient creature of magic burdened with the knowledge of the ages, and he wanted to weep.
“Nothing's broken,” said a gruff voice. “Badly bruised, though, and his head's been rattled something fierce. But he'll live with some rest, warmth and food. That's more than just pain giving him the shakes. Poor lad's exhausted beyond sanity.”
“How's Arthur?” Merlin asked no one in particular but hoped someone would answer. Exhausted beyond sanity or not, he needed to know while he was still conscious.
“Alive,” Gwaine said. “The cuts to him were shallow, mostly meant to torture. He lost some blood but not a dangerous amount. He'll be all right.”
Merlin nodded, then began to tip to the side.
“Oh no you don't,” Gwaine said, catching him gently. “No passing out for you until we've gotten you off the damn floor. Percival, aren't you a sight for sore eyes. Give us a hand, here. Careful, he's been banged up bad.”
Merlin felt himself being gathered, then lifted, like he weighed no more than a child, but then it was Percival doing the lifting. Gwaine babbled on about how there were plenty of beds, plenty of food and that Gwaine was going to make sure Merlin stuffed himself stupid once he was able.
The rest of the one-sided conversation was lost to Merlin's body having finally had enough and shutting down. When he woke, he was in one of the promised beds in what looked to be either the garrison or a room converted into a physician's chamber - Merlin's blurred eyes cleared enough for him to see rows of beds, a few of them occupied by the injured or weary.
Percival was sitting up in the bed next to Merlin's and looked to be dozing. He, too, was dressed in a “borrowed” shirt and jacket.
Merlin shifted, attempting to get up and happy to feel the coarse cloth of his shirt brush against his back. He'd never been fond of being shirtless, most especially when around the bigger, burlier knights. Merlin managed to get to his elbows, and it was quite the noisy endeavor because Percival twitched awake. One look at Merlin and Percival was off the bed and helping him sit up.
“About time you woke,” Percival said happily.
“Actually, I kind of wish I was still asleep,” Merlin said groggily, still wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and bury himself back into the warmth of the bed. But at least he was able to sit up on his own. He glanced around blearily. “Where is everyone?”
“Patrol, guard duty, keeping an eye on Arthur,” Percival said. He grinned. “And you. We're on a rotation. Who ever's with you at the time is supposed to make sure you eat as soon as you're up. Here.”
Percival produced a cloth bundle that had been hidden by his body, set it in his own lap and opened it. Inside there was bread, cheese, some meat and even an apple. Merlin, stomach feeling rebellious, grimaced.
“I don't know if I can eat anything.”
“It might help to try,” Percival said, breaking off a chunk of bread and holding it out with an almost anxious hope toward Merlin. “Gaius always said that what feels like sickness might just be extreme hunger. Try a little. If it doesn't help, then it doesn't help, but at least we'll know.”
Merlin took the bread and nibbled on it, then nibbled some more, then finished it off in one bite. A smiling Percival then handed him a bit of cheese and meat and Merlin wolfed it down like one of Arthur's hounds at feeding time.
“Guess you were hungry after all,” Percival said, well-pleased. He pulled a flagon of water out from under the bed and tossed it to Merlin. Merlin caught it with one hand, still feeding himself with the other.
“Guess I am,” he said with a smile back. But the smile faded, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “What of... When I woke, in the caves...”
Percival looked almost panicked. “Merlin, I am so sorry. We didn't know--”
Merlin shook his head. “It's... it's all right.” And he supposed it was, deep down and logically speaking. “You had to get Arthur to safety.”
But it still ached some, the thought of walking out of the tunnel and seeing that no one was there. Of knowing that Arthur was somewhere with Mordred, and Merlin unable to move and no one there to help him.
“When I woke in the caves,” Merlin said, pushing past the overwrought emotions that he had hoped would diminish with food and rest. “Morgana's body wasn't there.”
And he already knew it wasn't because one of their own had found her, or they would have found him.
Percival frowned. “She was gone?”
Merlin nodded.
“Then either one of her men must have taken her or her wound was not yet fatal and she was able to escape.”
Merlin sighed heavily, rubbing his still-aching head. “That's just... wonderful.”
“She won't survive, Merlin,” Percival said. “Mordred told us what he did. A wound like that...”
Merlin laughed humorously. “Yeah, that's what we said last time. Look at how that turned out.”
Percival pursed his lips sympathetically. Then he ducked his head as though to get a better look at Merlin's face. “Merlin, are you all right? And I don't mean merely in body.”
“Where's Mordred?” Merlin asked.
“Probably guard duty, I don't know. Don't change the subject, Merlin.”
“I was thrown into a wall and nearly killed.” Merlin smiled what he hoped was a light and jesting smile. “A bit hard to be all right after that.”
Percival, however, didn't look convinced, he looked worried, and it made Merlin wonder with a prick of irritation if Gwaine had said something. A snappish Merlin wasn't uncommon - far from it - but to these knights a truly angry Merlin was.
But Percival nodded, and said, “If you need to talk...” and left it at that.
And it was tempting - so agonizingly tempting - for Merlin to open his mouth and let the images that haunted his mind to pour out in words. To tell anyone right here, right now, of all that he had seen, of the vision and Arthur being his own doom and Mordred and that Merlin was a dragonlord and he had failed his dragon, the dragon he had hatched and named and was supposed to look out for. He wanted to let spill his doubts and fears but couldn't, because those same doubts and fears wouldn't let him.
He wondered if that made him a coward or a wise man, and would he regret it later.
Merlin nodded anyway, to let Percival know he heard and in the hopes of one day calling him on that request. He asked, “How's Arthur?”
Percival smiled. “Awake. His state not unlike your own but the physician thinks that another two days and the both of you should be up for travel. We found wagons so the wounded shouldn't have to ride.”
“Can I go see him?” Merlin asked.
Percival's brow furrowed in consternation. “You really shouldn't be up and about, yet, if you don't have to be.”
“I'll be quick, promise.” Merlin smiled, and this time it felt a little closer towards real. “I'll even give you permission to carry me if I start to waver.”
Percival smiled back, pointing a mock-stern finger at him. “I will hold you to that.”
The rest and food had done Merlin worlds of good but there was still a fatigue in his bones that cautioned him against over exertion. Percival kept close to Merlin, and Merlin was grateful, unable to completely trust his own legs.
The chamber where Arthur was healing was not far, five doors down the corridor. It was dusty just like the rest of this place, cobwebs veiling every nook and cranny save for the bed that had been cleaned up as much as possible and covered with furs and blankets. Arthur - who was not one for self-consciousness and never had been, having no reason to - was sitting up in the bed shirtless, wrapped in bandages and holding some sort of council with the knights, a few of the slaves...
And Mordred.
They all looked up when the door opened, the knights happy and the former slaves impassive, Mordred included, but neither did he look particularly disappointed.
Arthur's face wore a look of surprise, which was soon followed by annoyance.
“Merlin what the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
Merlin, still not up for much, most especially pratty kings, glared. “Making sure you're not dead.” His gaze flickered to and from Mordred.
Arthur took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If you will excuse us?” he said calmly. Everyone began filing from the room, everyone except Gwaine until Arthur gave him a pointed look. The knights gave Merlin claps on the good shoulder as they past, the former slaves nods. Mordred glanced at him, his features registering nothing. Percival was the last to leave, having taken the time to move a chair next to the bed.
“Sit,” Arthur ordered the moment the door had shut. Merlin did so and pretended he was anything but happy to do so. Arthur scooted himself around until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and he looked Merlin up and down with a frown.
Suddenly, Arthur pitched forward, and Merlin, panicked, moved to grab him. But it was Merlin who was caught; an arm hooked around the back of his neck, another across his shoulder blades, and Merlin found himself pressed against Arthur's shoulder.
“Damn it, Merlin, I thought you were dead,” Arthur said as though this were any other day and Merlin had just done something idiotic. Then Merlin was suddenly released, Arthur sitting back with the nonchalant look of “that didn't just happen and don't you dare speak of it again.”
“Don't do it again,” Arthur said. He then frowned, balled up a blanket, and tossed it to Merlin. “Specifically by not making arduous treks through freezing hallways when you're barely able to stand. Really, Merlin, have you know common sense at all?”
Merlin wrapped himself in the blanket. He smiled, and knew it was a real smile. Because Arthur was always doing that - nearly dying only to live, and just when Merlin thought his resolve was crumbling, he would find it again, feel it fill him like a pillar to support the destiny he thought would crush him.
“Mmm-hm. You do know I could say the same about you when it comes to facing witches with a grudge against you.”
“Says the man who came bumbling in just in time to get thrown into a wall.”
“Says the man being used as a pin-cushion for a sword.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. Merlin laughed, and in that moment, for that moment, he allowed himself to bask in the here and now and tell himself that tomorrow could wait. He needed this, needed these moments, these small victories and respites as they came more than ever.
Because he knew what was coming, and he would find a way to stop it.
The End
A/N: I don't care if Arthur hugging Merlin came across as OOC. Merlin needed a hug, dang it! I, too, was a little upset over poor unconscious Merlin being left behind. Although I do understand why it needed to happen, it could have benefited from at least Gwaine asking where Merlin is.