Fic: Springes to Catch Woodcocks, Chapter 2/?
Title: Springes to Catch Woodcocks Chapter two: No More But So (links directly to chapter two to A03)
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: This chapter, PG-13 (entire fic, NC-17)
Length: This chapter, @13,400 words (entire fic so far, @30K words)
Summary: When Arthur pushes Merlin away to protect him, what lengths will Merlin go to to remain in his life?
Notes at end of chapter!
Springes to Catch Woodcocks, chapter two
The air inside the tent was thick enough to choke on when Merlin finally woke. He pushed the heavy layers of blankets down to his waist and slowly propped himself up enough to see it was Gawaine lying with him, not Arthur. He’d known before he’d opened his eyes that it wasn’t the Prince. It didn’t surprised him much that Arthur hadn’t kept his word. There was always something pulling him away from... well, everything, and Merlin was usually the least of his concerns. The fact that he’d taken himself off without telling Merlin was usual, though, and it felt even odder given the circumstances.
“Arthur’s gone,” he said, voice perfectly steady, though he didn’t feel very calm. Their little camp felt different, more vulnerable somehow, without Arthur there.
“He made for the main camp at dawn,” Gawaine said quietly, sitting up beside him. “We’re to follow if you feel up to riding.”
Merlin took a deep breath and lay back down, wishing for trousers so he could kick the covers off. “Yes, as soon as we can,” he answered, wanting nothing more than to be out of the tent. “It’s roasting in here.”
Gawaine raised an eyebrow at him in obvious doubt. “You shouldn’t be-” He reached out and spread his palm over Merlin’s forehead, then felt his cheeks, as well. “By the light, you’re as warm as I am! Even with us lying with you, I didn’t figure on you being warm until nightfall, at least.”
“Does that mean I get my clothes back now?” he asked hopefully. “Not that I’m not grateful for... you know. But we’re all better off with me clothed.”
Gawaine shook his head disbelievingly. “You have no idea how handsome you are, do you?”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “I’m not exactly in the mood to be teased, Gawaine.”
His friend shrugged. “Ah, well, it’s probably for the best. You’d be impossible to deal with if you did know,” he said, knocking his shoulder into Merlin’s, giving him an impossibly bright smile.
“Probably,” Merlin said, forcing a quick grin to get Gawaine to stop trying to make him smile. “Come on, get my clothes and let’s get going. The sooner we get back to the camp the better. This entire trip has been one disaster after another.”
Nodding his agreement, Gawaine left the tent and returned a moment later with a pile of mismatched and odd-sized clothing and a pair of boots that were altogether too fancy for a servant’s feet.
“Sorry to say we had to cut your clothes off and your pack went in the lake with you. Everyone donated something, I think.”
“Arthur told me they did, but I hadn’t expected... I’m going to look like a scarecrow in nice boots,” he groused, holding up the embossed leather boots and grimacing. “Are these Leon’s?”
Gawaine put a finger to his nose and laughed. “His was the closest to your size, so you get the honour. I don’t think he would have given them up for just anyone, you know.”
“I’ll try not to step in anything too smelly, then.” Merlin set them aside and gave Gawaine a pointed look, but Gawaine didn’t budge. “Are you going to watch?”
“I’ll wait outside,” Gawaine said, grinning and looking away, waving a hand in dismissal. “Not that I haven’t seen you starkers already.”
“Gawaine!” he shouted after the man, smiling despite himself. It was far better for them all to get their laughs out of the way now than for the jokes to continue for months and months, or for anyone to act as though the situation were as awkward as it truly had been.
Alone in the tent, Merlin yanked off the covers and sighed as the cool air hit his skin. He was nearly sweating with the radiating heat and he felt as though his head were stuffed with wool, his thoughts a bit sluggish.
There was no telling what the after-effects of nearly drowning were, let alone the fall that had landed him in the water. His shoulder throbbed. It was swollen and bruised and he tried not to move it, keeping his arm as close to his body as he could manage as he went through the clothing to see what the knights had donated.
Arthur’s faded red padded tunic was the most obvious thing in the pile, then another tunic, small clothes and breeches from the others - he couldn’t guess who. They’d saved his neckerchief, but he still felt as though he were playing dress-up as he carefully pulled on the smallclothes.
They fit almost like ladies’ stockings - tight to the skin and long enough to tuck into Leon’s fancy boots. He’d seen Arthur in his own pair like these, but he’d never worn any himself and it felt decidedly odd. Warm, but odd. Like being held together in a way Merlin wasn’t sure he could ever get used to. Not that he would have to. He’d launder all of this back in Camelot and make sure the knights all got their things back.
The trousers were a bit long and Merlin caught his foot in the tie at the cuff putting them on, wrenching his sore ankle. He sucked in a breath through gritted teeth and Gawaine’s head appeared instantly through the tent flaps.
“Alright?” he asked, looking Merlin up and down with concern.
“Fine. Wrenched my ankle a bit is all,” he muttered, lying back to jerk the trousers up around his waist and knot them with the cinch. Sitting back up, a wave of dizziness hit him and he swooned, catching himself on one arm as he sank to the ground. “Oh, no - I take that back. Very much not fine.”
Gawaine knelt beside him, urging him with a hand on his chest to lie back down. “You’ll have to go slow for awhile. Just lie there for a moment and I’ll get you some water.”
His bladder was already near to bursting as it was, so Merlin shook his head. “I’m already in desperate need of a tree. Just help me sit up and get these tunics on. I’m going to look ridiculous in this thing, I’ll have you know,” he said, pushing himself up as Gawaine half-lifted him. “What’s Arthur got on under his armour anyhow? He’ll be chaffed and bruised to bits.”
Gawaine froze and held up a hand to stop him as he started to push his good arm into a sleeve. “Here, like this,” he said, unlacing the neck and pulling the entire tunic down over Merlin’s head and then down to his waist. “Tuck your arms in as I bring it up. You won’t risk pulling that injured shoulder this way.”
“That’s actually brilliant, you know,” Merlin grinned, doing as instructed and managing not to even lift his arm.
“Old tricks for new dogs,” Gawaine laughed, shaking his head. “You live on the run long enough, you learn these things.”
“But you’re not on the run now.” Merlin smiled as Gawaine pulled the other tunic over his head. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Gawaine winked at him and reached for the boots. “I wouldn’t have missed seeing you in this getup,” he grinned.
Merlin slapped Gawaine’s arm and took the boots, pulling them on. He paused, sitting there in his borrowed clothing, wondering how the hell he was going to stand. He shifted around, getting his legs underneath him, then pushed himself into a kneeling position, Gawaine taking a firm grip on his elbow and waist. They looked at each other and at Merlin’s nod, Gawaine helped him to his feet.
His first step was shaky and he leaned heavily on Gawaine, the snug smallclothes and unfamiliar, low heels on the boots not helping matters.
“Easy there, go slow now,” Gawaine cautioned.
“If I went any slower, we’d be standing still. There’s a tree out there with my name on it and I intend to find it.”
Gawaine reached out to open the tent and Merlin narrowed his eyes against the brightness. Even in the relative cover of the trees surrounding the clearing, the sun was glaring. The cool air felt like heaven against his face and hands and he had the wild urge to strip everything off and feel it everywhere. He was already beginning to sweat in the thick armour padding and multiple layers.
“I think I saw your tree over here,” Gawaine said, directing him to the edge of the clearing and then, carefully, a little way into the woods.
He leaned up against a fair-sized pine, waving Gawaine away. “Go on, I’m fine.”
Gawaine shook his head and ducked around to the opposite side of a larger tree where Merlin couldn’t see him. “I’ll wait. You’re a bit too unsteady for my liking.”
Merlin fumbled the opening of the unfamiliar trousers but managed to get it open soon enough and relieved himself, leaning on the tree with one hand. Tying the trousers again was a pain, but at least he didn’t have to call for help.
He took one step away from the tree and nearly sagged to the forest floor. Leaning against a sapling that bowed under his weight and threatened to dump him to the ground, he reached a hand for Gawaine, who was immediately by his side, supporting so much of his weight he might as well have been carrying him.
Merlin panted and jerked the neckerchief off as if it was strangling him. He pulled the laces of the tunics open as far as they would go. Gawaine had him back at the fire in a moment, sitting on the ground beside a log, which was probably for the best. He couldn’t have balanced on it anyway.
He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. If walking twenty meters had done him in this horribly, how was he going to make it back to Camelot?
A cool hand swept across the back of his neck and rested on his shoulder. “Good to see you up and - well, up, anyway.” He slowly raised his head, opening his eyes, and was greeted with Lancelot’s grinning face.
“Lancelot,” he mumbled, feeling more than a little off-kilter and lowering his head again. “I’m just a bit dizzy. It’s sweltering in this padding. Don’t know how you knights stand it.”
“It can be on the warm side,” he said, lifting the back of his hand to Merlin’s forehead. “You’re feverish, Merlin. Maybe you should lie back down.”
Merlin shook his head, then groaned and pressed his hands to his face again, taking long, slow breaths to will down the spinning. “We have to meet Arthur. I’ll be all right. I don’t want to sleep anymore.”
“What you want and what you need are two different things, my friend,” Gawaine said, handing Merlin a cup of water. “Drink. We’ll see how you are after we prepare the horses. If you’re still this ill, you won’t be able to sit your mount to save your life.”
Still reeling, Merlin groaned his protest as he took a sip of water. It was cool and he sighed in relief, drinking slowly but steadily until the cup was empty. His head felt foggy and muddled, his thoughts coming slower and slower as if he were on the verge of falling asleep. He fought the hazy feeling, but in the end, conceded to lying back down in the tent for awhile.
When Lancelot offered to help him up, Merlin only made it to his knees. He stayed there for a moment, catching his breath, then winced in pain as Gawaine and Lancelot took over.
They gently pulled him to his feet, draping his uninjured arm over Gawaine’s shoulders. Lancelot’s strength circled around Merlin’s waist, the two knights supporting him as well as they could in the awkward position. They slowly made their way across the campsite, the toes of one borrowed boot dragging through the bracken as he struggled to hold his hurt leg off the ground.
“He’s burning up,” Lancelot said through the clouds in his mind as they reached the tent. “One of us should get word to Arthur that he can’t be moved. I wouldn’t have expected fever to set in so soon with him so cold only last night, but-”
“No. No, it shouldn’t have,” Gawaine agreed in a low voice as he was laid flat and another cool hand brushed across his forehead. “It’s raging, too. He’s warmer than he was just minutes ago. If he keeps on at this rate...”
Merlin couldn’t hear anything else, but he knew what the knights were saying without words. He’d felt this overwhelming confusion and heat before, when he’d swallowed the poisoned wine from Arthur’s cup. His boiling fever had nearly taken his life that time. No flower would save him this time, and Arthur wasn’t here to find it even if one would.
If he was dying, Arthur wouldn’t even know until it was too late.
“Please,” he murmured, trying his best to form the words. “Have to go. Arthur-”
His brain couldn’t keep up with his mouth, but he thought his friends would understand. Good as the darkness felt to his twirling head, he couldn’t stay in that tent forever. If fever was going to kill him, he didn’t want to die in the woods. He wanted Camelot, a real bed, Gaius and Arthur and a pillow, for Gods’ sake.
They laid him carefully down and covered him with a single cloak, Lancelot pushing his sweat-damp hair away from his eyes as Gawaine ducked out of the tent.
“Lancelot,” he gasped, making a grab for the man’s tunic. “Please take me to him.”
He closed his eyes and waited for the blackness of sleep, but it didn’t come. Confusion won out and he stirred fitfully as Gawaine returned, pressing a cool, wet cloth to his forehead, his throat, the back of his neck. It warmed quickly, disappeared and returned as cool as it had been, like magic.
He choked out a laugh and arched his back, wondering if he could vanish his second-hand clothing straight to hell. They’d appreciate it there, at least, with all its heat. The padded tunic was the worst, and Merlin grinned madly at the thought of it being so sweat-soaked and stained that Arthur would turn his nose up at it and order it burned.
“I think we should try,” Lancelot whispered somewhere over his head, and the cloth stilled on his chest.
“Are you mad?” Gawaine hissed, and Merlin wanted to punch him in his swollen nose. “He can’t even rest peacefully. How do you expect him to ride?”
“We’ll strap him in if we have to.” Lancelot was his friend, a nice, nice, knight. “Gawaine, what if this is...” Merlin didn’t hear the rest, and he was too fuzzy-headed to fill in the blank, but he knew it wasn’t anything good, anyhow.
“I still think it’s a bad idea.” Gawaine said, his voice harsher than Merlin was used to hearing. “Gods, he should never have gone.”
Was he angry with Merlin for falling into the lake, for leaving the tent?
“Sorry,” he managed to whisper, wanting to open his eyes and look up at his friends so they’d know he meant it, but his eyelids wouldn’t cooperate. “Arthur, please,” was all he could get out.
He yawned shakily and tried to push the cloak away, but cold hands held him down.
“Shh. Try to rest, Merlin. We’re going to try to go soon, all right?” A hand slipped into his hair, gently lifting his head until his lips touched the rim of a cup. Lancelot’s voice and hand were soothing, the cold water that trickled into his mouth even more so.
He swallowed greedily, though he was given no more than a sip at a time. It felt like drinking straight from a mountain stream, the ice slicing right through the heat and sliding all the way down his throat to his stomach. Each time the cup left his lips, the heat came back in one huge wave.
Tearing at the laces of the tunics that suffocated him, Merlin cried out. “Please! Take them off. I can’t - I can’t-“
“All right, shh,” Lancelot whispered, then turned his head and called for Gawaine. Merlin heard his footsteps and then Lancelot, who was fast becoming his favourite person in the world. “I think the tunics are doing more harm than good. Look.”
The cool cloth swiped over his chest again, this time drawing a stinging line clear across it. “Gods. He’s scratched himself bloody trying to get them open and he’s sweating like a bull.” Gawaine sounded panicky, something his friend just never was.
“He did it before I could stop him.” Lancelot didn’t sound much better. “Come on, help me.”
Merlin felt himself being lifted and moaned as the dizziness swept in again. The tunics were pushed down to free his arms and then drawn up over his head and he sobbed in relief, doing his best to smile to let his friends know how good it felt.
The cold, damp cloth swept up his chest, around his neck and up and down both arms, over and over until he was whimpering in pleasure. “Better,” he managed to murmur, Gawaine hushing him but not stopping. Merlin sighed under the lazy, cool strokes of the cloth on his bare skin.
He could hear the sounds of Lancelot outside, breaking camp. From his brief glance around when he’d been outside, there wasn’t much there. It wouldn’t be long, and he’d be on his way to the main camp, to Arthur.
“I know, Merlin, shh. We’ll be on our way to him in no time,” Gawaine whispered, wiping the cloth across Merlin’s lips and pushing his hair back from his face, fingers brushing along his hairline over and over. “Try to rest.”
Had he said Arthur’s name aloud? He didn’t think so, but everything was all so muddled and confusing. He just wanted Arthur, and he would be okay. Just Arthur.
“I know why, my friend, but unless you want Lancelot to know, too, you’d best try to lie there quietly.” Gawaine’s voice was a little lighter, and Merlin tried to smile.
Sunlight blasted against his eyelids and a cloth came up to cover them as the tent was taken down around them. Merlin tilted his head up towards the freezing air and took a deep breath.
When he woke again, he couldn’t see a thing, but he knew instantly he was on a horse. The swaying, rocking motion was unmistakable. He knew, too, that someone was holding him, because he didn’t feel the least bit unsteady and he should have, would have, if he’d fallen asleep in the saddle. He’d done it before, and being jarred awake while ahorse was not a pleasant experience.
This, however, wasn’t too bad. Darkness pressing against his eyelids, he inhaled and knew exactly who he was riding with.
Cradled in Gawaine’s familiar arms, he rubbed his face up against the chin that pressed to his head. He was riding side-saddle with his legs swung over the horse’s shoulder and his body leaning back into the strong wall of Gawaine’s chest. A cloak - or however many - draped around him, but he remained blessedly shirtless. The heat wasn’t unbearable, though he still felt damp with sweat and he’d begun to shiver at some point and couldn’t seem to get it to stop no matter how hard he clenched his jaw.
“Gawaine?” he asked, mostly to let the man know he was awake. He reached up and felt the cloth that covered his eyes, but, remembering the sun’s strong rays, didn’t push it off.
“Ah, finally. He’s awake, Lancelot,” Gawaine called, and Merlin heard the answering hullo, though he couldn’t do more than raise a hand. Gawaine’s voice rumbled against Merlin’s ear as he spoke softly. “You can take the scarf from over your eyes if you’d like - the sun seemed to bother you, so we tied it on.”
“No, it’s fine,” he rasped out, clearing his throat. “Where’s the water skin?”
Gawaine pushed it into his hands and Merlin fumbled to find the spout, then drank deeply of the cool water.
“You sound less addled,” Gawaine said, taking the skin from him as he finished and nodded.
“I feel... a bit better,” he chattered out, huddling closer in to Gawaine and pulling the cloak higher around his shoulders, wondering why Arthur couldn’t have stayed. He’d rather be back in that sweltering tent as naked as a jaybird than shivering on horseback with Gawaine. “Was he angry when he left?”
“Lancelot said he seemed out of sorts, but didn’t give a reason,” Gawaine whispered, obviously annoyed.
“I knew it was too good to be true,” he whispered, not sure if he should be saying anything. “He seemed fine with my secret, but...”
“He should never have left,” Gawaine answered sharply.
“He didn’t know this would happen.” Merlin shivered violently as a breeze slipped in under his blankets and he shook his head, dropping the subject. His mind was spinning and he just wanted to sleep.
Gawaine pulled the horse to a halt and Merlin heard Lancelot do the same nearby. A hand covered his forehead again and Merlin fought back a sigh. He supposed he’d better get used to people fussing over him if he was going to keep getting sick.
“Hand me another blanket, would you?” Gawaine asked Lancelot.
Merlin heard the crunch of Lancelot’s boots hitting the leaves on the ground. He wriggled his toes inside his borrowed boots, thinking of how ridiculous he must look in them. The pointed toes felt feminine somehow, squeezing his toes together so they had little room to move.
“Merlin, are you still with me?” Gawaine asked, patting his cheek.
“Yes?” He didn’t sound sure, even to himself. He sounded like he was about to knock the teeth out of his head with shivering. “I’m so cold now.”
“It’s the fever,” Gawaine sighed, pushing Merlin away for a moment as he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. Merlin sank against him under the added weight and warmth, tucking his face into Gawaine’s soft tunic.
He wanted to ask if they were close to the main camp and how far they still had to go. He wanted food, but only vaguely and not enough to ask for it. His little cavern against Gawaine was too warm and smelled too good to leave. Where Arthur had smelt of the outdoors and campfires, Gawaine smelled like leather and newly-sharpened steel.
“Just sleep,” Gawaine said softly, the vibrations of his voice almost matching Merlin’s shivering.
He tried, but the sound of the knights whispering kept him awake as they rode on.
“The fever is lessening, but we can’t keep him warm enough like this,” Gawaine said, tucking the blanket in tighter around him.
“Only another league or so. It’s what he wants.”
“He’s getting chilled and barely had a swallow from the water skin. If the camp wasn’t so close-”
Merlin turned his face into Gawaine’s chest and pulled the blanket up over his head, tucking it in between Gawaine’s skin and his forehead to hold it there. The arm around his back tightened as he sagged in exhaustion and gave up his boneless body to Gawaine’s strength. The blank nothingness he shivered into was warm, so warm.
“Ho there! Oh, look at you! I always said you were such a girl, didn’t-” Arthur drew his horse to a halt as Gawaine rode close, face grim, Merlin in the saddle before him, but not awake.
He was riding side-saddle like a woman, but in his current state, he couldn’t have ridden any other way. Merlin looked no better than he had when they pulled him from the water the day before. His hair was damp around his face, his shivering the only moving thing about his limp, ragdoll body as it draped in Gawaine’s arms, leaning heavily against the knight.
“It’s fever, Sire. Set in this morning and rose so fast we couldn’t get a handle on it. We’ve done what we could, but he insisted on coming here.” Gawaine halted his steed next to Arthur’s, brushing the back of his hand along Merlin’s cheek, then pulling him in tighter to his chest.
“Since when does a servant give orders to knights of Camelot?” he snapped, then shook his head, closing his eyes. He knew how persuasive Merlin could be; he’d given in to him far more times than he cared to admit.
“Sire, he wouldn’t rest until we brought him,” Lancelot said in a hushed voice, and Arthur looked up, taking a deep breath at the fear he saw in the knight’s eyes.
If the fever was that advanced, there mightn’t be much they could do for Merlin out here in the woods. Arthur turned his horse back in the direction of camp and pushed it into a fast walk. “I was just coming to look for you. Best get him lying down as quickly as possible. Hand him to Sir Percival.” He stood in his stirrups and cupped a hand to his mouth, calling ahead to the camp, “Percival!”
“Aye, Sire?” was the returning call.
As they rode into the large clearing, their camp circling a bonfire large enough to warm them all, Arthur nodded back at the two horses following slowly behind. “They’ve brought Merlin. He’s unconscious. Take him to my tent immediately, then find Leon and Elyan. They’ll need to ride to Camelot for Gaius.”
Dismounting and crossing to Gawaine’s horse, Arthur watched for any sign of consciousness as Percival reached for him and Gawaine shifted him out of the saddle. Merlin didn’t so much as sigh as Percival took him down and slung him gently over his shoulder.
Arthur followed closely behind as they entered the tent and gestured for Percy to lay Merlin on his bedroll. Arthur knelt and laid his palm across Merlin’s forehead, swearing and sighing heavily.
Gawaine knelt on the opposite side of Merlin, and Lancelot ducked into the doorway of the tent, blocking most of the light from outside.
“Before you send for Gaius, I have an idea,” Gawaine said, his tone confident but cautious.
Arthur nodded and took his eyes off Merlin to let the knight know he was truly listening. Anyone with an idea would be heard today.
“Ealdor is just over the next ridge. We’re less than four leagues, if my reckoning is right. Why not take him home?”
It wasn’t a bad idea, but he knew that moving Merlin like this was dangerous. “He’s burning up. He likely shouldn’t be moved at all. What medicines do we have on hand for fever?”
Lancelot crouched down, laying a hand on Merlin’s leg. “Percy’s probably the best man for the job, Sire. If he hasn’t got it with him, he can likely make it out of something local if he can find it under all this snow. He took care of his family in these woods for years, living off the land.”
Looking up in surprise, Arthur nodded.“If you’re sure he knows what he’s doing, I would have him advise me. If Merlin can be moved, we’ll make for Ealdor at once. Surely his mother would want to care for him, especially if...”
He bit his tongue and looked back to Merlin, whose face looked like marble.
Gawaine leaned down over Merlin and pressed a kiss to his forehead as Lancelot called for Percy to get his pack. Arthur was used to seeing Gawaine treat barmaids with such affection, but the gesture toward Merlin surprised him. How could Gawaine feel so comfortable expressing his feelings for Merlin in front of him and Lancelot? It seemed a desperate, final gesture and Arthur’s face flushed with his anger.
“No,” he said, voice sharp. “Outside, both of you.”
Gawaine and Lancelot followed him out, heads bowing in close as he wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders, their backs turned to the tent.
“No goodbyes - tell the rest of the men as well - no one is to say goodbye or do anything that might lead Merlin to think he is dying, whether he is conscious or not. Merlin wouldn’t want farewells and Gaius has always maintained the power of suggestion in healing. The old man is right more often than he is wrong.”
“Yes, Sire,” they both agreed, Gawaine’s face flushing in what seemed a rare bout of shame.
“Bring a pail of snow and rags. We’ll try to cool him down until Percival can come up with something,” he said, softening his tone. If he let his anger get the best of him, he’d only be giving Merlin his second-best.
“Already have, Sire,” Percival said, holding out a small vial of brownish liquid. “It’s Chamomile and pepper. Not the tastiest of medicines, but it usually breaks a fever. We should use cold compresses as well. If I had any vinegar...” Percival shrugged as Arthur took the vial.
“We’ll try this first. If it doesn’t work, we’ll have no choice but to take him to his mother and hope she knows more about nursing a fever than a bunch of soldiers do.”
Doubtful, Arthur went back inside the tent, kneeling and lifting Merlin’s over-warm head onto his lap, whispering a prayer as he uncorked the small bottle with his teeth. “This is going to taste terrible, but Percy says it’ll help your fever, so you will drink it, every drop.”
There was no response from Merlin, none at all. Arthur watched his parted, flushed lips for a moment before gently sliding his thumb between them. He opened Merlin’s mouth and tilted his chin up. Pouring a small amount of the liquid onto Merlin’s tongue, Arthur rubbed down over the sweat-damp throat, willing him to swallow.
“Come on, come on,” he whispered. “It can’t work if we can’t get it down your gullet. Just-” Merlin swallowed convulsively and Arthur raised his eyes heavenward, whispering, “Thank you.”
The rest of the potion gradually went down Merlin’s throat, Arthur patiently stroking his neck each time he poured in another measure of the liquid.
When the vial was empty and he looked up, Gawaine stood glaring at him from the doorway of the tent. His arms crossed, he kicked gently at the pail full of snow at his feet, nodding at Merlin. “When he woke this morning, he expected someone other than me.”
“Hand me a cloth and the pail. We’ve got to get him cooled down,” Arthur said, blatantly avoiding the bait.
Gawaine sighed, scooping a handful of snow into a cloth and handing it to Arthur, who pressed it to Merlin’s forehead.
Merlin didn’t move or make a sound. Every time Merlin didn’t respond to something a healthy man would react to, it made Arthur more nervous.
“All he could think of was getting to you, as if you were the cure.”
Arthur gritted his teeth, gently lifting Merlin’s head to smooth the cloth across the back of his neck. “I’m no cure. I don’t know why he wanted to come here. I don’t know why you brought him.”
Gawaine scoffed, a short, sharp laugh that made Arthur look hard at the man, who glared back. “If you think for one moment I wouldn’t go to the ends of the earth and back for Merlin, you’re greatly mistaken.”
Arthur sighed and nodded. “Gawaine, you know how I feel about Merlin. I just-”
“No, Sire, I don’t. I doubt he does and frankly, I doubt you know exactly how you feel about Merlin. But I do know how he feels about you and I won’t stand by and watch you literally abandon him in what might be his-”
“Outside, now, Sir Gawaine,” he insisted, fed up and absolutely unwilling to have this argument, any argument, over Merlin’s unconscious body. They stepped out of the tent and before Gawaine could open that mouth again, Arthur pushed him against a tree and laid a hand on his scabbard. “If you so much as hint that Merlin is dying in his presence again, you will find yourself on the other side of this life waiting for him.”
Gawaine’s hands were in the air, a good thing, too, as the other knights could see he was unarmed. Arthur didn’t want Gawaine dead, after all. Gawaine shook his head at the knights that Arthur could hear approaching. Smart man.
“I apologize,” Gawaine said in a low, tight voice that changed to a whisper as Arthur let go his sword. “You didn’t hear him, Arthur. You would never have left him if you had. Why would you go when you could see...”
Arthur shook his head, letting go of Gawaine’s tunic and walking into the edge of the woods, turning and running a hand back through his hair as Gawaine approached. “I wouldn’t have left if he’d been in the state he’s in now. You know that.”
“Then why? It makes no sense.”
“He...” Arthur started, looking up at the treetops, shaking his head, his hand going to his lips as if that could stop the words. “Last night, something happened between us.”
The heady rush of his blood thumping through his veins made him want to move, but he leaned against a tree and kicked his heel against it. He couldn’t make a scene over this. Gawaine might know, but the other knights couldn’t.
“So you walked away. That’s your answer for him, then?” Gawaine asked, disdain clear in his voice.
Unused to being spoken to with such blatant contempt, Arthur clenched his teeth shut on a scathing remark, knowing it would get him nowhere. He sighed and closed his eyes. “He wasn’t - he didn’t know what he was doing.”
“What did he do?” Gawaine’s voice was low and close. “What was so bad you felt you had to leave?”
Arthur turned and pressed his forehead to the bark of the tree, growling. He felt a hand close on his shoulder and took a deep breath. The hand fell away and he pushed the words out, knowing they’d never come to him again. “He... he kissed me.”
Gawaine grinned, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”
Arthur looked up then, crossing his arms over his chest in impatience. “He cannot be led to believe that a certain... situation might be possible.”
“Because then so will you?” Gawaine raised his eyebrows, nodding in mock understanding. “No, it makes sense. You’re protecting him. And yourself.”
“You know what is expected of me, what I must do, whether or not I would choose it for myself. You hear the talk even more than I do, I’m sure. All of Camelot’s nobility already wonders why I’m not married with a half-dozen sons by now. And just imagine how my father would react to the news that I was courting another servant, and a male one at that. Crown Prince of Camelot with no wife or heirs? He’d make Merlin disappear the instant he found out, and he would find out, Gawaine.”
Gawaine frowned, folding his arms across his chest. “You do realize Merlin’s a grown man, for all we treat him like our younger brother? He should have a say in this.”
Arthur shook his head, clenching his jaw. The instant he allowed either himself or Merlin the slightest leeway, it would be too late. He could never take it back. “He deserves more. He should settle with someone who can... someone who won’t eventually betray him.”
“He has no idea why you left. He thinks you’re angry about his secret.” Gawaine sighed and leaned heavily back against a tree. He looked as defeated as Arthur felt. “And you’re never even going to tell him, are you?”
“It would only be more painful for him to know.” Arthur swallowed around the thickness in his throat and began walking back to the camp, clearly hearing the question Gawaine didn’t ask, More painful for him, or for you?
They’d settled on shifts again, apparently, because each time Merlin woke that day, there was a different knight tending his fever. Percival was gentle but nearly silent, as was Lancelot. With his confusion, Merlin needed a voice to concentrate on to dull the spinning in his head.
He was asleep far more than he was awake, though he tried desperately to keep his eyes at least slightly open when Arthur was there, and sometimes with Gawaine. Arthur seemed agitated, fidgeting and letting the cloth roll from his forehead.
“Just leave it,” he mumbled when it fell away again, the first words he could remember speaking since they got to the main camp. “I’m freezing anyway.”
“You’re hot enough to light the tent on fire, Merlin, which is precisely why we’ve been doing this all day,” he said sharply, still smiling, though even as sick as he was, Merlin could see it wasn’t genuine.
“Could you send Gawaine in?” he asked, giving Arthur an out. The Prince of Camelot shouldn’t nurse sick servants anyhow, and Merlin didn’t especially like Arthur seeing him like this. “I want to talk to him about something.”
When Arthur hesitated, Merlin thought about grabbing his arm and telling him to never mind, but he couldn’t. Arthur’s frown grew, and Merlin couldn’t believe his illness was the only reason behind it, no matter what Gawaine said.
“I’ll get him if you’ll take some water for me,” Arthur promised, one arm sliding behind Merlin’s neck to support his head as Arthur lifted him up.
He leaned against Arthur, unable to do anything else with the man’s arm around him, and nodded, looking up at him. “Just a bit, then.”
Arthur pulled him closer, Merlin’s head on the comfortable cloth of Arthur’s gray tunic. He noticed the absence of mail and frowned. “You can have your under-tunic back. I’m not likely to need it anytime soon.”
The frosty metal cup was pressed to his lips and he closed his eyes, almost moaning in relief as the icy water flooded his mouth and slid down his throat. His whole body seemed to ache for that coolness. He gulped it down as fast as Arthur would let him have it.
“More?” Arthur asked, moving to refill the cup even as Merlin nodded his ascent. “If your fever breaks, we’ll give you something to eat. Until then, it’s water and Percival’s tonics, I’m afraid.”
Merlin shrugged. “Nothing I’m not used to. Gaius seems to think apprentice is another word for taste-tester.”
Arthur smiled and for a moment, Merlin couldn’t move. That was the smile he’d been missing. It disappeared as quickly as it had come, though.
“We’ll see if we can’t find some honey to add to the tonics, if you’d like. I’m sure one of the knights has some stowed away in his pack.”
Merlin grinned as he drained the cup again, this time taking it from Arthur. He felt a bit stronger, but as he tried to sit up, his head spun and he half-fell against Arthur’s shoulder, grabbing his arm for support. “Sorry. Thought I could...”
Turning Merlin in his arms, Arthur held him steady, their eyes locked together for a long moment before Arthur looked away, busying himself refilling Merlin’s cup. “I should have been there this morning.”
Merlin swallowed and shrugged again, “It’s fine. I know you have more important things going on and-”
Arthur turned back to him, pressing his fingers to Merlin’s lips, silencing him. He looked up, expecting to find Arthur annoyed at his rambling, but he wasn’t. His expression was as serious as the day Morgana had taken the throne from Uther.
The silence stretched between them, Arthur’s fingers falling away. He looked torn, lips parted as though he had something to say but couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“Listen, it doesn’t matter,” Merlin said. “You’re here now. Just look how you’re taking care of me. The Prince of Camelot mopping my brow. I’m honoured, you know,” he joked, broadening his smile.
“Don’t do that,” Arthur glared a little and Merlin nodded quickly, smile disappearing.
“All right,” he said, sighing and shifting to lie back down on the bedroll, putting a bit more energy behind his yawn than he actually felt. “I’m really tired. Can you get Gawaine now?”
It was all he could do to let Arthur leave him, but it was more than clear Arthur was only there out of guilt for leaving him back at the other camp.
“I’ll be back tonight,” Arthur said, staring at the opening in the tent where a thin streak of pale sunlight still shone through. “Or Gawaine can sleep here if you’d prefer. I’ll take his place in Lancelot’s tent.”
“No,” Merlin said, not willing to give Arthur up altogether. “Just sleep here. I’m not a naked block of ice this time, after all,” he gave a weak laugh and rolled away, onto his side.
“Merlin,” Arthur began, but he didn’t answer and Arthur never finished.
Merlin heard his footsteps and the tent flap falling closed and a few minutes later, Gawaine came in and began wiping the cold, snow-filled cloth along his neck and face.
“He’s more worried than he can say, you know,” Gawaine said softly as he pulled the blankets away and gently sponged Merlin’s chest and shoulders, sending chills up his spine.
“I could tell by the way he couldn’t wait to leave,” Merlin scoffed, rolling over to face Gawaine, pushing the cold rag away and pulling the blankets back over himself. “Are we really going to Ealdor tomorrow?” he asked, knowing Gawaine wouldn’t blame him for listening when they’d thought him to be asleep.
Gawaine pressed the cloth to Merlin’s forehead and sighed. “Heard that, did you?” Merlin smiled sheepishly. “Well, you seem to be improving steadily and since you’re awake, we might be able to manage it in the morning. Arthur won’t break camp this late in the day.”
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen my mother,” he said softly, thinking of the last time he’d seen her, when she’d been so ill and he’d destroyed Nimueh. It seemed a lifetime ago. “She and I used to be inseparable.”
“You haven’t been home in how long?” Gawaine asked, holding the cup to his lips.
“Well over a year, now. The last time was before our quest in the Perilous Lands.” He drank deeply, not bothering to tell Gawaine he’d just had an entire cupful. “We write, though.”
“You’ll be glad to see her, then,” Gawaine said, smiling. “I’ll be glad to meet her. I’m sure she has some lovely stories about you.”
“Oh, and she’ll be all too happy to share them, I’m sure.” Merlin grinned and took another sip. When Gawaine finally took the cup away, he rolled back onto his side. “I never could lie to her. She knew the instant she looked at me whether I was hiding something or not.”
He’d never had a secret he didn’t share with her, not until he left home for Camelot. He longed to tell her everything when they’d visited, but there hadn’t been time or privacy for secrets. She still knew nothing of Balinor, the Great Dragon, how far he’d come with his magic. The only thing she’d known, without Merlin ever saying a word, was how strong his connection to Arthur truly was.
“Mothers are like that the world around, Merlin,” Gawaine said, taking the cup and setting it aside. “They know their sons inside-out.”
It was true. His mother had taken one look at him and known he was no longer only hers. “She figured out how I felt before I even realized.”
“Did she disapprove?” Gawaine said in a low voice, leaning in close. “Even after what he did for Ealdor?”
“The opposite. That was actually the same day she said Arthur and I needed each other, that I belonged at his side. Shows what she knew,” he murmured, biting his lip.
“You saved his life by being at his side yesterday, Merlin. I think she was pretty well spot-on,” Gawaine said, smirking.
Yes, he could protect Arthur his entire life, but all that meant was that he’d go his entire life always wishing his life was different.
How could he be in Ealdor with Arthur again? His mom would know everything the moment she laid eyes on them. As much as he wanted to see her again, he didn’t think he could stand her pity, or another speech on how he was meant to be with Arthur.
“What is it? Is your shoulder giving you pain?” Gawaine asked.
Merlin shook his head and sighed. “I don’t want her to see me like this, Gawaine.”
“Sick as a dog because you’ve just saved three men’s lives?” Gawaine leaned over him, grinning and ruffling his hair. “You’ve looked worse after skirmish drills, trust me.”
Merlin swallowed hard and cleared his throat. He could get this out, and once he did, maybe Gawaine could help him deter Arthur from taking him to Ealdor. “Nothing has changed between me and Arthur, for all that we’ve been through together. I’m still just his servant. He clearly doesn’t feel the - whatever it is that’s supposed to be between us. I’m not sure if I do anymore, to be honest.”
It wasn’t honest, not really, but Merlin didn’t feel up to speaking enough to explain it fully. He hadn’t needed a Great Dragon to tell him he was inextricably connected to Arthur, but Arthur had never seemed to catch on. For all the people lecturing Merlin about their supposed connection, no one appeared interested in telling the Prince anytime soon.
And Merlin didn’t want a forced connection anyhow. He wanted Arthur to look at him and just know, the way Merlin did. The way Merlin’s mum had.
“You don’t mean that,” Gawaine said, shifting around to stretch out in front of him, wrapping his arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “I’ve seen how you look at him.”
Merlin scoffed, flushing. Gawaine was apparently something of a mind reader when the spirit was in him. “That doesn’t mean-”
“And how he looks at you, as well,” Gawaine said, giving him a shake. “I wish the two of you could step back and watch yourselves. It’s ridiculous how obvious you both are.”
“Obvious?” Merlin repeated, his tone carefully disbelieving. “Arthur wouldn’t disgrace himself by... being obvious with me.” In truth, he’d seen the looks and gestures pass between the knights on occasion and tried his best to tamp down his enthusiasm when speaking to Arthur. It was impossible not to respond when Arthur goaded him, though he didn’t think Arthur meant it as flirting.
“You two have a process,” Gwaine said, brushing his fingers through Merlin’s hair until he felt ready to melt, despite the conversation. “You poke at him, he pokes at you. You usually get the last word, but only just.”
“We have to do something to break up the monotony,” Merlin said, smiling softly. “I mean, how many deadly beasts can there be in Camelot?”
“One less, thanks to you,” Gawaine answered, grinning. “One more Prince, too.” Gawaine lifted his chin so Merlin was looking him in the eye. “You should have seen him when you fell. He looked ready to jump straight after you, and once you were out of the water, I swear he didn’t take a breath until we were sure you were alive. If you hadn’t been, I’m not sure he would have.”
“Gawaine, don’t.” Merlin shook his head, tucking his face down beside Gawaine’s bearded cheek. “I know he’s angry with me. I never got to tell him about my magic the way I wanted to,” he whispered, his voice almost a breath against Gawaine’s ear. “We spoke of it last night. He said he already knew about it and he wasn’t angry, but I was still so sick and now... today he can barely look me in the eye. He can barely stand to be near me.”
Gawaine’s voice was so soft, his breath cool against Merlin’s cheek. “It’s not what you’re imagining. Arthur has issues of his own to work through. You’re getting caught in the crossfire. Just focus on healing. That’s your only job right now. You’ll make yourself worse worrying like this.”
Merlin nodded, shivering. “I’m cold,” he managed between chattering teeth. “Could you get another blanket?”
Gawaine patted his good shoulder and left to fetch him one. As soon as the tent flap fell closed behind him, Merlin held a hand over his chest, mouthing the only sleeping spell he knew, hoping casting it on himself would work. He couldn’t talk about Arthur anymore, couldn’t think about the way Arthur had looked at him earlier.
He pulled the blankets up to his chin, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Sleep swept over him like a black wave, pulling him swiftly under and he went willingly, welcoming the respite from his pain.
Continue reading chapter two
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: This chapter, PG-13 (entire fic, NC-17)
Length: This chapter, @13,400 words (entire fic so far, @30K words)
Summary: When Arthur pushes Merlin away to protect him, what lengths will Merlin go to to remain in his life?
Notes at end of chapter!
Springes to Catch Woodcocks, chapter two
The air inside the tent was thick enough to choke on when Merlin finally woke. He pushed the heavy layers of blankets down to his waist and slowly propped himself up enough to see it was Gawaine lying with him, not Arthur. He’d known before he’d opened his eyes that it wasn’t the Prince. It didn’t surprised him much that Arthur hadn’t kept his word. There was always something pulling him away from... well, everything, and Merlin was usually the least of his concerns. The fact that he’d taken himself off without telling Merlin was usual, though, and it felt even odder given the circumstances.
“Arthur’s gone,” he said, voice perfectly steady, though he didn’t feel very calm. Their little camp felt different, more vulnerable somehow, without Arthur there.
“He made for the main camp at dawn,” Gawaine said quietly, sitting up beside him. “We’re to follow if you feel up to riding.”
Merlin took a deep breath and lay back down, wishing for trousers so he could kick the covers off. “Yes, as soon as we can,” he answered, wanting nothing more than to be out of the tent. “It’s roasting in here.”
Gawaine raised an eyebrow at him in obvious doubt. “You shouldn’t be-” He reached out and spread his palm over Merlin’s forehead, then felt his cheeks, as well. “By the light, you’re as warm as I am! Even with us lying with you, I didn’t figure on you being warm until nightfall, at least.”
“Does that mean I get my clothes back now?” he asked hopefully. “Not that I’m not grateful for... you know. But we’re all better off with me clothed.”
Gawaine shook his head disbelievingly. “You have no idea how handsome you are, do you?”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “I’m not exactly in the mood to be teased, Gawaine.”
His friend shrugged. “Ah, well, it’s probably for the best. You’d be impossible to deal with if you did know,” he said, knocking his shoulder into Merlin’s, giving him an impossibly bright smile.
“Probably,” Merlin said, forcing a quick grin to get Gawaine to stop trying to make him smile. “Come on, get my clothes and let’s get going. The sooner we get back to the camp the better. This entire trip has been one disaster after another.”
Nodding his agreement, Gawaine left the tent and returned a moment later with a pile of mismatched and odd-sized clothing and a pair of boots that were altogether too fancy for a servant’s feet.
“Sorry to say we had to cut your clothes off and your pack went in the lake with you. Everyone donated something, I think.”
“Arthur told me they did, but I hadn’t expected... I’m going to look like a scarecrow in nice boots,” he groused, holding up the embossed leather boots and grimacing. “Are these Leon’s?”
Gawaine put a finger to his nose and laughed. “His was the closest to your size, so you get the honour. I don’t think he would have given them up for just anyone, you know.”
“I’ll try not to step in anything too smelly, then.” Merlin set them aside and gave Gawaine a pointed look, but Gawaine didn’t budge. “Are you going to watch?”
“I’ll wait outside,” Gawaine said, grinning and looking away, waving a hand in dismissal. “Not that I haven’t seen you starkers already.”
“Gawaine!” he shouted after the man, smiling despite himself. It was far better for them all to get their laughs out of the way now than for the jokes to continue for months and months, or for anyone to act as though the situation were as awkward as it truly had been.
Alone in the tent, Merlin yanked off the covers and sighed as the cool air hit his skin. He was nearly sweating with the radiating heat and he felt as though his head were stuffed with wool, his thoughts a bit sluggish.
There was no telling what the after-effects of nearly drowning were, let alone the fall that had landed him in the water. His shoulder throbbed. It was swollen and bruised and he tried not to move it, keeping his arm as close to his body as he could manage as he went through the clothing to see what the knights had donated.
Arthur’s faded red padded tunic was the most obvious thing in the pile, then another tunic, small clothes and breeches from the others - he couldn’t guess who. They’d saved his neckerchief, but he still felt as though he were playing dress-up as he carefully pulled on the smallclothes.
They fit almost like ladies’ stockings - tight to the skin and long enough to tuck into Leon’s fancy boots. He’d seen Arthur in his own pair like these, but he’d never worn any himself and it felt decidedly odd. Warm, but odd. Like being held together in a way Merlin wasn’t sure he could ever get used to. Not that he would have to. He’d launder all of this back in Camelot and make sure the knights all got their things back.
The trousers were a bit long and Merlin caught his foot in the tie at the cuff putting them on, wrenching his sore ankle. He sucked in a breath through gritted teeth and Gawaine’s head appeared instantly through the tent flaps.
“Alright?” he asked, looking Merlin up and down with concern.
“Fine. Wrenched my ankle a bit is all,” he muttered, lying back to jerk the trousers up around his waist and knot them with the cinch. Sitting back up, a wave of dizziness hit him and he swooned, catching himself on one arm as he sank to the ground. “Oh, no - I take that back. Very much not fine.”
Gawaine knelt beside him, urging him with a hand on his chest to lie back down. “You’ll have to go slow for awhile. Just lie there for a moment and I’ll get you some water.”
His bladder was already near to bursting as it was, so Merlin shook his head. “I’m already in desperate need of a tree. Just help me sit up and get these tunics on. I’m going to look ridiculous in this thing, I’ll have you know,” he said, pushing himself up as Gawaine half-lifted him. “What’s Arthur got on under his armour anyhow? He’ll be chaffed and bruised to bits.”
Gawaine froze and held up a hand to stop him as he started to push his good arm into a sleeve. “Here, like this,” he said, unlacing the neck and pulling the entire tunic down over Merlin’s head and then down to his waist. “Tuck your arms in as I bring it up. You won’t risk pulling that injured shoulder this way.”
“That’s actually brilliant, you know,” Merlin grinned, doing as instructed and managing not to even lift his arm.
“Old tricks for new dogs,” Gawaine laughed, shaking his head. “You live on the run long enough, you learn these things.”
“But you’re not on the run now.” Merlin smiled as Gawaine pulled the other tunic over his head. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Gawaine winked at him and reached for the boots. “I wouldn’t have missed seeing you in this getup,” he grinned.
Merlin slapped Gawaine’s arm and took the boots, pulling them on. He paused, sitting there in his borrowed clothing, wondering how the hell he was going to stand. He shifted around, getting his legs underneath him, then pushed himself into a kneeling position, Gawaine taking a firm grip on his elbow and waist. They looked at each other and at Merlin’s nod, Gawaine helped him to his feet.
His first step was shaky and he leaned heavily on Gawaine, the snug smallclothes and unfamiliar, low heels on the boots not helping matters.
“Easy there, go slow now,” Gawaine cautioned.
“If I went any slower, we’d be standing still. There’s a tree out there with my name on it and I intend to find it.”
Gawaine reached out to open the tent and Merlin narrowed his eyes against the brightness. Even in the relative cover of the trees surrounding the clearing, the sun was glaring. The cool air felt like heaven against his face and hands and he had the wild urge to strip everything off and feel it everywhere. He was already beginning to sweat in the thick armour padding and multiple layers.
“I think I saw your tree over here,” Gawaine said, directing him to the edge of the clearing and then, carefully, a little way into the woods.
He leaned up against a fair-sized pine, waving Gawaine away. “Go on, I’m fine.”
Gawaine shook his head and ducked around to the opposite side of a larger tree where Merlin couldn’t see him. “I’ll wait. You’re a bit too unsteady for my liking.”
Merlin fumbled the opening of the unfamiliar trousers but managed to get it open soon enough and relieved himself, leaning on the tree with one hand. Tying the trousers again was a pain, but at least he didn’t have to call for help.
He took one step away from the tree and nearly sagged to the forest floor. Leaning against a sapling that bowed under his weight and threatened to dump him to the ground, he reached a hand for Gawaine, who was immediately by his side, supporting so much of his weight he might as well have been carrying him.
Merlin panted and jerked the neckerchief off as if it was strangling him. He pulled the laces of the tunics open as far as they would go. Gawaine had him back at the fire in a moment, sitting on the ground beside a log, which was probably for the best. He couldn’t have balanced on it anyway.
He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. If walking twenty meters had done him in this horribly, how was he going to make it back to Camelot?
A cool hand swept across the back of his neck and rested on his shoulder. “Good to see you up and - well, up, anyway.” He slowly raised his head, opening his eyes, and was greeted with Lancelot’s grinning face.
“Lancelot,” he mumbled, feeling more than a little off-kilter and lowering his head again. “I’m just a bit dizzy. It’s sweltering in this padding. Don’t know how you knights stand it.”
“It can be on the warm side,” he said, lifting the back of his hand to Merlin’s forehead. “You’re feverish, Merlin. Maybe you should lie back down.”
Merlin shook his head, then groaned and pressed his hands to his face again, taking long, slow breaths to will down the spinning. “We have to meet Arthur. I’ll be all right. I don’t want to sleep anymore.”
“What you want and what you need are two different things, my friend,” Gawaine said, handing Merlin a cup of water. “Drink. We’ll see how you are after we prepare the horses. If you’re still this ill, you won’t be able to sit your mount to save your life.”
Still reeling, Merlin groaned his protest as he took a sip of water. It was cool and he sighed in relief, drinking slowly but steadily until the cup was empty. His head felt foggy and muddled, his thoughts coming slower and slower as if he were on the verge of falling asleep. He fought the hazy feeling, but in the end, conceded to lying back down in the tent for awhile.
When Lancelot offered to help him up, Merlin only made it to his knees. He stayed there for a moment, catching his breath, then winced in pain as Gawaine and Lancelot took over.
They gently pulled him to his feet, draping his uninjured arm over Gawaine’s shoulders. Lancelot’s strength circled around Merlin’s waist, the two knights supporting him as well as they could in the awkward position. They slowly made their way across the campsite, the toes of one borrowed boot dragging through the bracken as he struggled to hold his hurt leg off the ground.
“He’s burning up,” Lancelot said through the clouds in his mind as they reached the tent. “One of us should get word to Arthur that he can’t be moved. I wouldn’t have expected fever to set in so soon with him so cold only last night, but-”
“No. No, it shouldn’t have,” Gawaine agreed in a low voice as he was laid flat and another cool hand brushed across his forehead. “It’s raging, too. He’s warmer than he was just minutes ago. If he keeps on at this rate...”
Merlin couldn’t hear anything else, but he knew what the knights were saying without words. He’d felt this overwhelming confusion and heat before, when he’d swallowed the poisoned wine from Arthur’s cup. His boiling fever had nearly taken his life that time. No flower would save him this time, and Arthur wasn’t here to find it even if one would.
If he was dying, Arthur wouldn’t even know until it was too late.
“Please,” he murmured, trying his best to form the words. “Have to go. Arthur-”
His brain couldn’t keep up with his mouth, but he thought his friends would understand. Good as the darkness felt to his twirling head, he couldn’t stay in that tent forever. If fever was going to kill him, he didn’t want to die in the woods. He wanted Camelot, a real bed, Gaius and Arthur and a pillow, for Gods’ sake.
They laid him carefully down and covered him with a single cloak, Lancelot pushing his sweat-damp hair away from his eyes as Gawaine ducked out of the tent.
“Lancelot,” he gasped, making a grab for the man’s tunic. “Please take me to him.”
He closed his eyes and waited for the blackness of sleep, but it didn’t come. Confusion won out and he stirred fitfully as Gawaine returned, pressing a cool, wet cloth to his forehead, his throat, the back of his neck. It warmed quickly, disappeared and returned as cool as it had been, like magic.
He choked out a laugh and arched his back, wondering if he could vanish his second-hand clothing straight to hell. They’d appreciate it there, at least, with all its heat. The padded tunic was the worst, and Merlin grinned madly at the thought of it being so sweat-soaked and stained that Arthur would turn his nose up at it and order it burned.
“I think we should try,” Lancelot whispered somewhere over his head, and the cloth stilled on his chest.
“Are you mad?” Gawaine hissed, and Merlin wanted to punch him in his swollen nose. “He can’t even rest peacefully. How do you expect him to ride?”
“We’ll strap him in if we have to.” Lancelot was his friend, a nice, nice, knight. “Gawaine, what if this is...” Merlin didn’t hear the rest, and he was too fuzzy-headed to fill in the blank, but he knew it wasn’t anything good, anyhow.
“I still think it’s a bad idea.” Gawaine said, his voice harsher than Merlin was used to hearing. “Gods, he should never have gone.”
Was he angry with Merlin for falling into the lake, for leaving the tent?
“Sorry,” he managed to whisper, wanting to open his eyes and look up at his friends so they’d know he meant it, but his eyelids wouldn’t cooperate. “Arthur, please,” was all he could get out.
He yawned shakily and tried to push the cloak away, but cold hands held him down.
“Shh. Try to rest, Merlin. We’re going to try to go soon, all right?” A hand slipped into his hair, gently lifting his head until his lips touched the rim of a cup. Lancelot’s voice and hand were soothing, the cold water that trickled into his mouth even more so.
He swallowed greedily, though he was given no more than a sip at a time. It felt like drinking straight from a mountain stream, the ice slicing right through the heat and sliding all the way down his throat to his stomach. Each time the cup left his lips, the heat came back in one huge wave.
Tearing at the laces of the tunics that suffocated him, Merlin cried out. “Please! Take them off. I can’t - I can’t-“
“All right, shh,” Lancelot whispered, then turned his head and called for Gawaine. Merlin heard his footsteps and then Lancelot, who was fast becoming his favourite person in the world. “I think the tunics are doing more harm than good. Look.”
The cool cloth swiped over his chest again, this time drawing a stinging line clear across it. “Gods. He’s scratched himself bloody trying to get them open and he’s sweating like a bull.” Gawaine sounded panicky, something his friend just never was.
“He did it before I could stop him.” Lancelot didn’t sound much better. “Come on, help me.”
Merlin felt himself being lifted and moaned as the dizziness swept in again. The tunics were pushed down to free his arms and then drawn up over his head and he sobbed in relief, doing his best to smile to let his friends know how good it felt.
The cold, damp cloth swept up his chest, around his neck and up and down both arms, over and over until he was whimpering in pleasure. “Better,” he managed to murmur, Gawaine hushing him but not stopping. Merlin sighed under the lazy, cool strokes of the cloth on his bare skin.
He could hear the sounds of Lancelot outside, breaking camp. From his brief glance around when he’d been outside, there wasn’t much there. It wouldn’t be long, and he’d be on his way to the main camp, to Arthur.
“I know, Merlin, shh. We’ll be on our way to him in no time,” Gawaine whispered, wiping the cloth across Merlin’s lips and pushing his hair back from his face, fingers brushing along his hairline over and over. “Try to rest.”
Had he said Arthur’s name aloud? He didn’t think so, but everything was all so muddled and confusing. He just wanted Arthur, and he would be okay. Just Arthur.
“I know why, my friend, but unless you want Lancelot to know, too, you’d best try to lie there quietly.” Gawaine’s voice was a little lighter, and Merlin tried to smile.
Sunlight blasted against his eyelids and a cloth came up to cover them as the tent was taken down around them. Merlin tilted his head up towards the freezing air and took a deep breath.
When he woke again, he couldn’t see a thing, but he knew instantly he was on a horse. The swaying, rocking motion was unmistakable. He knew, too, that someone was holding him, because he didn’t feel the least bit unsteady and he should have, would have, if he’d fallen asleep in the saddle. He’d done it before, and being jarred awake while ahorse was not a pleasant experience.
This, however, wasn’t too bad. Darkness pressing against his eyelids, he inhaled and knew exactly who he was riding with.
Cradled in Gawaine’s familiar arms, he rubbed his face up against the chin that pressed to his head. He was riding side-saddle with his legs swung over the horse’s shoulder and his body leaning back into the strong wall of Gawaine’s chest. A cloak - or however many - draped around him, but he remained blessedly shirtless. The heat wasn’t unbearable, though he still felt damp with sweat and he’d begun to shiver at some point and couldn’t seem to get it to stop no matter how hard he clenched his jaw.
“Gawaine?” he asked, mostly to let the man know he was awake. He reached up and felt the cloth that covered his eyes, but, remembering the sun’s strong rays, didn’t push it off.
“Ah, finally. He’s awake, Lancelot,” Gawaine called, and Merlin heard the answering hullo, though he couldn’t do more than raise a hand. Gawaine’s voice rumbled against Merlin’s ear as he spoke softly. “You can take the scarf from over your eyes if you’d like - the sun seemed to bother you, so we tied it on.”
“No, it’s fine,” he rasped out, clearing his throat. “Where’s the water skin?”
Gawaine pushed it into his hands and Merlin fumbled to find the spout, then drank deeply of the cool water.
“You sound less addled,” Gawaine said, taking the skin from him as he finished and nodded.
“I feel... a bit better,” he chattered out, huddling closer in to Gawaine and pulling the cloak higher around his shoulders, wondering why Arthur couldn’t have stayed. He’d rather be back in that sweltering tent as naked as a jaybird than shivering on horseback with Gawaine. “Was he angry when he left?”
“Lancelot said he seemed out of sorts, but didn’t give a reason,” Gawaine whispered, obviously annoyed.
“I knew it was too good to be true,” he whispered, not sure if he should be saying anything. “He seemed fine with my secret, but...”
“He should never have left,” Gawaine answered sharply.
“He didn’t know this would happen.” Merlin shivered violently as a breeze slipped in under his blankets and he shook his head, dropping the subject. His mind was spinning and he just wanted to sleep.
Gawaine pulled the horse to a halt and Merlin heard Lancelot do the same nearby. A hand covered his forehead again and Merlin fought back a sigh. He supposed he’d better get used to people fussing over him if he was going to keep getting sick.
“Hand me another blanket, would you?” Gawaine asked Lancelot.
Merlin heard the crunch of Lancelot’s boots hitting the leaves on the ground. He wriggled his toes inside his borrowed boots, thinking of how ridiculous he must look in them. The pointed toes felt feminine somehow, squeezing his toes together so they had little room to move.
“Merlin, are you still with me?” Gawaine asked, patting his cheek.
“Yes?” He didn’t sound sure, even to himself. He sounded like he was about to knock the teeth out of his head with shivering. “I’m so cold now.”
“It’s the fever,” Gawaine sighed, pushing Merlin away for a moment as he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. Merlin sank against him under the added weight and warmth, tucking his face into Gawaine’s soft tunic.
He wanted to ask if they were close to the main camp and how far they still had to go. He wanted food, but only vaguely and not enough to ask for it. His little cavern against Gawaine was too warm and smelled too good to leave. Where Arthur had smelt of the outdoors and campfires, Gawaine smelled like leather and newly-sharpened steel.
“Just sleep,” Gawaine said softly, the vibrations of his voice almost matching Merlin’s shivering.
He tried, but the sound of the knights whispering kept him awake as they rode on.
“The fever is lessening, but we can’t keep him warm enough like this,” Gawaine said, tucking the blanket in tighter around him.
“Only another league or so. It’s what he wants.”
“He’s getting chilled and barely had a swallow from the water skin. If the camp wasn’t so close-”
Merlin turned his face into Gawaine’s chest and pulled the blanket up over his head, tucking it in between Gawaine’s skin and his forehead to hold it there. The arm around his back tightened as he sagged in exhaustion and gave up his boneless body to Gawaine’s strength. The blank nothingness he shivered into was warm, so warm.
“Ho there! Oh, look at you! I always said you were such a girl, didn’t-” Arthur drew his horse to a halt as Gawaine rode close, face grim, Merlin in the saddle before him, but not awake.
He was riding side-saddle like a woman, but in his current state, he couldn’t have ridden any other way. Merlin looked no better than he had when they pulled him from the water the day before. His hair was damp around his face, his shivering the only moving thing about his limp, ragdoll body as it draped in Gawaine’s arms, leaning heavily against the knight.
“It’s fever, Sire. Set in this morning and rose so fast we couldn’t get a handle on it. We’ve done what we could, but he insisted on coming here.” Gawaine halted his steed next to Arthur’s, brushing the back of his hand along Merlin’s cheek, then pulling him in tighter to his chest.
“Since when does a servant give orders to knights of Camelot?” he snapped, then shook his head, closing his eyes. He knew how persuasive Merlin could be; he’d given in to him far more times than he cared to admit.
“Sire, he wouldn’t rest until we brought him,” Lancelot said in a hushed voice, and Arthur looked up, taking a deep breath at the fear he saw in the knight’s eyes.
If the fever was that advanced, there mightn’t be much they could do for Merlin out here in the woods. Arthur turned his horse back in the direction of camp and pushed it into a fast walk. “I was just coming to look for you. Best get him lying down as quickly as possible. Hand him to Sir Percival.” He stood in his stirrups and cupped a hand to his mouth, calling ahead to the camp, “Percival!”
“Aye, Sire?” was the returning call.
As they rode into the large clearing, their camp circling a bonfire large enough to warm them all, Arthur nodded back at the two horses following slowly behind. “They’ve brought Merlin. He’s unconscious. Take him to my tent immediately, then find Leon and Elyan. They’ll need to ride to Camelot for Gaius.”
Dismounting and crossing to Gawaine’s horse, Arthur watched for any sign of consciousness as Percival reached for him and Gawaine shifted him out of the saddle. Merlin didn’t so much as sigh as Percival took him down and slung him gently over his shoulder.
Arthur followed closely behind as they entered the tent and gestured for Percy to lay Merlin on his bedroll. Arthur knelt and laid his palm across Merlin’s forehead, swearing and sighing heavily.
Gawaine knelt on the opposite side of Merlin, and Lancelot ducked into the doorway of the tent, blocking most of the light from outside.
“Before you send for Gaius, I have an idea,” Gawaine said, his tone confident but cautious.
Arthur nodded and took his eyes off Merlin to let the knight know he was truly listening. Anyone with an idea would be heard today.
“Ealdor is just over the next ridge. We’re less than four leagues, if my reckoning is right. Why not take him home?”
It wasn’t a bad idea, but he knew that moving Merlin like this was dangerous. “He’s burning up. He likely shouldn’t be moved at all. What medicines do we have on hand for fever?”
Lancelot crouched down, laying a hand on Merlin’s leg. “Percy’s probably the best man for the job, Sire. If he hasn’t got it with him, he can likely make it out of something local if he can find it under all this snow. He took care of his family in these woods for years, living off the land.”
Looking up in surprise, Arthur nodded.“If you’re sure he knows what he’s doing, I would have him advise me. If Merlin can be moved, we’ll make for Ealdor at once. Surely his mother would want to care for him, especially if...”
He bit his tongue and looked back to Merlin, whose face looked like marble.
Gawaine leaned down over Merlin and pressed a kiss to his forehead as Lancelot called for Percy to get his pack. Arthur was used to seeing Gawaine treat barmaids with such affection, but the gesture toward Merlin surprised him. How could Gawaine feel so comfortable expressing his feelings for Merlin in front of him and Lancelot? It seemed a desperate, final gesture and Arthur’s face flushed with his anger.
“No,” he said, voice sharp. “Outside, both of you.”
Gawaine and Lancelot followed him out, heads bowing in close as he wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders, their backs turned to the tent.
“No goodbyes - tell the rest of the men as well - no one is to say goodbye or do anything that might lead Merlin to think he is dying, whether he is conscious or not. Merlin wouldn’t want farewells and Gaius has always maintained the power of suggestion in healing. The old man is right more often than he is wrong.”
“Yes, Sire,” they both agreed, Gawaine’s face flushing in what seemed a rare bout of shame.
“Bring a pail of snow and rags. We’ll try to cool him down until Percival can come up with something,” he said, softening his tone. If he let his anger get the best of him, he’d only be giving Merlin his second-best.
“Already have, Sire,” Percival said, holding out a small vial of brownish liquid. “It’s Chamomile and pepper. Not the tastiest of medicines, but it usually breaks a fever. We should use cold compresses as well. If I had any vinegar...” Percival shrugged as Arthur took the vial.
“We’ll try this first. If it doesn’t work, we’ll have no choice but to take him to his mother and hope she knows more about nursing a fever than a bunch of soldiers do.”
Doubtful, Arthur went back inside the tent, kneeling and lifting Merlin’s over-warm head onto his lap, whispering a prayer as he uncorked the small bottle with his teeth. “This is going to taste terrible, but Percy says it’ll help your fever, so you will drink it, every drop.”
There was no response from Merlin, none at all. Arthur watched his parted, flushed lips for a moment before gently sliding his thumb between them. He opened Merlin’s mouth and tilted his chin up. Pouring a small amount of the liquid onto Merlin’s tongue, Arthur rubbed down over the sweat-damp throat, willing him to swallow.
“Come on, come on,” he whispered. “It can’t work if we can’t get it down your gullet. Just-” Merlin swallowed convulsively and Arthur raised his eyes heavenward, whispering, “Thank you.”
The rest of the potion gradually went down Merlin’s throat, Arthur patiently stroking his neck each time he poured in another measure of the liquid.
When the vial was empty and he looked up, Gawaine stood glaring at him from the doorway of the tent. His arms crossed, he kicked gently at the pail full of snow at his feet, nodding at Merlin. “When he woke this morning, he expected someone other than me.”
“Hand me a cloth and the pail. We’ve got to get him cooled down,” Arthur said, blatantly avoiding the bait.
Gawaine sighed, scooping a handful of snow into a cloth and handing it to Arthur, who pressed it to Merlin’s forehead.
Merlin didn’t move or make a sound. Every time Merlin didn’t respond to something a healthy man would react to, it made Arthur more nervous.
“All he could think of was getting to you, as if you were the cure.”
Arthur gritted his teeth, gently lifting Merlin’s head to smooth the cloth across the back of his neck. “I’m no cure. I don’t know why he wanted to come here. I don’t know why you brought him.”
Gawaine scoffed, a short, sharp laugh that made Arthur look hard at the man, who glared back. “If you think for one moment I wouldn’t go to the ends of the earth and back for Merlin, you’re greatly mistaken.”
Arthur sighed and nodded. “Gawaine, you know how I feel about Merlin. I just-”
“No, Sire, I don’t. I doubt he does and frankly, I doubt you know exactly how you feel about Merlin. But I do know how he feels about you and I won’t stand by and watch you literally abandon him in what might be his-”
“Outside, now, Sir Gawaine,” he insisted, fed up and absolutely unwilling to have this argument, any argument, over Merlin’s unconscious body. They stepped out of the tent and before Gawaine could open that mouth again, Arthur pushed him against a tree and laid a hand on his scabbard. “If you so much as hint that Merlin is dying in his presence again, you will find yourself on the other side of this life waiting for him.”
Gawaine’s hands were in the air, a good thing, too, as the other knights could see he was unarmed. Arthur didn’t want Gawaine dead, after all. Gawaine shook his head at the knights that Arthur could hear approaching. Smart man.
“I apologize,” Gawaine said in a low, tight voice that changed to a whisper as Arthur let go his sword. “You didn’t hear him, Arthur. You would never have left him if you had. Why would you go when you could see...”
Arthur shook his head, letting go of Gawaine’s tunic and walking into the edge of the woods, turning and running a hand back through his hair as Gawaine approached. “I wouldn’t have left if he’d been in the state he’s in now. You know that.”
“Then why? It makes no sense.”
“He...” Arthur started, looking up at the treetops, shaking his head, his hand going to his lips as if that could stop the words. “Last night, something happened between us.”
The heady rush of his blood thumping through his veins made him want to move, but he leaned against a tree and kicked his heel against it. He couldn’t make a scene over this. Gawaine might know, but the other knights couldn’t.
“So you walked away. That’s your answer for him, then?” Gawaine asked, disdain clear in his voice.
Unused to being spoken to with such blatant contempt, Arthur clenched his teeth shut on a scathing remark, knowing it would get him nowhere. He sighed and closed his eyes. “He wasn’t - he didn’t know what he was doing.”
“What did he do?” Gawaine’s voice was low and close. “What was so bad you felt you had to leave?”
Arthur turned and pressed his forehead to the bark of the tree, growling. He felt a hand close on his shoulder and took a deep breath. The hand fell away and he pushed the words out, knowing they’d never come to him again. “He... he kissed me.”
Gawaine grinned, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”
Arthur looked up then, crossing his arms over his chest in impatience. “He cannot be led to believe that a certain... situation might be possible.”
“Because then so will you?” Gawaine raised his eyebrows, nodding in mock understanding. “No, it makes sense. You’re protecting him. And yourself.”
“You know what is expected of me, what I must do, whether or not I would choose it for myself. You hear the talk even more than I do, I’m sure. All of Camelot’s nobility already wonders why I’m not married with a half-dozen sons by now. And just imagine how my father would react to the news that I was courting another servant, and a male one at that. Crown Prince of Camelot with no wife or heirs? He’d make Merlin disappear the instant he found out, and he would find out, Gawaine.”
Gawaine frowned, folding his arms across his chest. “You do realize Merlin’s a grown man, for all we treat him like our younger brother? He should have a say in this.”
Arthur shook his head, clenching his jaw. The instant he allowed either himself or Merlin the slightest leeway, it would be too late. He could never take it back. “He deserves more. He should settle with someone who can... someone who won’t eventually betray him.”
“He has no idea why you left. He thinks you’re angry about his secret.” Gawaine sighed and leaned heavily back against a tree. He looked as defeated as Arthur felt. “And you’re never even going to tell him, are you?”
“It would only be more painful for him to know.” Arthur swallowed around the thickness in his throat and began walking back to the camp, clearly hearing the question Gawaine didn’t ask, More painful for him, or for you?
They’d settled on shifts again, apparently, because each time Merlin woke that day, there was a different knight tending his fever. Percival was gentle but nearly silent, as was Lancelot. With his confusion, Merlin needed a voice to concentrate on to dull the spinning in his head.
He was asleep far more than he was awake, though he tried desperately to keep his eyes at least slightly open when Arthur was there, and sometimes with Gawaine. Arthur seemed agitated, fidgeting and letting the cloth roll from his forehead.
“Just leave it,” he mumbled when it fell away again, the first words he could remember speaking since they got to the main camp. “I’m freezing anyway.”
“You’re hot enough to light the tent on fire, Merlin, which is precisely why we’ve been doing this all day,” he said sharply, still smiling, though even as sick as he was, Merlin could see it wasn’t genuine.
“Could you send Gawaine in?” he asked, giving Arthur an out. The Prince of Camelot shouldn’t nurse sick servants anyhow, and Merlin didn’t especially like Arthur seeing him like this. “I want to talk to him about something.”
When Arthur hesitated, Merlin thought about grabbing his arm and telling him to never mind, but he couldn’t. Arthur’s frown grew, and Merlin couldn’t believe his illness was the only reason behind it, no matter what Gawaine said.
“I’ll get him if you’ll take some water for me,” Arthur promised, one arm sliding behind Merlin’s neck to support his head as Arthur lifted him up.
He leaned against Arthur, unable to do anything else with the man’s arm around him, and nodded, looking up at him. “Just a bit, then.”
Arthur pulled him closer, Merlin’s head on the comfortable cloth of Arthur’s gray tunic. He noticed the absence of mail and frowned. “You can have your under-tunic back. I’m not likely to need it anytime soon.”
The frosty metal cup was pressed to his lips and he closed his eyes, almost moaning in relief as the icy water flooded his mouth and slid down his throat. His whole body seemed to ache for that coolness. He gulped it down as fast as Arthur would let him have it.
“More?” Arthur asked, moving to refill the cup even as Merlin nodded his ascent. “If your fever breaks, we’ll give you something to eat. Until then, it’s water and Percival’s tonics, I’m afraid.”
Merlin shrugged. “Nothing I’m not used to. Gaius seems to think apprentice is another word for taste-tester.”
Arthur smiled and for a moment, Merlin couldn’t move. That was the smile he’d been missing. It disappeared as quickly as it had come, though.
“We’ll see if we can’t find some honey to add to the tonics, if you’d like. I’m sure one of the knights has some stowed away in his pack.”
Merlin grinned as he drained the cup again, this time taking it from Arthur. He felt a bit stronger, but as he tried to sit up, his head spun and he half-fell against Arthur’s shoulder, grabbing his arm for support. “Sorry. Thought I could...”
Turning Merlin in his arms, Arthur held him steady, their eyes locked together for a long moment before Arthur looked away, busying himself refilling Merlin’s cup. “I should have been there this morning.”
Merlin swallowed and shrugged again, “It’s fine. I know you have more important things going on and-”
Arthur turned back to him, pressing his fingers to Merlin’s lips, silencing him. He looked up, expecting to find Arthur annoyed at his rambling, but he wasn’t. His expression was as serious as the day Morgana had taken the throne from Uther.
The silence stretched between them, Arthur’s fingers falling away. He looked torn, lips parted as though he had something to say but couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“Listen, it doesn’t matter,” Merlin said. “You’re here now. Just look how you’re taking care of me. The Prince of Camelot mopping my brow. I’m honoured, you know,” he joked, broadening his smile.
“Don’t do that,” Arthur glared a little and Merlin nodded quickly, smile disappearing.
“All right,” he said, sighing and shifting to lie back down on the bedroll, putting a bit more energy behind his yawn than he actually felt. “I’m really tired. Can you get Gawaine now?”
It was all he could do to let Arthur leave him, but it was more than clear Arthur was only there out of guilt for leaving him back at the other camp.
“I’ll be back tonight,” Arthur said, staring at the opening in the tent where a thin streak of pale sunlight still shone through. “Or Gawaine can sleep here if you’d prefer. I’ll take his place in Lancelot’s tent.”
“No,” Merlin said, not willing to give Arthur up altogether. “Just sleep here. I’m not a naked block of ice this time, after all,” he gave a weak laugh and rolled away, onto his side.
“Merlin,” Arthur began, but he didn’t answer and Arthur never finished.
Merlin heard his footsteps and the tent flap falling closed and a few minutes later, Gawaine came in and began wiping the cold, snow-filled cloth along his neck and face.
“He’s more worried than he can say, you know,” Gawaine said softly as he pulled the blankets away and gently sponged Merlin’s chest and shoulders, sending chills up his spine.
“I could tell by the way he couldn’t wait to leave,” Merlin scoffed, rolling over to face Gawaine, pushing the cold rag away and pulling the blankets back over himself. “Are we really going to Ealdor tomorrow?” he asked, knowing Gawaine wouldn’t blame him for listening when they’d thought him to be asleep.
Gawaine pressed the cloth to Merlin’s forehead and sighed. “Heard that, did you?” Merlin smiled sheepishly. “Well, you seem to be improving steadily and since you’re awake, we might be able to manage it in the morning. Arthur won’t break camp this late in the day.”
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen my mother,” he said softly, thinking of the last time he’d seen her, when she’d been so ill and he’d destroyed Nimueh. It seemed a lifetime ago. “She and I used to be inseparable.”
“You haven’t been home in how long?” Gawaine asked, holding the cup to his lips.
“Well over a year, now. The last time was before our quest in the Perilous Lands.” He drank deeply, not bothering to tell Gawaine he’d just had an entire cupful. “We write, though.”
“You’ll be glad to see her, then,” Gawaine said, smiling. “I’ll be glad to meet her. I’m sure she has some lovely stories about you.”
“Oh, and she’ll be all too happy to share them, I’m sure.” Merlin grinned and took another sip. When Gawaine finally took the cup away, he rolled back onto his side. “I never could lie to her. She knew the instant she looked at me whether I was hiding something or not.”
He’d never had a secret he didn’t share with her, not until he left home for Camelot. He longed to tell her everything when they’d visited, but there hadn’t been time or privacy for secrets. She still knew nothing of Balinor, the Great Dragon, how far he’d come with his magic. The only thing she’d known, without Merlin ever saying a word, was how strong his connection to Arthur truly was.
“Mothers are like that the world around, Merlin,” Gawaine said, taking the cup and setting it aside. “They know their sons inside-out.”
It was true. His mother had taken one look at him and known he was no longer only hers. “She figured out how I felt before I even realized.”
“Did she disapprove?” Gawaine said in a low voice, leaning in close. “Even after what he did for Ealdor?”
“The opposite. That was actually the same day she said Arthur and I needed each other, that I belonged at his side. Shows what she knew,” he murmured, biting his lip.
“You saved his life by being at his side yesterday, Merlin. I think she was pretty well spot-on,” Gawaine said, smirking.
Yes, he could protect Arthur his entire life, but all that meant was that he’d go his entire life always wishing his life was different.
How could he be in Ealdor with Arthur again? His mom would know everything the moment she laid eyes on them. As much as he wanted to see her again, he didn’t think he could stand her pity, or another speech on how he was meant to be with Arthur.
“What is it? Is your shoulder giving you pain?” Gawaine asked.
Merlin shook his head and sighed. “I don’t want her to see me like this, Gawaine.”
“Sick as a dog because you’ve just saved three men’s lives?” Gawaine leaned over him, grinning and ruffling his hair. “You’ve looked worse after skirmish drills, trust me.”
Merlin swallowed hard and cleared his throat. He could get this out, and once he did, maybe Gawaine could help him deter Arthur from taking him to Ealdor. “Nothing has changed between me and Arthur, for all that we’ve been through together. I’m still just his servant. He clearly doesn’t feel the - whatever it is that’s supposed to be between us. I’m not sure if I do anymore, to be honest.”
It wasn’t honest, not really, but Merlin didn’t feel up to speaking enough to explain it fully. He hadn’t needed a Great Dragon to tell him he was inextricably connected to Arthur, but Arthur had never seemed to catch on. For all the people lecturing Merlin about their supposed connection, no one appeared interested in telling the Prince anytime soon.
And Merlin didn’t want a forced connection anyhow. He wanted Arthur to look at him and just know, the way Merlin did. The way Merlin’s mum had.
“You don’t mean that,” Gawaine said, shifting around to stretch out in front of him, wrapping his arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “I’ve seen how you look at him.”
Merlin scoffed, flushing. Gawaine was apparently something of a mind reader when the spirit was in him. “That doesn’t mean-”
“And how he looks at you, as well,” Gawaine said, giving him a shake. “I wish the two of you could step back and watch yourselves. It’s ridiculous how obvious you both are.”
“Obvious?” Merlin repeated, his tone carefully disbelieving. “Arthur wouldn’t disgrace himself by... being obvious with me.” In truth, he’d seen the looks and gestures pass between the knights on occasion and tried his best to tamp down his enthusiasm when speaking to Arthur. It was impossible not to respond when Arthur goaded him, though he didn’t think Arthur meant it as flirting.
“You two have a process,” Gwaine said, brushing his fingers through Merlin’s hair until he felt ready to melt, despite the conversation. “You poke at him, he pokes at you. You usually get the last word, but only just.”
“We have to do something to break up the monotony,” Merlin said, smiling softly. “I mean, how many deadly beasts can there be in Camelot?”
“One less, thanks to you,” Gawaine answered, grinning. “One more Prince, too.” Gawaine lifted his chin so Merlin was looking him in the eye. “You should have seen him when you fell. He looked ready to jump straight after you, and once you were out of the water, I swear he didn’t take a breath until we were sure you were alive. If you hadn’t been, I’m not sure he would have.”
“Gawaine, don’t.” Merlin shook his head, tucking his face down beside Gawaine’s bearded cheek. “I know he’s angry with me. I never got to tell him about my magic the way I wanted to,” he whispered, his voice almost a breath against Gawaine’s ear. “We spoke of it last night. He said he already knew about it and he wasn’t angry, but I was still so sick and now... today he can barely look me in the eye. He can barely stand to be near me.”
Gawaine’s voice was so soft, his breath cool against Merlin’s cheek. “It’s not what you’re imagining. Arthur has issues of his own to work through. You’re getting caught in the crossfire. Just focus on healing. That’s your only job right now. You’ll make yourself worse worrying like this.”
Merlin nodded, shivering. “I’m cold,” he managed between chattering teeth. “Could you get another blanket?”
Gawaine patted his good shoulder and left to fetch him one. As soon as the tent flap fell closed behind him, Merlin held a hand over his chest, mouthing the only sleeping spell he knew, hoping casting it on himself would work. He couldn’t talk about Arthur anymore, couldn’t think about the way Arthur had looked at him earlier.
He pulled the blankets up to his chin, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Sleep swept over him like a black wave, pulling him swiftly under and he went willingly, welcoming the respite from his pain.
Continue reading chapter two