"The Swords of Medhir" by ellijay

Summary: Arthur jokingly called it Merlin's first battle wound. For Morgause, it's an opportunity for revenge. Takes place during "The Fires of Idirsholas."

Author's Notes: I'm back to writing my usual blend of angsty hurt/comfort and am also stepping back in time to "The Fires of Idirsholas" and "The Last Dragon Lord." Both of those still rank among my favorite episodes. The idea for this story has been floating around in my brain for quite some time, and I'm finally getting around to writing it.

This could be considered somewhat AU since I think we're meant to assume there's only a short break of time, perhaps a few hours, between the scene where Morgause disappears with Morgana and the dinner scene where Gaius tells Merlin he did the right thing. For the purposes of this story, I'm assuming a larger gap of a few days between the two scenes.

Chapter 1 - "Reaction"

Merlin staggered backwards as the winds stirred by Morgause's spell whipped around the council chambers, carrying her and Morgana away to … somewhere. Could be almost anywhere, as long as it was a place intimately familiar to Morgause. That was a very powerful and dangerous spell. He'd seen it the magic book Gaius had given to him, a few lines for the spell itself and several paragraphs of dire warnings about what might go wrong if the caster misspoke in the slightest or wasn't perfectly focused. It amounted to shredding yourself into bits and flinging the resulting mass of something and everything and nothing through some kind of controlled madness to a destination you had to have pictured perfectly in your mind before you even began to utter a word, and then every last ribbon of flesh and blood and bone had to be perfectly reassembled or you'd end up maimed or dead or worse. It had given him nightmares just to read about it, but seeing Morgause cast it was a terrible beauty that left him horrified and fascinated all at once. He had no doubt she'd done everything exactly as she should. There was a tingling hum running through his entire body that he only ever experienced in the presence of magic so powerful it might burst into chaos without precise control.

The moment of terrifying awe quickly faded, though, and Merlin stumbled forward a bit, back into the reality where he'd cold-bloodedly planned and carried out an attempt to kill someone he considered to be a friend. Morgana had once put her own life on the line to help defend his home village even though she'd hardly known him at the time, and now he'd tried to snuff that life out, deliberately and with every intention of finality. It had been a lot of poison, even if it had been diluted in water and Morgana had taken only a few sips. Still, such a powerful sorceress as Morgause, and one who evidently cared deeply for Morgana, would find a way if anyone could. He had to hold onto that hope, uncertain as it was.

There was an unnatural hush in the room as papers and debris settled to the floor and knights and king alike stood unmoving in dazed confusion, but the moment was broken by the somewhat shaky voice of the king asking, "What is happening here?" When no one instantly replied, he yelled, "Someone explain what is going on, immediately!"

Merlin flinched at the tone of voice. It didn't matter how many times he'd heard it, it still jangled his nerves. Fortunately, Arthur was there and far more used to dealing with his irate father than any child really should have to be. As he passed by Merlin, he paused long enough to say quietly, "Check on Guinevere and Gaius and send every knight you see along the way back here."

"Right," he replied with a quick nod, relieved to be given an excuse to be anywhere but here.

Arthur's hand on his arm prevented him from immediately leaving, though. Merlin glanced over at the prince, wary of what else he might be told, or worse yet, asked. He didn't think Arthur had seen him hand the vial of poison to Morgause, but he couldn't be certain.

Arthur gave him a stern glare as he said, "After you've done that, you're to remain in your quarters until further notice. I have questions for you."

Merlin gulped nervously as his eyes strayed to Uther, who was half-listening to one of the knights now standing next to him. The king looked to be holding on to his patience and composure by sheer force of will. He was practically quivering with suppressed emotion, teeth gritted, arms rigid by his sides, hands fisted, eyebrows drawn together, eyes glittering dangerously. Merlin had no doubt facing Arthur's interrogation later, whatever that would entail, would be preferable to being questioned by Uther. This time there wouldn't even need to be an accusation of sorcery for him to find himself facing execution. I poisoned your ward, Sire. An entire vial of hemlock. I had to be certain, you see. He doubted he'd make it to the pyre or the chopping block, or even a cell in the dungeon. Uther would probably run him through where he stood. Possibly even kill him with his bare hands.

Merlin bowed his head in acknowledgment of Arthur's orders and said quietly, "Yes, Sire." Arthur seemed satisfied and let him go before striding quickly over to his father. The two immediately became engaged in a hushed but urgent conversation. Merlin had no difficulty imagining the challenge Arthur would have to keep his father in the realm of sanity and rationality. The king had, after all, been a helpless witness to Morgana being spirited away by a sorceress right in front of him.

Merlin drew a shaky breath and turned to go, but made a slight detour on his way to the door, bending to scoop up the poisoned flask of water. It wouldn't do at all to leave it where someone might see it and decide to slake their thirst with it. A memory flashed through his mind of the look of anguished shock in Morgana's eyes when she realized what he'd done, her strangled gasps as the poison took her breath, her flailing attempts to shove him away, the bitter ache in his heart as he gathered her up nonetheless, desperately trying to offer some measure of comfort. But what could ever make amends for what he'd done?

He felt something that might've been tears pricking his eyes and quickly ducked his head, his gaze falling on the blanket Morgana had been shredding to make rope. Simple, makeshift practicality. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and gathered up the blanket. There was something he needed to do, and he needed to do it quickly while general confusion still reigned and could provide cover for his actions. He had to take a sword from one of the Knights of Medhir and hide it until the time came to use it.

He hurried to the door, head still lowered, looking up again only after he'd crossed the threshold and turned into the corridor. The agitated voices of king, prince and knights blurred together into an indistinct swirl of sound behind him. He heaved a sigh of relief, his mind clearing a bit in the relative quiet. The hall was deserted, inhabited only by the haphazardly sprawled bodies of the unstrung Knights of Medhir.

He picked his way around and over heaps of cloaks and armor, wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the council chambers, just in case someone followed him. The last thing he needed right now was to be caught thieving magical weapons. He didn't think it mattered which sword he took. There hadn't seemed to be any apparent leader, at least not among the knights. That role had obviously fallen to Morgause.

As he reached the final knight, who was sprawled on his front with sword arm outstretched but hand still clutching his weapon, the distant sound of running footsteps caught his attention. He needed to act quickly. He slung the strap of the water skin over his head and across his body, shoving the guilty weight of poison around to rest against his back. He then gave the blanket a quick shake to unwind it a bit and held onto the edge of the fabric with his right hand while he reached down with his left to take the sword from the knight's grip.

As his fingers touched the pommel, a sharp pain unexpectedly flared up his arm, and he gave a yelp and snatched his hand back. The worst of the stinging immediately ceased, but a slight burning sensation lingered in the wound he'd gotten at Idirsholas. He had no time to wonder or worry about it now, though. The footsteps were getting closer.

He tossed the blanket over the blade and used his right hand to grip the pommel instead, this time with no adverse effects. There was a slight bit of resistance before the knight's fingers uncurled and released the hilt, then Merlin was on his feet, clumsily wrapping the sword as best he could as one of Arthur's men – Sir Gideon if he remembered correctly – came thundering around the corner and pulled up short at the sight of the dark-robed bodies littering the corridor.

"It's all right," Merlin called to him. "They're dead. Very, very dead. Deader than dead." Realizing he was starting to ramble, he shut his mouth deliberately, his teeth clicking together. Gideon gave him a confused look and his eyes wandered to the bundle Merlin had tucked under his arm, so he quickly added in a more controlled voice, "Prince Arthur needs you in the council chambers."

That was apparently all Gideon needed to hear to dismiss everything in front of him. He gave a sharp nod and headed towards the room beyond without a word in response. Merlin respectfully stepped to the side of the hall to let him pass, then immediately set off in the direction of Gaius's quarters.

He'd only gone a handful of paces, though, before he stopped and groaned in frustration. He really should check on Gwen first since Morgana's chambers were closer. But she would want to know where her mistress was. How could he possibly break the news to her that Morgana was gone? He didn't have the words, and even if he could find them, he didn't want to give them to her. She would be devastated.

He left Gwen behind for the time being, although his steps were slow and faltering, a sign of reluctance to abandon the responsibility that he of all people should have to shoulder. He knew he was being a coward, but he doubted he could be any kind of comfort to her now. There was an all too familiar hollow pain in his chest. Will and Freya. His heart still hurt for both of them and now it was aching again.

He took a deep and ragged breath and bit his lower lip as he blinked rapidly against blurring vision. Later. Not now. He increased his pace. The sooner he got to his room and hid the blasted sword, the sooner he could… Do what? Scream? Break something? Bloody his knuckles against the wall? Collapse in tears? None of it useful but at least one was likely unavoidable, sooner or later. Later. It had to be later.

He took a somewhat circuitous route towards Gaius's chambers in an attempt to escape notice as much as possible, but he still encountered rather more people than he would have liked. He dealt with them as quickly as he could, sending the knights on to the council chambers and directing a smattering of nobles back to their quarters with reassurances that matters were well in hand. They all seemed to be sufficiently confused or groggy not to question a servant telling them what to do, and thankfully none of them seemed much interested in what he was carrying. For all they knew he'd been taking some laundry to be washed before the sleeping sickness struck and had simply gotten up and carried on with his errand as soon as he woke up.

The handful of castle staff he passed seemed willing to take their cue from what he was telling the knights and nobles and went on about finding something useful to do, but a few of them did look at him a little more closely than was comfortable. Yet another reason not to have gone to Gwen first. She was more observant than most people probably realized, and her blacksmith's daughter's eyes would almost certainly identify what he was carrying as a sword wrapped in a blanket. He thought she would come to him privately first if she overheard or was asked anything about a missing weapon, but he didn't want to put her in that position. What he'd already done today was cause for more hurt than Gwen could possibly ever deserve, and he didn't want to add to it in the slightest degree.

When he finally arrived at the court physician's chambers, Gaius wasn't there. Merlin paused, recalling how he'd left his guardian lying on the floor, smiling with eyes wide open, but decidedly not awake and a bit damp besides. Of course Gaius must've roused along with everyone else and managed to get himself up. The small case he used to carry medicines and other supplies when he went to visit patients was also missing, leading Merlin to assume he'd gone in search of anyone needing care. So he'd failed in checking on both Gwen and Gaius. Arthur would probably be annoyed, especially in regards to Gwen, but if that was all the reason the prince found to be angry with him, he'd count himself lucky.

It was just as well Gaius wasn't there at the moment. Merlin wasn't entirely certain he wanted to tell him about the bargain he'd made with the dragon. Something else to deal with later, both the telling if he decided to do so, and the doing that ultimately couldn't be avoided. Damn the maddening, cryptic beast for driving him to swear on his mother's life.

He crossed the main chamber and quickly went up the stairs to his own room, then knelt and shoved the bundled sword under his bed. That much accomplished, he sat back on his heels, taking a moment to catch his breath. He had half a mind to keep the sword hidden there for a while. After all, he'd never given the dragon a specific time for his release and still hadn't done so. Thinking back to how his latest pleas for help had initially been met with derision and outright refusal, he thought it might even be warranted to wait a little while longer before fulfilling his promise.

Merlin…

The voice whispered into his mind as it had done many times before, but the timing was disturbing, as if the dragon knew what he was thinking. A shiver of fear worked its way up his back, but then the frustration and self-recrimination and sheer exhaustion that had been building in him broke through the barriers that had been allowing him to hold himself together. The rush of emotion and fatigue blended into anger as he pushed himself quickly to his feet. Could he not be allowed one quiet moment without someone making demands on him?

He pressed his hands to the sides of his head and shouted, "Shut up! Leave me alone!" There was no further response, but the spark of anger had taken hold of him. He suddenly felt hot, the room close and stifling. He yanked his jacket off and threw it into a corner then stumbled down the stairs into the main room. Desperate for an outlet and not caring what it was, he grabbed the first thing he could reach, a pile of papers and a couple of books on a bench, and threw them as hard as he could. The papers flew up in the air, but the weight of the books brought them quickly down to slam into the floor. The sudden noise made him flinch, and he took a faltering step backwards, his eyes settling on the topmost book. It was his magic book. The pages and cover weren't quite square any longer. He must've cracked the binding.

The rage he'd been feeling abruptly drained out of him and left a cold and empty place behind. He fell to his knees next to the book and skimmed his fingers over the cover. He thought he might be able to fix it or could ask Gaius to help him do so, but then he decided it might be better left that way. Broken, like him. Flawed and fettered and filled with things that had to be kept hidden, couldn't be used in the light of day, were reasons for damnation in the world he lived in.

Then the tears came. He had a stray and slightly hysterical thought that at least he'd managed to keep from completing his list of possible reactions to the horrors and heartbreak of this day by not pounding his fists into anything unforgiving. His arm ached enough as it was. He clutched at the wound and pressed hard to make it hurt more. He deserved the pain. It wasn't a battle wound at all. It was a mark of failure and cowardice.

He didn't have the energy in him to weep for very long. Even after he'd absentmindedly swept the tears away from his face with the back of his hand, he didn't see any particular reason to bother getting up from the floor. He shifted and settled into a sitting position, cross-legged, one hand still gripping his injured arm. There was something warm and sticky there. He must be bleeding again, but he didn't care enough to do anything about it. He simply sat there staring at the floor, not moving even when he heard the door open.

"Merlin?" The voice was soft and cautious. Gaius. An expectant pause, then the sound of the door closing, the shuffling of feet, a hand gently laid on his shoulder. "Arthur said you were hurt. Come sit up here and let me take a look."

It was such a simple and practical request that Merlin found himself responding without thought. He was so stiff and cramped from sitting on the floor and riding league upon league at a gallop and hauling the king's sleeping body about the castle that he was slow to get himself up onto the bench next to Gaius's work table. He had to let go of his injured arm to do so, but that was just as well since Gaius couldn't very well look at it otherwise.

Gaius's steady hands unknotted the strip of torn fabric binding the wound, and then he peered at the injury through the rent in the sleeve for a moment before he sat back and said, "I'll need you to take your shirt off so I can get a better look."

Merlin gave a slight nod and fumbled with the loop and buckle of his belt for a moment before he managed to undo them. He pulled the long strip of leather from around his waist and absently draped it over the bench beside him, but when he raised his arms to pull his shirt over his head, he gasped in pain and had to quickly lower his arms again. Gaius had to help him with that part of the task, efficiently pulling the sleeve from the uninjured arm first, then lifting the shirt over his head and down and off the hurt arm, all without much jostling or additional discomfort. But then Gaius prodded the wound with a finger and Merlin hissed at the flare of pain set off by the pressure. He looked over and down and finally got a good look at the injury. It was a shallow cut but much longer than he'd expected, beginning in the middle of his upper arm and running nearly to his elbow.

Gaius slid his hands underneath to cradle the arm while he peered and squinted at it from several angles. It seemed to Merlin to be a ridiculous amount of scrutiny for something relatively minor, but Gaius was obviously concerned for some reason. Merlin was about to ask him what he could possibly be looking for when the physician finally pulled back and sat up straight. He carefully bent the injured arm at the elbow and guided the hand down to rest in Merlin's lap.

"No sign of infection or other ill effects," Gaius said with a slight smile as he calmly looked at Merlin. For some reason Merlin felt his guardian's composure was somewhat strained, but he supposed he might very well be projecting his own unsettled emotions. "Not very deep either," Gaius went on, "which is good, but the length of it concerns me. Some stitches, I think, just to be sure."

"Stitches?" Merlin asked in confusion. "It's just a scratch." He wasn't quite sure why Arthur had even mentioned it to Gaius.

"A scratch inflicted by an enchanted blade," Gaius said sternly, his eyebrows lopsidedly quirking upwards as usually happened when he was contemplating Merlin's intelligence or lack thereof.

"How can you tell?" he asked hesitantly as he slid his right hand under the opposite elbow to give his injured arm some support. He was suddenly acutely aware of the feeling of prickling heat that seemed to have settled in the wound. "I don't even remember getting it."

"I know a wound made by a sharpened edge when I see it, so unless Arthur or one of his men made a lunge at you at Idirsholas, I think it's safe to say this came from one of the Knights of Medhir."

Merlin's eyes flicked down to look at the wound again. Now he thought about it, the clean slice through his jacket and shirt should have told him he'd been grazed by a blade and not some kind of debris in the ruins or the rough edges of falling stone. Arthur must've known immediately when he'd seen it, but it hadn't exactly been a high priority at the time, no matter the nature of the injury.

The pain when he'd touched the sword in the corridor outside the council chambers was further evidence of the wound's origin, but he'd dismissed it in light of the more urgent matter of hiding the pilfered weapon before he was discovered toting it about the castle. Now he wondered if the sword he'd stolen was the same as the one that had wounded him or if it even mattered. The knights had shared their original enslavement, had been called forth together by Morgause's spell, had been bound to her will. A chill feathered unexpectedly across his chest and he hunched his shoulders in reaction.

Gaius's hand instantly went to Merlin's forehead and stayed there for a long moment. The steady contact was comforting. He briefly thought about telling Gaius about his reaction to the sword, but then he decided against it. It was probably nothing to be overly concerned about and the admission might lead to questions he wasn't sure he wanted to answer right now, such as why he was touching one of the swords at all.

"You don't have a fever," Gaius said as he moved his hand from Merlin's forehead to under his chin, applying a slight upwards pressure that Merlin responded to automatically, raising his head to allow Gaius to peer intently into his eyes.

He blinked a few times as he forced himself to hold Gaius's gaze. He knew the physician was simply assessing his condition, but it felt like something more. He couldn't keep himself from looking away after a moment, turning his head to the side as Gaius withdrew his hand. He shuffled one foot against the floor as he muttered, "I'm just a bit cold." It was true enough. He wasn't exactly accustomed to sitting around without a shirt.

Gaius didn't make any further comment, and Merlin kept his eyes averted, shifting his gaze downwards to fix on the toe of his boot. He heard Gaius get up, and a moment later a blanket was being draped over his right shoulder, pulled around his back and under his wounded arm. Merlin used the fingers of his right hand to hold onto the edges of the blanket and keep it securely wrapped around him. The wool was thick and coarse and felt odd against his bare skin, but at least it helped to keep the warmth of his body where it belonged.

He sighed and closed his eyes as he realized he was tired enough to fall asleep right then, but the ache in his arm prevented him from drifting off entirely. He felt Gaius gently wiping the skin around the wound with a damp cloth that smelled of an earthy mixture of herbs with a trace of vinegar. The aroma was familiar to him, a sort of mild disinfectant Gaius used to cleanse the area around wounds. That was followed by some sort of thick, greasy substance smeared directly over the wound itself.

The pain dwindled significantly after that, probably because of something in the ointment, but Merlin was still aware of the prick of the needle and the pull of the thread through his skin. The sensation nauseated him, forcing him to concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths until the roiling in his stomach settled. It was probably a good thing he hadn't had much to eat recently. There simply hadn't been time.

When he felt a bandage being wrapped around his arm, he opened his eyes again and caught a glimpse of the stitches before the wound disappeared beneath several wide layers of firmly wrapped linen. He knew sewing a wound closed was a sound medical practice, but he couldn't help but think that it often made injuries appear worse than they were. Between the stitching and the amount of bandaging, he was hard pressed to think of any difference between the treatment of this particular wound and one that had gone to the bone, apart from treatment for infection. At least he'd avoided having the cut flushed out with the foul-smelling liquid Gaius reserved for more serious injuries.

"That should take care of it for now," Gaius said as he firmly tied off the ends of the bandage, "but I'll want to have another look at it in the morning."

Merlin nodded. He supposed he should get up now but was finding it difficult to gather the energy to do so. The hesitation turned out to be unfortunate since Arthur arrived at that moment, cutting off any opportunity for delaying the inevitable questions. Best to get this over with, he supposed, whatever might happen or be revealed, but he couldn't help but feel trapped. There would certainly be consequences, if not now, then soon enough.