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I Am the Embers of You Fire - You Are the Breaking of My Dawn
Part 18

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Arthur – Arthur!

He wakes to a never-ending echo ringing in his ears.

"Merlin! Good heavens, are you all right?"

A pair of familiar, old hands grasps his forearms just as he opens his eyes, everything swimming into view. His body is sore, his head aching. The floor beneath him is cold and hard and uncomfortable against his back.

Gaius is there, hovering over him with a worried expression on his face. "You've taken a blow to the head and probably bruised your back quite heavily – thank god there is no blood," the physician says, helping him to sit but obviously reluctant about having him walking about, because when Merlin tries hauling himself to his feet the old man sternly holds him back down. "Merlin, you're injured, you shouldn't—"

"Arthur," he gasps, "Sophia's got Arthur – she's enchanted him! She's going to kill him! I must stop her!"

His head spins for a moment but with a push of wordless magic, he manages to rise, ignoring his mentor's protests. He understands why he's worried but it doesn't matter now – Arthur's in danger. And Merlin is the only one who can stop Sophia; she's got magic and no Knight's sword could better that.

"I've got to find them, Gaius," he says desperately and his mentor sighs, but nods.

"Just be careful, Merlin."

()()()

Arthur – just hold on, wait for me, I'm hurrying…!

His feet thunders across the ground. He has no maps guiding him, no voices, just the magic raw in his hands and there – there! Like a golden thread, spiraling in-between the trees, there is the trace of sorcery and Arthur, Arthur –

()()()

The old man is standing by the edge of the water, chanting, his back turned. The girl stand knee-deep into the lake, hand outstretched. Merlin has no plans formulated in his mind, he just throws his magic at them – he spots the staff abandoned near the old man's feet then. He has no idea how to use it and it doesn't matter. He channels his magic, raw and uninhibited, through it.

The old man – who is no man at all – turns around right before the blue pulse hits him, turning him into fragments.

The girl screams right before she shatters.

Merlin drops the staff with a thud.

"Arthur!"

He can't see Arthur.

Without hesitation he dives into the muddy water. Each second lasts for an hour. His vision is blurry, he can't see – oh gods, Arthur, Arthur, he can't see him! – and he fumbles, stretching out his hands for something, anything to grasp. Momentarily he loses his footing on the rocky bottom of the lake, and slips further down, into the dark.

There.

A glimmer.

Armour?

Merlin reaches out, pushing his magic outward and – there! His hand finds something cold. Curls around it, grasping tight. Then, in a final effort, he tugs upward, his lungs burning for air.

He breaks the surface with a gasp. His fists, already cold and hurting under the strain, haven't let go. His limbs won't cooperate properly, his heartbeat furiously propelled by his fear – as his vision starts to clear and he realizes that he's really holding onto Arthur. Reality. Comprehensible. He slips an arm around the man to not lose him.

The shore seems to be miles away.

"Oh god, breathe, breathe, please," Merlin rasps as he struggles with the Prince's heavy weight. The armour almost pulls them back under the surface and the warlock's eyes glow golden for a moment, then the fastenings on the leg and armguards loosen and they sink back into the depth – now it doesn't matter that the pieces of metal are lost, they're replaceable, unlike Arthur - and with some of the weight gone he manages to drag the man ashore, chest heaving as his lungs scream for oxygen.

Arthur still hasn't opened his eyes.

"Oh god, oh god, please don't be dead. You stupid idiot dollophead, don't you dare die on me now!"

Merlin curses vehemently as he with freezing, trembling fingers struggles to find the Prince's pulse against his neck; he can't control his hands, they're shaking and words roll uselessly off his tongue, panicked and helpless. And his magic coils, like a storm reaching out trying to find Arthur and wake him, but the man doesn't respond.

"Oh please, please be alive, oh, you cabbage head you can't die now, we've not fulfilled out destiny yet, we're not there yet and I can't lose you and you can't –"

After a painful long wait, he finds it, weak but regular underneath the skin.

What should he do? Merlin is no physician, he has no idea what do to a person that's nearly drowned. He can just go on instinct. He's running on overdrive on adrenaline and his heart beats so fast against his ribcage, it's painful, and the silence of the woods is deafening. He pushes the man over on his side and hits his back firmly, trying to expel the water from inside him.

Abruptly Arthur's whole body spasms with a cough, followed by another and another, as water is forced from his lungs and he starts retching, shaking violently. Merlin's holding onto his shoulders and, not even aware of what he's doing, he sends of waves of magic through his fingertips trying to soothe the man.

"Arthur!"

The chainmail is icy beneath his palms, but it doesn't matter. "I've got you, it's all right. I've got you."

The Prince's eyes flicker, almost opening and Merlin leans into the man's field of vision, over his shoulder, holding the man supporting him against his chest. The man's weight presses tightly against him and right now he can't bring himself to care about hiding any secrets. "Arthur? Can you hear me? Arthur?"

"…'rlin?" the man rasps. The eyes open fully, not quite steady.

Relief floods through him like a tidal wave.

"Yes, it's me, it's me – it's all right, you're all right."

He might be saying it just in a pathetic attempt to calm himself down, but it doesn't matter, because Arthur's eyes find some focus. "It's all right," Merlin repeats, gently, stroking some matted hair back from the Prince's forehead.

Merlin is grabbed by a strong urge to lean down those few inches and press his lips to Arthur and taste them, taste them and feel that Arthur's truly alive, to make sure – he has to make sure - everything is a blur except for Arthur's weight pressing against him and the blue eyes staring up at him.

They are clear now: startlingly so, and their real true colour, not that chilling red tone. They're free of the sidhe's enchantment and staring up at him brightly and, then, Arthur's face moves closer to his.

Suddenly they're kissing – it's brief and surreal and Merlin can't breathe, can't think. Arthur tastes of strength and hope and safety, his lips slightly charred against his own, there's a hand resting against his thigh, heavy and warm and the fingers are slightly curled. Arthur's wet tongue presses against him – Is he aware? Is he really awake or having some vivid dream? – and Merlin parts his lips and their teeth clash painfully and, oh, oh god, Arthur's kissing him –

"Merlin," Arthur sighs quietly, before unconsciousness claims him again, eyes rolling back in their sockets, and he falls limp in the warlock's arms.

Dazed, Merlin if Arthur's not really alive and it's just an illusion, some kind of dream and if it is then he might not be alive either.

()()()

It's Gaius that finds them, nearly an hour later, by the shore.

Merlin hasn't the strength to move Arthur and even if he did, he can't exactly carry an unconscious Prince back to the city without creating chaos. So he sits here by the man's side, staring at his face and wondering – and fearing – what Arthur will remember, how he'll react when he wakes again. Like in a trance, he doesn't move when Gaius nears or speaks, barely reacting at the old man's presence.

"I have alerted sir Leon and he will be on his way momentarily," the physician says and kneels beside him. "I said I feared that the Prince would attempt to elope with Sophia, but wasn't right in his mind and he was willing to help. The King is unaware as of yet. Albeit I believe he must be told. Merlin. Merlin? Are you all right?"

The old man lays a hand on his shoulder and shakes it gently and Merlin wavers slightly like losing balance. Then finally he lifts his head. He's not really listened to what Gaius has said.

"I'm, I'm fine. I just. He nearly … nearly – I thought I was too late. I thought I was too late. I - oh god." Like a damn bursting the words spill over his tongue, a flood of emotion; "He's not woken up yet. Is he going to be all right? Will he be all right? Gaius?!"

"I know, I understand," Gaius says very gently even if he doesn't. "He'll recover; I'll make sure of it." The man opens his medical bag and for some reason there's one of Merlin's red shirts resting perfectly folded on top of the equipment. "You should change into this, Merlin."

"What? Why?"

He stares at the man in confusion.

"Your clothes are still damp; it's not good for your health. And we don't want anyone to get suspicious about your secret. I am glad I had such foresight."

Abruptly understanding what the old man means, Merlin scrambles to wrap his arms protectively around himself. Although knowing about his gender, Gaius has never seen him, and the tunic is plastered to his body giving no cover. The old man had always given him privacy.

"R-right," he mutters unsteadily and takes the tunic, turning away to change, facing the water – the surface is now tranquil, an illusion giving no hint to the dangers beneath. The warlock's hands are a bit unsteady when starting to undo the fastenings, and not for the same reason as they were an hour ago.

The memory is so sharply etched to his memory: he can still feel it, the tug of the water and the icy armour pressing against his hands relentlessly – and, countering it, Arthur's warmth and Arthur's mouth and Arthur's heartbeat.

Gaius is already occupied with examining the unconscious Prince, tugging the man's armour off him. "He's starting to grow cold, that's not good," he states. "The metal so close to his skin, after being so long in the water … I should have brought a blanket. I hope sir Leon has enough sense to do so."

"He knows then, about the sidhe?" Merlin asks, surprised, rolling up the wet cloth and putting it his mentor's bag. He'd expected the King to know then because the knight is very loyal to Uther, as well as to Arthur, and if the King had known there'd have been a complete uproar.

"He has not been told, no. But he is not a stupid man and noticed Arthur has been acting strange as of late, so I believe he'll be able to piece the picture together rather quickly. Thus, we must let the King know of it all before he finds out bits and pieces from anyone else and comes to believe any falsities or rumours. Excluding the details of your interventions, of course," Gaius adds. "Now, help an old man to get this off. You comprehend armour better than I do."

It's not that difficult, and beneath the layer of metal the Prince's clothes are damp. "He needs to get warm and into dry clothes."

"I could magic them dry," Merlin suggests carefully but his mentor sends him a look, eyebrows lowered in displeasure.

"Not in the open like this, that's too dangerous. Sir Leon could arrive at any moment!"

"But Gaius, you said it yourself; it's dangerous for him to be cold. What if he …?"

He chokes on the word – no! he can't let it happen, can't think of it.

With a sigh, the old man gives in, and if there's berating to face later Merlin is more than willing to endure it. "Be quick about it then."

The warlock makes up the spell on the top of his head, not for the first time; thankfully it works as he wants it to. Immediately the water is forced from the Prince's every garment, also the boots, and forms a small pool by his side that glitters in the sunlight. Then Merlin helps Gaius move him a bit further up the shore, away from the evidence of magic, and they lay him back down again resting his head gently on the grass.

"Merlin, where are the sidhes' staffs?"

The warlock points across the clearing, where the items by chance have landed out of sight. "By that crooked tree there, in the high grass. Should I go get them?"

"No," the old man shakes his head. "Not yet. You may come back for them later. Just keep quiet about them for now, and let's hope no one notices them."

Merlin nods in understanding. If the staffs were to be found by, say, a knight, and taken back to Camelot, they would immediately be destroyed or put in the vaults, locked away from all inquisitive eyes. He's got a hunch Gaius would like to examine the staffs and perhaps the warlock might even find some use of them in the future. Either way, it's best if they're kept hidden.

"Admittedly I'm curious, but your tale on how you defeated the sidhe must wait until another time," Gaius says. "Listen." Both of then tunes their ears to the surrounding woods, and true enough: "Hoof-beats."

()()()

It's one of the knights; the warlock recognizes him as being one of the oldest and most experienced ones, whom Arthur has always favoured. The Prince had often discusses battle tactics with him and dueled with him on the training field.

Sir Leon's red cape whips about him as he dismounts, rushing up to them. "By the gods!" he cries out when seeing the unconscious Prince, clearly fearing the worst. As if having a sixth sense of them being needed, the knight has had two woolen blankets attached to his saddlebags and Merlin quickly goes to get them.

The knight doesn't spare him a second glance, entirely focused on the Prince and the physician. "Is he all right?"

This mustn't be the scene the knight had expected to come upon after hearing the Prince had snuck off to elope with some girl.

"He took a bump to the head," Gaius says, and Merlin senses the old man must've fabricated this lie long before sir Leon's arrival at the scene. "Apparently, Sophia's father found them as they were to elope and tried to drown the Prince, after which he must've taken his daughter and fled. We've seen no sign of them."

"Drown him?" sir Leon exclaims aghast. "The King must be told immediately. We must have a patrol search for them –"

"It would do no good, I'm afraid, not now. From my nephew's account I fear both were magic users. He saw the woman leave with the Prince and, sensing something wasn't right, followed them. I am glad, since he managed to pull Arthur ashore in time."

The knight's eyes are momentarily drawn to Merlin, who's covering the Prince with a blanket and tucking in the edges to keep him warm.

"The King will be eternally grateful," the man says sincerely, though there's an odd expression on his face. Maybe it's disbelief. After all, Merlin is just a mere servant, a commoner, and now he's saved the Prince yet another time, despite nearly impossible odds – facing and overcoming harmful magical deeds. Sir Leon does not know the boy, but he's heard talk among the castle staff, loose rumour here and there; the boy truly is a wonder. "Again, it seems."

"Oh, it – it was nothing, really, I'd have done it for anyone," Merlin mutters, ears going red and he busies himself with fiddling with Arthur's blanket. "I just couldn't have left him, could I?"

The words are like false echoes; they mirror nothing of what Merlin feels, mirror nothing of the tempest raging in his heart, nothing of the fear that'd leapt to his throat making it difficult to breathe when Arthur had almost slipped from his grasp and sunk back down into the murky water where he'd be out of reach.

"No, you couldn't," Gaius agrees, unaware of his ward's inner turmoil. Or perhaps he is, but cannot speak of it either way. "Sir Leon, perhaps you could help us to get Prince Arthur into the saddle. I would assume it's the easiest way to get him back to Camelot."

"Of course."

Arthur is no small man, but Leon isn't either and his arms are strong; and with Merlin supporting the Prince on the other side they manage to get him up and into the saddle, even if some adjustments are needed. They fasten his feet in the stirrups, so that he won't fall down, and Merlin checks to make sure the blanket is secure as well around the Prince's shoulders before Leon takes the reins, starting to lead the horse back onto the path.

"How exactly do we explain this to the King?" Merlin quietly asks Gaius, glancing at his mentor. "And the guards? I think people are going to be upset when seeing Arthur like this."

"With the truth, albeit carefully. There is no other choice. We must reveal that the Sidhe were responsible for this … though the King will not take it very well. Now, keep an eye on the Prince, Merlin, and make sure he doesn't fall off. We do not need him to hit his head again."

()()()

As predicted, the guards are staring at them as they enter the city, but they aren't hindered, thanks to sir Leon's presence. Word spreads like wildfire through the lower town and onwards, so by the time they enter the courtyard, the castle guard, the majority of the servants and most importantly the King have already been alerted of the situation.

Uther is ashen-faced but his voice doesn't waver and he hides his worry behind a façade of ire. "What happened?" he demands to know, not taking his eyes off his unconscious son.

"I'm afraid I do not know all details, sire," sir Leon says and bows respectfully. "I believe Gaius can tell you all. Please, the Prince needs to get inside."

"He will recover, sire, of that I am sure," Gaius fills in to calm Uther some. Merlin is glad that the King has taken no notice of him, an insignificant servant boy, yet. "He needs to be taken inside, to his chambers; he needs to rest."

"Of course. I shall come with you." The King stiffly gestures for his servants and bodyguards to follow, and now with so many men around willing to help lift the Prince inside Merlin finds himself standing empty-handed and restless on the lowest step leading into the citadel.

Thankfully Gaius sees this and calls for him. "Come with me, Merlin, I can use your aid."

()()()

The trip to the Prince's chamber is hushed and each passer-by stares openly, murmuring behind the back of their hands.

Merlin keeps on walking still not quite sure if he's dreaming or not. His feet guide him the right way without him having to think of it, he's taken this path too many times before to count. But it's strange to follow such a large entourage and he barely catches a glimpse of Arthur between the knights and Gaius and the King, who still haven't spoken much, and his stomach is tying knots on itself.

Arthur had woken briefly before, yes, but what if there are complications? What if he's really been in the water for too long? What if he's injured in some other way they don't know of? What if …?

The familiar doors open and the chambers are swarmed with more people than Merlin has ever before seen in it. They settle Arthur on the bed, the King hovering by the bedside and Gaius busies himself with checking the Prince's pulse and breathing. The knights stand back, uncertain of what to do next.

"Leave," the King dismisses them distractedly. "Go back to your duties."

As the men bow deeply and backs out of the room, ever sending worried glances toward the limp figure upon the bed, Merlin lingers in the background waiting for some command or sign or anything. The King's presence is somewhat unnerving.

"Will he recover, Gaius?" Uther asks, voice low.

"Yes. I believe he will wake soon. He needs to be kept warm though. Merlin, find another blanket."

There's a fur-lined one in the cupboard next to the door that the Prince hasn't used yet while Merlin's been in Camelot; it's sitting there ready to be taken out at the first sign of snow. Merlin digs it out from the back and then drapes it over the Prince's shoulders - they're warm now, broad and steady and Merlin remembers them pressing against him, as Arthur's body was next to his own and abruptly, a hot blush spreads across his neck and cheeks. Hastily he steps away hoping neither King or physician has noticed the reaction.

Uther stares at the slumped form on the bed, face old and weary with concern. For a moment he doesn't look like a cold-hearted, ruthless King: no, he's just a man who's worried for his son and he looks even older than usual, worn and tired by many long years, and Merlin feels a twinge of pity for him.

"Come to me immediately if there's any change," Uther orders at length, sounding collected and focused and kingly, though his eyes flicker. "I must inform the council."

"Of course, sire," Gaius says, voice assuring. "I shall let you know the moment he wakes up."