Chapter 6

Over the next few days, Merlin steadily grew better, more trusting.

Of course, he spent about eighteen hours each day sleeping, but that was perhaps for the best. When he was awake, he was usually being made to drink some water or broth. It was kept on standby since Merlin refused to be roused by any means, and would wake whenever he felt like it. This meant that at least one knight had to be present at all times, ready to first comfort him from any remnants of nightmares and to assure him that he was safe, and then to feed him until he drifted off again. At any given time he was awake it was hardly for more than ten minutes.

Slowly but surely Merlin began to believe that his surroundings and friends were real. Lancelot and Merlin, of course, would certainly not mention that it was because Lancelot asked about his magic. And it was at that time that Lancelot discovered, finally, why Merlin could not escape. He had suspected that the brand had had something to do with it, but he was shocked to discover that his friend's magic had been completely blocked off. It had only made Merlin ill for the first few hours after receiving it, but his physical body had adjusted to its disappearance - or something like that.

Meanwhile, Arthur had hurriedly sent off the letters explaining their whereabouts and what had happened. In Guinevere's letter, he had given as minute details as he possibly could - They were safe in Nemeth while Merlin recuperated from some injuries he had sustained, and it might be a bit before they could head back again. Gaius's letter had nearly killed him to write. After several wasted sheets of parchment, Arthur finally decided to put it as such: They were safe in Nemeth while Merlin recuperated from some injuries he had sustained, and it might be a bit before they could head back again, and would it be possible that Gaius could come to Nemeth to be with Merlin because he was not so well and was being difficult in his pain and disorientation - Which wasn't exactly a lie, was it? But it was as much detail as Arthur could force himself to spare. It was unfair to Gaius, he knew, but he also knew that it wasn't entirely too wise to put such personal information into written words.

Or he was a coward.

But in any case, he had gotten nearly instant replies via a hawk from Camelot's aviary. Both stated their concern for Merlin's well-being and for the others (Gwen thought to ask after Rodor and Mithian's health as well), and expressed their desire for their speedy and safe return. On Gaius's part he was unable to come at the moment, having to deal with a small epidemic in Camelot, but said to tell Merlin to behave or Gaius would make sure all his tonics tasted worse than usual. Arthur didn't have the heart to relay that particular message to Merlin, but did tell him that Gwen and Gaius both wished him well soon and would be waiting for their return.

At the moment Gwaine and Arthur happened to be sitting quietly in the padded chairs that had been brought into the room. They were situated on either side of the bed, with Gwaine closer to the windows and Arthur to the door. Merlin had yet to wake since they changed shift with Lancelot and Percival.

Gwaine studied Merlin. His face had regained some color, and his fever had greatly reduced. In fact, it looked as though it had finally gone completely. The bags under his eyes hadn't gotten any worse, and if he stared long enough he was sure that he had improved. Underneath the covers Merlin's wounds had begun to heal, and the infections had been purged, thankfully. Merlin was finally a little comfortable, no longer in pain.

When Eirny had last come to visit she had brought with her a loaf of bread with the instruction that he should have it with his broth, but only a few bites. If his stomach could hold it down, then he was to be given a bit more each time he woke. This would build up his strength, hopefully. The fire they had lighted in the grate would also make sure he didn't feel the chill. Merlin was still skin and bones as it was. Arthur was feeling very impatient with the whole situation - he just wanted to take Merlin home, more than anything. He knew that he always felt better when he could recover in his own bed, so he was sure Merlin would feel the same. Not that he'd admit that he was taking Merlin's feelings into consideration. That was preposterous.

Almost as though Merlin knew that Arthur was thinking about him, he shifted slightly and cracked his eyes open. "A'th'r."

"Yes, Merlin."

"Th-they...too...k...th't d-dag...r."

Arthur pulled a face. "What on earth are you babbling about, Merlin?"

Gwaine spoke up, "The dagger you gave him before we set out. The 'traders' stole it. You know, like my armor and sword."

"Ah," Arthur said, returning his attention to a drowsy Merlin. "Then I suppose I'll just have to get you a new one. It's no matter."

"It is matter," Merlin insisted, eyes widening slightly. "You-wuh...gave it t-to me."

The king regarded his manservant for a long moment. "Don't be an idiot, Merlin. It wasn't even expensive."

Merlin scowled. "P-prat."

Arthur managed to contain his sudden grin to a smirk. "Clotpole."

"Th-that's my word."

"Well, I'm your master, so I can take whatever I want from you, Merlin. You should know that by now."

Merlin's smile faltered a moment, but then it reappeared, this time forced. Arthur suddenly realized his choice of words and started to backtrack desperately, but Gwaine intervened.

"Here," he said, quickly grabbing the cup of broth. "It's still a bit warm, I think. And look, you've got some fresh, delicious bread to go with it, eh?"

It was a quick and efficient distraction, especially since Merlin had slowly been regaining his appetite. A thin, shaking hand snaked its way out of Merlin's warm cocoon and took the piece of bread Gwaine had torn from the loaf. Arthur folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. It was strange to watch Merlin eat - It was something he'd normally given very little thought to, other than the occasional insight that Merlin was too thin. The king resolved to make sure Merlin ate three meals a day, even if he had to share his own food. Thinking back, Arthur had noticed that Merlin often swiped some of his sausages or a roll, so he practically did share already. Hm.

At that particular moment there was a light knock on the door, and Mithian appeared. The king and knight stood, and Merlin looked as though he wanted to do the same, but Gwaine pushed the broth cup at him and told him to drink slowly. The invalid warlock scowled and managed to clutch it tightly enough to prevent himself from spilling it down his front, and his companions approached Mithian.

"How is he?" she asked quietly once they were standing before her.

"Better," Arthur answered just as Gwaine replied, "He could do with a bit of mead, if you ask me."

Mithian smiled. "Good. I am glad. But I'm afraid we're fresh out of mead at the moment, Sir Gwaine."

"Is there some matter you wish to discuss, Princess?" Arthur asked before Gwaine could express his despair.

"Well, it has come to the attention of my knights that you are here," Mithian said with an amused chuckle. "They are impressed by the stories they've heard of you, and some are asking after a demonstration on your part. Of course, if you're not up to it..."

Arthur was very much aware of Merlin's curious stare boring into the back of his head. They had been speaking quietly enough so that Merlin was unable to hear, even with his overly large ears. The king smiled. "Of course I'm up to it, Mithian," he said boldly. He had raised his voice so that Merlin could not possibly miss his words.

Her eyebrows went up at the change in tone, but she quickly caught on. "Well, it just so happens that they're waiting for your arrival this instance, King Arthur."

"Very well," he drawled. "I suppose I shall grace them with my presence and floor them with my skill."

"Very good, King Arthur," Mithian curtsied.

Arthur spun on his heel, facing Merlin with an incredibly bored expression. Merlin's eyes shined curiously - a great change from their previous dullness. "Merlin, I'm afraid I must show Nemeth's knights how to fight properly. Unfortunately, from what I've seen they're even more useless with a sword than you are."

Merlin mocked offense, raising his head slightly from his mound of pillows. " 'S a wonder Ne...meth is st-still st-standing." Then his head dropped back down, all his energy reverted to holding his cup.

Arthur nodded approvingly. "For once, you may be right, Merlin. I'll be back, probably." With that he and Mithian left, the latter giggling into her hand. Gwaine grinned at their backs, glad to see Merlin cheered up at least a little.

When he turned back to Merlin, though, he was staring down at the broth.

"Something wrong, mate?"

Merlin slowly lifted his eyes to Gwaine. "I...don't like this." His cheeks flushed a little, and he averted his gaze.

Gwaine, startled at first, laughed. Merlin looked offended and a bit shamefaced, but still did not meet his friend's eyes.

The knight's grin didn't fade one bit even as he took the cup and looked down at it. It was a bit cold, then, and probably wasn't too good to begin with. It was a vegetable broth, after all. "I'll see if the kitchen can't fix up something better, eh?"

Merlin tentatively smiled and ducked his head. "Thanks," he said, hardly above a whisper.

"I'll be back - definitely."

Gwaine, with the cup in hand, sauntered to the door and swiftly exited, closing it lightly behind him to ensure Merlin's privacy. As soon as the door clicked, Merlin stiffened, eyes wide. He pushed the blankets off, bolting upright, and then kicked his gangly legs free.

He'd have to move quickly. It was his only chance, the one opportunity he'd waited days for. There was only one way to know for certain if it would work, and though he wasn't looking forward to it, it had to be done.

Merlin's bare feet touched the cold floor, and he stumbled on disused legs before crashing to his hands and knees. He'd forgotten about his sore ankle. He didn't bother trying to push himself back up. It would waste time he didn't have. Merlin crawled the rest of the short distance to the fire grate. His heart pounded quickly in his chest. He didn't know how far the kitchens were, or how long Arthur would be gone. Any of the other knights could walk in at any moment, or Eirny. Merlin couldn't let any of them catch him. He had to do it.

It took him a moment to locate the poker, and when he did it was almost too heavy for him (how sad! pathetic! weak! useless!). He pushed the end deep into the glowing red wood, into the heart of the fire. He knew it would take a moment to heat up, but he wasn't sure he had the time. His heart jittered in his chest like a panicked bird, and his hands wrung the hem of his nightshirt. Merlin's blue eyes darted furtively to the door, then back to the rod, and then to the door again. He licked his dry lips.

The instant he heard approaching footsteps, Merlin yanked his shirt up with one hand and grabbed the iron poker with his other. As the door swung open, Merlin pressed the red-hot tip to the brand above his navel, and couldn't withhold the raw yelp that resulted.

"Merlin?!"

Merlin dropped the poker with a clang, tears streaming, lips pressed tight to suppress his cries of pain. He doubled over and pressed the soft fabric of his shirt to the new burn, but a moment later he was being hauled up by strong hands.

"What have you done?" Gwaine asked, horrified, though he already knew the answer.

"I-is 't g-gone?" Merlin choked out, grabbing Gwaine's sleeve as though it were his lifeline. "G-gone?" Without receiving an answer, his eyes rolled back and he fell limply into Gwaine's embrace, unconscious.

Gwaine sat stunned for a moment before regaining his senses. "Call the physician!" he roared, turning over his shoulder. He gathered Merlin into his arms once he was sure he heard the footsteps receding - Elyan's, he thought, since he was the quickest sprinter - and carried him back to the bed. Of all the times-! He'd only been gone about five minutes, having run into a servant and asked that a hot soup be delivered to Merlin's chambers and turned back.

He was suddenly aware of someone shaking him, pulling him back from Merlin's still form. Leon struck him across the face, and Gwaine blinked in surprise before jerking out of the senior knight's hold. "What happened?" Leon demanded again. Lancelot and Percival stood behind him, eyes roaming Merlin for any injuries. So Elyan had run for the physician.

"He -" Gwaine cut off. What was he supposed to say? Merlin burned himself. Yes, that was what had occurred. And Gwaine knew why, too, but would they ask? Understand? Misunderstand?

At last Lancelot moved forward, apparently too impatient to hear Gwaine's explanation. Somehow he had managed to take the time to observe his surroundings - the poker was still sizzling a bit at one end - and knew the true meaning of the brand. He lifted Merlin's shirt, and lo and behold, the brand had been melted away and replaced with blistering flesh. The poker had not been large enough to destroy the entire symbol, but most of the runes had been burned away. Perhaps it was enough to allow Merlin's magic back.

He heard Leon and Percival hiss sympathetically behind him.

"Arthur isn't going to like this," Leon sighed.

"No one likes this," Gwaine snapped.

Eirny arrived at last with Elyan following closely behind, carrying her things. She huffed, more than a little winded, and pushed the men out of her way so that she could attend her patient. A new addition to his swathe of wounds had appeared: a burn - self-inflicted, obviously.

Eirny sighed and took a moment to catch her breath. The knight who had been sent to fetch her had had no idea why - he'd simply heard his comrade's desperation and heeded it. So she had quickly gathered a multitude of tonics and ointments and bandages and rushed off. Really all she needed was a simple salve and he'd be fine.

She frowned and snatched the right bottle from Elyan's hands and set to work. It only took a minute, for it was a rather minor wound. Once it was finished, she righted his shirt and stepped back, motioning for the closest knight - Lancelot - to cover him up. He did so and she relieved Elyan of her medicines. At last she fixated a stern glance on the guilty-looking group.

"It's only natural that something like this should happen," Eirny said matter-of-factly, "in his mental state. That brand, a mark of possession, was heavy on his conscience. It's only reasonable that he would want to rid himself of it."

Gwaine could have collapsed with relief from her explanation. It made complete sense, and it had weight behind the words - she was a physician, after all. And it had nothing whatsoever to do with magic.

The others nodded sadly, and Gwaine quickly followed suit. It wasn't going to be him going around raising any doubt. With that, Eirny excused herself, and Elyan offered to carry her things back for her, which she accepted. Gwaine sat heavily in the chair that Arthur had previously occupied, and Lancelot laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You two should go back and rest," Lancelot said. "You've both earned it."

Leon and Percival nodded, though not in agreement. They acknowledged that there was nothing for them to do here, and that they were tired. It was better for everyone if they did so, so they did. That left Gwaine and Lancelot with an unconscious Merlin.

Eventually Lancelot left Gwaine's side to take up residence in the chair on the other side of the bed. The latter had yet to stir from his apparent stupor. Several long minutes passed, and neither spoke. The silence was broken only by a small noise from Merlin, who moved at last. Both men jumped from their seats and hovered over him, prepared to assure him that everything was all right.

Merlin's glassy blue orbs fluttered open, and his gaze flickered rapidly between Lancelot and Gwaine before finally stopping on Lancelot. "Magic," he breathed.

Lancelot and Gwaine both tensed, and were very aware of each other doing so. Thinking quickly, Lancelot said, "It's all right, Merlin. No one can hurt you now. You're safe."

Merlin smiled. "I c'n feel...my magic...!" With that he pulled an arm free and directed his hand and eyes to the water on the table, intending to levitate it. Lancelot shoved his arm down quickly and strategically placed his hand on Merlin's head so that Gwaine would not see Merlin's eyes flash gold. Gwaine shifted as though to prevent Lancelot from doing so, but then seemed to freeze unsurely.

"He's feverish," Lancelot said. "He doesn't know what he's saying."

Gwaine cursed Lancelot's acting skills, for now he couldn't tell whether his friend really was acting to protect Merlin's secret, or was deluding himself into thinking Merlin was delirious. For fear of the latter, Gwaine nodded slowly.

"Go to sleep, mate," Gwaine said lowly. "You're really not well."

"I c'n use m' magic!" Merlin exclaimed again, voice tremoring with emotion. "I can!"

The cup of water suddenly flew across the room and ricocheted off the opposite wall - more than twenty feet away. Gwaine swallowed hard. If Lancelot didn't believe Merlin had magic now, well...That was a bit impossible at this point. Only Arthur could be that dense.

Lancelot was apparently frozen, and made no attempt to stop Merlin's manic giggling. Gwaine thought perhaps Merling was a little bit delirious - otherwise he would not have just revealed himself like that. Gwaine's mind raced, trying to figure out what to say. Should he explain it to Lancelot? Somehow he seemed like the sort of guy to be able to keep a secret, but he was also fiercely loyal to Arthur, who hated magic. What to do? Kill him? No, that'd be suspicious. Lancelot was too careful to just tumble out of a window, wasn't he?

"Magic!" Merlin said again.

This seemed to break the spell that had held Lancelot, who released Merlin and stepped back, gaze snapping up to Gwaine. Merlin had taken to staring at his hand as though it were the most wonderful thing in the world, so Gwaine cautiously raised his own steely eyes. They stared at one another for the better part of a minute.

Then Lancelot sighed, shoulders slumping wearily. Gwaine blinked in surprise, a question forming on his lips. But the knight shook his head and held up a hand. "Gwaine, please," he said. "Under no circumstance must anyone find out about this. Merlin, he - he's always had magic, you see."

Gwaine could have crumpled in relief, but he just sank into his chair again, shoulders shaking with almost-hysterical laughter. "You knew," he said at last, once he had composed himself.

Lancelot nodded shortly, then narrowed his eyes. "And you knew?"

"That I did, mate."

Then it was Lancelot's turn to laugh, and Gwaine joined a second after.

Both instantly sobered up when they realized that half of the furniture in the room was on its way to the ceiling, butterflies of all sorts were spontaneously generating, and a small tree was growing from one of the legs of the upended table.

"Merlin, no!"

{MERLIN}

Arthur, of course, was very upset about the whole thing once he had been told about it. Gwaine had stubbornly refused to apologize for it (sincerely, at least), which frustrated the king further. Lancelot calmly stepped in and explained why - Eirny's explanation, that is - Merlin had burned himself. Arthur visibly deflated, looking sad and resigned and perhaps understanding, but ineffectively hid all these emotions by rolling his eyes.

When Merlin next woke it was to see Arthur dozing lightly at his bedside. Lancelot and Gwaine had been sent to bed - though why they seemed so reluctant to do so was beyond Arthur. In any case, his royal highness won and they left, sharing an unreadable look that Arthur decidedly ignored.

Merlin, unknowing of the fighting that had occurred not half an hour ago, smiled. His magic thrummed beneath his skin, something he hadn't felt in so long, something he thought he'd never feel again. It was bliss. He felt as though he could get up and do anything at the moment. But he didn't.

Instead, he studied Arthur. His friend had dark shadows beneath his eyes. For a moment, Merlin contemplated letting him sleep, but then he thought he just looked uncomfortable.

A flash of his eyes later, and Arthur's hand slipped out from underneath his chin, and his head dropped instantly. Arthur jolted awake and straightened himself, then dragged a hand down his face with a quiet groan.

"Rise an' shine, lazy daisy," Merlin smirked, voice hoarse with sleep.

Arthur jumped again, eyes widening and landing on Merlin, who broke out into a genuine, trademark smile for the first time since his rescue. The king seemed to forget that he was the king for a moment and grinned just as brilliantly.

Then Arthur cleared his throat importantly. "Merlin," he said, "it's about time."

"Prat."

"Idiot."

"Dollop-head."

"Clotpole."

"That's my word."

Arthur only smirked in reply, biting the tip of his tongue to hold back his usual banter. The last time he'd pulled the 'I can take it' card Merlin had withdrawn. Whether Merlin remembered it or not was unclear, but he did give Arthur a sort of look, as though he knew. He didn't comment on Arthur's lack of response.

They fell into a comfortable silence, but as with all silences Merlin felt the need to break it.

"I like th-this bed," he said, shifting slightly.

It suddenly clicked in Arthur's head that though Merlin looked and spoke much better than he had been, he was still far from well. He wondered how much of that improvement had come from his episode and burning away the brand. "My bed's better," he said dismissively, almost automatically.

"I wouldn't know," Merlin shot back. "Although I sup-suppose if I had a bed like this, I wouldn't want to wake up every morning, either. N-no wonder you..." Merlin frowned as though he had lost his train of thought, but he seemed to find it just as quickly and continued, "you have to have someone wake you up."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "If you had a bed like mine, you'd never wake up at all, Merlin. Forget being late - you'd never show up."

Merlin tried to scowl, but his lips tightened in a suppressed smile that all too quickly became a broad smile. He laughed, and Arthur had to fight himself very hard to keep his smirk from evolving as well.

Suddenly Merlin fixated a stare on Arthur, very seriously. The king frowned at the abrupt change in his demeanor.

"How long has...have you been away from Camelot?" he asked.

Arthur pulled a face. "What's it to you, Merlin?"

"Gwaine said a month," Merlin said, turning his gaze to the canopy above his head. "But that was...days ago."

"I've been away from Camelot for longer."

"Not while you wuh...were king." Merlin had a troubled expression, and he seemed tired again.

"Don't worry about it, Merlin," Arthur said, a bit softly.

His friend's blue orbs slid back to him pensively. Even more quietly than Arthur had spoken, he asked, "When are we g-going home?"

Arthur hesitated. The answer to that, obviously, was when Merlin was well enough for the journey. Yes, Merlin had improved, but he was not going anywhere until he had gotten Eirny's leave. How long would that be? How much longer could he stay away from Camelot - both he and Merlin? It might have been easier if Gaius had been able to come, but as he simply could not leave...Arthur considered forcing himself to write another letter to Gaius telling the whole truth. That was a bit selfish and unfair, as Arthur knew that Gaius would be torn between caring for his patients in Camelot and traveling days to comfort his ailing ward - and the king also knew which he would choose.

But even that would take several days, and Merlin was more than a little homesick, as they all were. Merlin hadn't set foot in Camelot for nearly two months. They were only supposed to be gone for a fortnight at most. And Merlin had spent nearly all of that time away being miserable and mistreated - tortured, practically.

It would probably be a great help for Merlin to return home. Gwen would lavish him with all the tender love and caring he needed, as would Gaius. Arthur was quite sure that Merlin had many friends who would stop by and visit him in the physician's quarters while he healed.

Merlin was unable to make the journey home.

Several seconds had passed as these thoughts raced through Arthur's head, and Merlin swallowed and looked up again. Arthur knew him well enough that he could tell Merlin had read him like a book, and knew that he would not be going home soon.

"I am sorry," Arthur blurted, and for once he didn't have to inwardly struggle to form those words.

A small smile touched Merlin's lips. " 'S okay."

Arthur nodded slowly, though he was not at all convinced. He had failed Merlin greatly, and it would take a long while before the king could ever trust himself to take Merlin anywhere. He knew that he would never forgive himself. Merlin looked to be drifting off into sleep, so Arthur allowed his thoughts to turn elsewhere. Until:

"...Arthur?"

"Yes, Merlin."

"D'you think...No, never mind."

"Spit it out, Merlin," Arthur insisted. His voice sounded annoyed - not something he intended. Rather, he wanted to know what Merlin wanted so that he could provide it. Anything to make Merlin feel better, to compensate for everything he had been through.

Merlin, though his eyes were closed, was obviously struggling to make his request. Arthur waited as patiently as he could (being a king, he really didn't have much at all), but as the seconds passed he was getting ready to tell Merlin to just say it. Luckily, before he could, Merlin spoke up, "D'you think that...Well, I suppose you wouldn't really have to think about it...I mean, I suppose I sh-should be asking if...if you maybe found...our trail?"

"Your trail?" Arthur repeated dumbly.

Merlin turned to him and opened his eyes. "When the slavers captured us they m-moved...me and Gwaine by making us walk. We dropped things for you t-to fo-follow."

Arthur nodded emphatically. "Yes, we found that in the morning. Gwaine's ring and gauntlet, and your obvious clumsiness, your belt - somehow, and your stupid scarf. But when we crossed into Escetir the trail went cold."

Merlin's eyes lit up. "You found it?"

"Yes."

"C-can I have it? If - if you kept it, I mean."

He regarded Merlin for a long moment, wondering what in the hell he was babbling about. It? Kept it? Kept what?

The longer Arthur stared at him the redder Merlin's cheeks flushed, and at last Merlin broke eye contact. He turned his face away, revealing one of the bruises on his throat - the bruises that Arthur wished would hurry up and heal already because looking at them made him feel sick and righteously angry. And then suddenly Arthur knew what Merlin wanted.

"Oh," he uttered. "Your stupid scarf. Yes, I have it."

Merlin turned back and raised his eyebrows. His eyes clearly asked why Arthur had taken so long, and then sharpened sarcastically as Merlin realized that Arthur hadn't realized Merlin was asking after his precious neckerchief.

Arthur glared defiantly in response to Merlin's silent sarcasm and fished into his pocket. If Merlin wondered why his master was carrying it with him, he didn't ask, although Arthur was fairly certain that Merlin had some sense of an idea. Merlin pushed his blanket down to free his arms, and took the proffered red scarf.

"Thanks," he said. He wound it around his hand and made no move to wrap it in its usual place around his neck. Whether he was too tired to do so or just didn't feel like it Arthur didn't know, but the content look on Merlin's face was enough for him. A little piece of familiarity could go a long way in comfort.

As Merlin finally drifted off into sleep, Arthur pushed himself up from the chair quietly so as not to disturb him. It was Percival's turn to watch over Merlin, so he would go and trade off. But he wouldn't go to bed - not yet, at least. He had an important letter to write.

{MERLIN}

It was the very next day that Eirny suggested Merlin start regaining his strength with gentle exercise. Nothing to aggravate his wounds or hurt him, but enough so that his muscles would stretch and strengthen. It was a bit like training, the knights thought. Often after being injured and returning to the field it was harder for them to return to their capabilities prior to that injury. It took time and effort.

But it would be much harder for Merlin because his muscles had atrophied so much for a longer period of time. Eirny was not exaggerating when she said it would be a slow recovery. But each of the men were willing to help in any way they could, which sometimes included participating in the exercises. It usually got a laugh or two out of Merlin, at any rate, to see Percival trying to touch his toes (he never could) or Gwaine mimicking Arthur's complaining about participating. Even Leon had gotten roped in at some point, and, after underestimating Merlin's growing strength, was pushed to the floor in an exercise that required Merlin to push against something sturdy until it gave way. Gwaine laughed at Leon's stunned expression for days afterward.

Merlin's appetite improved greatly and rapidly, and in turn he had more energy, which was conserved as he slept and converted into body mass. So he began to gain weight, and he looked almost normal after only a week and a half. He was healthier and happier, and his nightmares became less frequent (though they did not disappear or lessen in intensity).

It was a fortnight after the exercise regiment began that Eirny concluded her last checkup on Merlin. She announced that Merlin was well enough to return to Camelot, although they would need to move slowly to accommodate his pace. Merlin insisted that he would be able to ride like the wind on BigHeart - never mind the fact that as he said this he could hardly move after his day of 'training,' as the knights had taken to calling it. His friends indulged him on the idea as though he were a silly baby brother who claimed he was as strong as his older brothers, who were all already grown up.

After a quick discussion with the Princess Mithian it was determined that they would move out the next morning. Provisions would be packed, the horses would be prepared, and Merlin would have a new set of clothes because he couldn't very well ride out in a nightshirt. A falcon bearing the news of their imminent arrival would be sent ahead of them. The knights didn't tell Merlin that they would be leaving, under Eirny's suggestion. If he knew it would excite him and he would lose sleep. So instead the knights worked him a bit harder than usual so he was more exhausted by the end of it. That would also reduce the chances of his having a nightmare. Once he was sleeping, Elyan, who'd had last watch, went to his own bed for a good night's sleep.

Much to their chagrin, when Gwaine and Arthur went to wake and fetch Merlin, they found him already sitting on the edge of the made bed, dressed in his new clothes, and with one foot tucked halfway into a boot. He glanced up and dead-panned, "Next time you should make sure I'm actually asleep before you start talking about your plans. Can't miss anything with these ears, 'member." So it was that Merlin had known the entire time regardless of the lengths gone to keep it a secret.

Merlin merely rolled his eyes as Gwaine chuckled a bit sheepishly, and that was that. Everyone was ready to go, the horses were laden with supplies, and soon with their riders. Surprisingly enough, Merlin managed to haul himself into the saddle with no help. Only Gwaine had caught a glimpse of molten gold beneath Merlin's lashes, but he, like the others grinned proudly.

Mithian came to bid them farewell, of course, and wished them all well on their trip. Merlin thanked Mithian and expressed his gratitude to Eirny (who wasn't present), and then Arthur gave his customary address as well. He was in her debt, blah blah blah.

At last the group moved out, with Merlin kept in the middle. He sat a bit stiffly in his saddle, but BigHeart seemed to sense it and moved quite smoothly for a horse. The knights adjusted their horses' paces to accommodate Merlin's as subtly as they could; they all knew how Merlin hated to be fussed over.

The pace was slow, but not as slow as it had been on the way to Nemeth. In fact, it was over double the speed this time around. Merlin kept up a constant chatter, just like on any trip, though when the conversation lulled Arthur always called for a break. Merlin stayed atop his horse when they stopped the first time, obviously at a loss as to how to get himself down without hurting himself. Percival finally stepped in to help, allowing Merlin to use him as an oversized crutch due to his sore muscles. He rested a moment where Lancelot was busy building a fire so that they could cook a bit of lunch, then insisted on helping.

The knights told Merlin that there was nothing left to be done - Gwaine had fetched the water, Lancelot had started the fire, Elyan had tended the horses, and Arthur and Percival had scouted the perimeter. Merlin pointed out that he could cook, and the idea was met with very little resistance. They had all, even though none of them voiced it, missed Merlin's stew.

Merlin fell asleep waiting for the water to boil, head on his drawn-up knee. No one had the heart to wake him, leaving Lancelot to cook. So in the end they didn't get any of Merlin's stew, much to everyone's disappointment. Their moods were much improved several hours later at dinner, when Merlin managed to stay awake to complete his task.

It was only two days into the journey that it became apparent to everyone but Merlin that he might not have been ready to leave the comfort of Nemeth Castle. Despite their gentle riding and frequent breaks, Merlin only seemed to be more and more exhausted and sore as the days dragged on. They let him sleep as much as possible, but it didn't seem to be enough even when he didn't have nightmares, and they couldn't give him more or they would never make it back to Camelot. Arthur considered turning around, but he knew that Merlin would pitch a fight. He suggested it aloud one night anyway, and received such a glare from Merlin that Arthur thought even Gaius would quail under it.

A journey by horseback from Nemeth to Camelot took about five days, normally. At their rate it would be eight days, but as Merlin's condition continued to worsen that could be extended. It was stressful all around.

Nevertheless, they pushed forward, keeping a faithful, constant watch on the weary warlock. It felt as though, for the first time in a long while, fate was on their side. There were no bandit attacks, nor mercenaries, nor sorcerers, nor storms. It was as though some divine power wanted to hurry Merlin home just as much as they did.

When they finally crossed the border into Camelot, it was five days after they had left. If nothing happened, they would reach the citadel in two days. No - Merlin insisted on going around the Valley of the Fallen Kings rather than take a shortcut through it. Giving in to Merlin's 'superstitious, hard-headed, peasant ways', Arthur and Leon devised a new route that would add another day. So the journey would turn about to be eight days in total.

On the sixth morning, Arthur and the others bolted upright at the sound of a shout - only to realize almost immediately it was Merlin. They sheathed their swords quickly, and, since it was dawn, decided to go about getting ready. Merlin had woken from his nightmare, whatever it had been (he obstinately refused to divulge any of them), and had taken solace in Gwaine's arms as usual. No one had commented on the several occasions Merlin had groggily woken and shuffled over to Gwaine, wherever he slept, and laid down by him to sleep. Gwaine was always welcoming.

But there was something different on that morning. At first the knights assumed that Merlin's nightmare was more vivid, more terrifying - or something like that, because Merlin was shaking almost convulsively and conforming his body to Gwaine's. But when Gwaine passed a hand over Merlin's head he announced that the manservant had a fever.

Arthur wearily dragged a hand down his face, and did not miss the look of pity and exhaustion that flashed over his men's. Lancelot pulled out a spare cloth and poured water from the skin over it, then walked over and handed it to Gwaine, who took it and mopped Merlin's face and neck with it.

It was decided that any further delay would only serve to the worsening of Merlin. Since they were not far from the Valley, the route was altered so that they would pass through it despite Merlin's wishes not to do so. In his state he probably wouldn't even notice. When breakfast was ready, Gwaine managed to bring Merlin to consciousness, and he seemed lucid enough.

But then he started babbling about magic, and Arthur gave him a wary look. Lancelot and Gwaine both tried to shush him, shooting worrisome looks toward Arthur, for some reason unbeknownst to the (actually quite affronted) king. Did they think he would be angry with Merlin? He was the victim of magic, obviously. In his fevered state he was talking about the things that had happened to him, he was sure.

Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to listen to any more of it, although all Merlin was getting out was something along the lines of, "Magic! Feel magic...C'n you feel 't?"

Gwaine extricated Merlin from his arms and laid him down on the bed roll, whispering something in his ear. Merlin fell silent, but only for a moment. When Lancelot returned to his side and pressed the cold cloth to his head, he cried out in distress and batted his friends' hands away. They backed away, hands held up in a surrendering gesture, and Merlin went still again. A moment later he reached up and shoved the wet rag off of his head, then pulled his blanket up to cover all but his black locks sticking every which way. Arthur could make out the shuddering from across the camp.

"I don't think we're going anywhere, Princess," Gwaine said, turning to look over his shoulder.

The king made a show of rolling his eyes, of course, but inside he was feeling overwhelmingly sorry for Merlin. On top of being sick - again - he was disoriented - or hallucinating - or something. Elyan took over the task of breakfast making, and Leon and Percival attended the horses. They all moved automatically.

Arthur went to sit by the fire near Merlin. Gwaine was silent at his side, and Lancelot had left for more water. He could hear his manservant muttering something, but it was too quiet for him to hear. He glanced back at Gwaine - and it was obvious that whatever Merlin was saying he could hear quite clearly, and it was greatly affecting him. A horrified Gwaine pressed a hand over his mouth, brow furrowed and eyes wide. He stared down at the shivering form.

Arthur, heart seizing painfully, moved closer. As he neared, Merlin's words, intermitted by deep moans and quiet grunts, became clear:

"St-stop, stop, please...hurts - 't hurts!...Please...please d-don't...M-magic - can't...! Ah...T-take it ou-t-tuh...please!"

Unable to listen any more, Arthur reached forward and shook Merlin by the shoulder. Gwaine noticed the movement but was too late to stop him. Merlin screamed - positively shrieked! - as though Arthur had burned him, writhing underneath his blanket. His blanket fell from him as he scrambled away in terror, revealing a wild, traumatized expression that tore at Arthur's very soul.

Merlin's hand flew up, palm facing Arthur with fingers splayed. If the king hadn't known it was a purely defensive, harmless posture on Merlin's part, he would have thought Merlin was about to send him flying with magic. Gwaine tensed at Arthur's side in horror. He couldn't stop what was going to happen - Arthur was going to find out the hard way about Merlin's magic - Merlin was going to attack Arthur with magic, and Arthur would never forgive him, and -

Merlin dropped his hand just as suddenly, his terror never diminishing. "Arthur!" he cried.

Arthur moved forward to help him as he fell over onto his side. Gwaine was frozen in relief.

As the king lifted Merlin (He really was burning up!) gently, Merlin seemed to shrink into himself. " 'M sorry," he said shakily. "Sorry, sorry."

"Don't be stupid, Merlin," Arthur said tenderly, half-dragging him back onto the pallet.

"I did- didn't know, I th-thought," Merlin gave a violent shudder, "you wuh-were g-going to -" He broke, apparently unable to finish the sentence. Arthur placed an understanding hand on his shoulder, hoping that it would calm him.

"Go to sleep, Merlin," he said. "We'll wake you when it's time to go."

It seemed to work. Merlin, making an attempt to breathe evenly, closed his eyes.

Gwaine exhaled slowly. "That bastard...violated him," he growled.

Arthur regarded him. "We already knew that," he said averting his eyes to his hands in his lap. "The physician said so."

"I know."

"We can't stay here. Merlin needs Gaius."

"I know."

"We'll have to carry him as he's sleeping. I didn't want to do it before, but there's little choice at this point," Arthur sighed wearily.

Gwaine nodded. "After we break fast, then."

"Yes."

{MERLIN}

Merlin's fever hadn't decreased over the next few days, but it hadn't increased, either. Most of the time he was sleeping, and the knights took advantage of it by strapping him to BigHeart as they had done before. Luckily Merlin didn't have any more panic attacks, but his nightmares did not cease. Hopefully Gauis would be able to do something about that.

At any rate, they made sure that when the city walls loomed over them at about midday they woke Merlin. He was groggy and disoriented at first, and they had to stop the procession for a moment so he could get his bearings. When they pointed out the castle ahead of them, he woke fully, and they were graced with a tired but brilliant smile. They were finally home.

An hour's ride later they had reached the citadel, and in the courtyard stood their welcome. Obviously their late arrival had been announced. As they approached the three waiting figures, it became clear who they were: Guinevere, Gaius, and -

"Mother!" Merlin exclaimed.

He pulled his horse up short, slightly irritating her, but at that precise moment Merlin couldn't bring himself to care. He made to jump off, but forgot that his legs were lashed to the saddle. With a frustrated growl he reached down and pulled the straps. By that time Gwaine had dismounted and reached up to help him down, and Hunith had already run three-quarters the length of the courtyard. By the time Merlin had been placed on his feet, all he had to do was spread his arms because his mother flung herself at him, tears pouring.

"My son!" she said breathlessly, clutching him tightly. Merlin held her just as tightly, burying his face into the crook of her shoulder.

Stable hands appeared and took the horses to the stable, leaving the group standing around. Arthur first embraced Gwen, who kissed his cheek and then went to her brother. Once it became clear that the knights were all in one piece, she went to Merlin. He was leaning heavily on his mother, and though he wasn't exactly heavy Hunith was beginning to strain.

Leon tentatively broke the reunion. "He's a fever," he said. "We should get him to Gaius' chambers first."

Hunith and Gwen nodded, and his mother reluctantly pulled away from the hug. Merlin quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, smiling a watery smile. Gaius had waited by the steps for them patiently, observing the way Merlin walked - more like stumbled - with a limp, the obviously new clothes and boots, and his slightly hunched demeanor. The second letter Arthur had sent to him, requesting that he contact Hunith, had also included a brief, more truthful rendition of all that had happened. Gaius wanted to drop everything and go to Nemeth, but of course he couldn't. Arthur had assured him that he would bring Merlin back no matter what, so he had waited.

The time for waiting was over.

Merlin had at last reached him, and he released his mother, whom he had been using as a crutch, to throw his arms around his mentor. Gaius had already prepared himself to take Merlin's weight - he had known Merlin would hug him despite being in no shape to do so. After a moment of patting his thin back, Gaius told him it was time to let up and go to his chambers for some much needed rest.

It was a testament to how tired Merlin was that he didn't argue. Gaius shooed the knights and king to their rooms, promising that they could come and visit on the morrow.

{MERLIN}

Two months later saw Merlin in Arthur's room, tediously polishing a pair of boots. The king was seated at his desk, poring over several documents dealing with taxes in the realm. Gwen had gone to the lower town some hours before, and how both men envied her. Merlin, being oh so considerate, refrained from speaking so as not to distract Arthur from his boredom.

A rap at the door, and Arthur nearly jumped in excitement. But before he could bid the knocker to enter, the door swung open and Gwaine sauntered in. "Princess," he greeted, flipping his hair.

"Gwaine," Arthur said, face falling unenthusiastically.

"Ah, Merlin!" Gwaine said, from then on ignoring the king. "Just the man I was looking for."

"Have you been chased out of the tavern again?" Merlin teased.

Gwaine feigned hurt, but the humor never left his face. "Why are you polishing the Princess' boots when you could be outside?"

Merlin turned to glance out the window. The sun was shining, but it was not too hot. "Well, I do have to pick herbs for Gaius later."

"Great, I'll go with you."

It was obviously a play to get on Arthur's nerves, but Merlin also knew that Gwaine meant it. Under the pretense of keeping him safe as he 'daintily picked flowers,' as Arthur put it, Merlin and he went far out into the woods to relax. Merlin often told him stories of his magical adventures or showed off pretty lights, generally just impressing Gwaine. Lancelot and Gaius both disapproved, but relented.

Merlin always pulled a face whenever anyone relented without much of a fight. He knew they let him have his way more often because of what had happened to him. He wasn't exactly complaining about that, though. He was over the whole ordeal. Sure, he still had nightmares, but he had nightmares about lots of things, especially concerning Arthur and Destiny. It was no new thing.

Only Arthur and Gwaine seemed to act as though nothing had happened.

Which was why Arthur said, "Gwaine, if there's nothing you need, please go and perform the duties you are skiving."

Gwaine steadily locked gazes with the king. "I've nowhere to be."

"Go to the tavern. Merlin and I are busy. Well - I'm busy, and Merlin's daydreaming."

Merlin looked affronted. "I'm not daydreaming, I'm thinking. Something you're clearly incapable of doing. It's a good job one of can, or nothing would get done."

"Don't hurt yourself, Merlin," Arthur said dismissively, hardly sparing any attention to him. Rather, he focused on his staring match with Gwaine. "Don't you have anyone else to bother? Percival? Lancelot, maybe?"

Gwaine flipped his hair again. "Bother? If you're bothered, I can't see why. I'm a pure joy to be around, Princess."

"Merlin, kindly show Gwaine the door."

Merlin, without moving from his spot, pointed to the door.

"Merlin!"

"Yes, Sire?" Merlin asked innocently.

Arthur gave him a glare from his table. For a long moment, no one moved nor spoke. Then Arthur pushed his chair back and stood, stretching his arms over his head. "I'm fancying a walk. Come on, Merlin, Gwaine. You two can accompany me. Merlin, you can pick your little flowers along the way."

Gwaine and Merlin exchanged a mischievous look as he passed them. Today, Arthur would be the clumsy one.

End

A/N: Finished! Whew, about time, right? Haha.

Well, I know I left out a lot of the healing process, but that would have made the story drag on and on and you'd never the happy ending...I think. I don't know. But in any case, Merlin is still Merlin.

As always, thanks to all of you for reading! I hope it was not disappointing.