Merlin's eyes shot open as his horse hit a particularly uneven patch on the trail. He shook himself, blinking away the fog that had crept up on him, and wondered how long he'd been out. They had only been riding for a couple of hours and he was already nodding off. Luckily, he had managed to catch himself each time before he toppled off his horse, but he figured it was only a matter of time before he ended up cracking his skull.

At least that'll be a quicker death than from a painful coma, he thought morbidly.

Gwaine and Arthur were riding ahead of him. At first they had insisted that Merlin go first so they could keep an eye on him from behind (probably to make sure he didn't fall off and crack his skull), but their pace had been so slow that way they had consented to let him follow behind. His horse was well trained; all he had to do was hold onto the reins and it stayed on course, keeping a steady pace that matched the horses in front of him. That meant that Merlin could zone out for long stretches of time- which was fine by him, as he had a lot to think about.

He stared at Arthur's back, frowning at the worn leather jacket. Per Guinivere's advice Arthur had dressed himself down in an effort to appear humbler before the druids. Merlin knew that the druids wouldn't have been awed by Arthur even if he had shown up in solid gold armor, but he hadn't been able to offer his own input as Arthur had, for the first time, dressed himself alone that morning. Merlin hadn't even seen him until he had arrived in the courtyard. It had been odd to see the king standing there, fully clothed and awake despite Merlin's absence. Merlin wasn't used to him being able to behave like an adult, let alone a functioning one.

His horse took another rough step and he winced as the movement sent pain coursing through his chest. It was even more painful than yesterday, but Gaius had warned him that it would only get worse from here. It wasn't exactly a comforting thought.

He saw Arthur glance over his shoulder and a strange look crossed the king's face. Merlin narrowed his eyes as Arthur pulled on his reins, slowing his horse and falling back to where Merlin was trotting. He had been trying to read Arthur's thoughts all day but he found that for the very first time in their relationship he couldn't guess what the man was feeling. It was throwing him off even more than the thought of Arthur getting up on his own in the morning.

"Merlin," Arthur said as he slowed beside Merlin, "how do you feel?"

"Fine."

"How do you really feel?"

Merlin pursed his lips and stared straight ahead. Arthur had exchanged a few words with Gaius before leaving, and the physician had apparently instructed Arthur to never let him say he was in anything but the worst pain, even if Merlin really did feel alright.

"It hurts a little, I guess."

"Want to take a break?"

"What happened to 'speed is everything'?"

"We're making good time." Arthur craned his neck and peered up through the trees, squinting at the steadily rising sun. "We can afford to stop and rest for a few minutes."

Merlin was about to protest when his horse moved unevenly again, sending a flash of sharp pain through his torso. He sucked in a breath of air, shutting his eyes and wrapping an arm around his midsection, and immediately Arthur's hands were on his horse's reigns and pulling him to a stop.

"Gwaine? We're taking a break."

"I'm fine, Arthur," Merlin said irritably as Gwaine pulled back and swung himself off his horse.

"For someone with a fever you certainly are complaining a lot," the knight said, grinning at Merlin as he brushed himself off.

Merlin rolled his eyes and braced himself to dismount. Taking a deep breath, he swung his leg over and dropped to the ground like he had done a million times before, hoping that doing it quickly and getting it over with would be the best route to take. When he hit the ground, his legs, already weak from fever, threatened to give out underneath him and probably would have if strong hands hadn't caught him under his arms.

"Here we go."

Merlin felt himself lowered to the ground and looked up to see Arthur helping him. He repressed a flash of shame and instead focused on how amazingly stable the ground was. He never cared much for riding horses at the best of times, but he hadn't realized how uncomfortable he had been until then.

Gwaine and Arthur led the horses to a nearby tree and tied them up loosely to keep them in one place before returning with the water skin, which Gwaine passed over to Merlin. Merlin eagerly opened it. He had been parched for the past hour, but all the water had been in Arthur's saddlebags.

"Slow down, Merlin, you'll make yourself sick. Well- sicker," Gwaine said with a fleeting smile, watching his friend gulp down water as though he had been lost in the desert for years.

Merlin lowered the skin, wiping off his mouth. He passed it off to Arthur, who started to take a drink and then stopped.

"You drank most of it," Arthur said, swishing the liquid around to judge how much was left. Merlin could tell from the hollow sloshing that he had left barely anything.

Merlin frowned. "Sorry."

"Don't be." He glanced at the sky again. "We probably won't make it to more water today."

A wave of guilt washed over Merlin. He glanced down at the ground. "Sorry," he repeated.

"Stop saying sorry, Merlin, you sound like an idiot."

"Sorry."

Merlin glanced up at Arthur's incredulous expression and felt his lips quirk up into a grin despite himself. The king rolled his eyes, but Merlin saw a tiny smirk on his face.

"So we're a little bit ahead of schedule," Gwaine said, shifting so he was lying out flat on the ground. He stretched, face pinching as he arched his back. "But we need to keep moving as fast as we can. This is going to be our best traveling day since Merlin's going to be hallucinating by morning."

Merlin glared at Gwaine, but his friend's eyes were shut. He didn't need reminding of his upcoming uselessness every few minutes, especially when he had spent the majority of the trip so far worrying that a magical creature would jump the defenseless party at any moment. Never before had he been so powerless in his quest to protect Arthur; even though his power had been limited during his first few months in Camelot, he had been too drunk on the idea of his destiny to really contemplate how little he had known at the time. He hadn't realized how much he had come to depend upon his magic for- well, everything.

"You're right." Arthur glanced up at the trees again, tracking the sun's slow progress through the sky. A tiny frown line Merlin had never seen before appeared on his forehead, and the warlock stared for a moment. Since when did Arthur have frown lines? "Merlin, are you alright to keep going?"

It took Merlin a moment to realize Arthur was talking to him. "Huh?"

What normally would have been used as ammunition to prove Merlin's stupidity instead elicited poorly concealed worry from Arthur, who glanced at his servant in concern. Merlin quite resented that; he wasn't comatose yet.

"Yeah," he said, "I'm fine."

"Great." Gwaine clapped his hands together as he sat up. "Let's get moving."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The flames heated the soles of Arthur's boots to an uncomfortable temperature, but he refused to drag his feet away. Instead he sat where he was, perched on a rough log Gwaine had dragged over, staring into the shoddily made fire (it turned out the art of stacking firewood was a lot more difficult than Merlin made it out to be).

At the thought of his manservant Arthur's stomach gave an uncomfortable leap. He glanced over to their makeshift camp, where they had lain out their bed rolls in preparation for the night. Merlin was already curled up on Arthur's, back turned towards the fire and rich purple blankets drawn up to his chin. The man had been startled by Arthur's insistence that they swap bed rolls, initially refusing, but had given in only out of sheer exhaustion.

Arthur turned back to the fire and glared at it. Behind him he heard Gwaine rifling as quietly as possible through their cooking supplies.

"This is the thingy, right?" he asked.

Arthur turned on his log to look at the wooden contraption Gwaine was holding up for him to see. "I don't know, Gwaine, I've never made stew before."

"I think this is what Merlin uses."

Gwaine dragged it towards the fire and joined Arthur on the log. He set to work unfolding the wood and iron beams, which resembled a hooked spit when it was complete. Panting, Gwaine got back up and grabbed a pot he'd already set aside and cleaned out.

"Where's the water?" he asked.

"There is none," Arthur said, staring into the fire.

Gwaine narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"We have no water. Well, we have a little bit left, but it's for drinking. We couldn't find any sources around here, remember?"

Gwaine stood there for a moment, pot dangling in his hand. Then he dropped it in the dirt and stomped back over to the log, pushing aside the spit. Arthur had a feeling that he would have been making a lot more noise if Merlin hadn't been trying to sleep.

"Great," he said as he sat down. "You couldn't have told me that before I did all the damn preparations?"

"I forgot," Arthur said, eyes still on the flames. He tracked the dancing gold and red, watching them twist with the smoke and dissipate into the slowly dimming night sky. The sun was almost set, filling the sky with a brilliant mix of colors. It looked like the royal painter's color samples when he mixed the paints together to find the perfect shade of Arthur's eyes.

Gwaine glanced sideways at Arthur, the fire throwing shadows across his face. The effect was unnerving.

"You're worried," he said.

"So are you."

"Yeah, I am." Gwaine rested his elbows on his knees and looked over at Merlin. His face was thoughtful. "You really shouldn't be doing this, you know. I could have gone on my own. Or taken Elyan or Percival or someone. These druids could tear you apart with a snap of their fingers the second you walk into their camp. Why are you doing it?"

"You know why."

"No, I don't, really."

Arthur was tempted to continue staring at the fire and ignore the knight, who he was pretty sure was just running his mouth like usual, but he was never one to resist bait. He turned in his seat and glared at Gwaine. "What does that mean?"

"It means you treat Merlin like dirt," Gwaine said. He picked up a stick and started poking at the fire. His features were just as open as they always were, but his jaw was set, anticipating a fight.

Arthur's blood rushed in his ears, but he spoke in a calm voice. "I do not-"

"I know you care about him, Arthur. We all do. Everyone in the entire kingdom sees how much you two mean to each other. Everyone, I think, except Merlin."

"Merlin knows-"

"Does he?"

Arthur bit back the scathing remark that jumped to the tip of his tongue. He turned back to the fire. This was the last thing he wanted to think about right now, but it had been on his mind ever since Guinevere had made that comment a few days before. Gwaine took Arthur's silence as an invitation to continue.

"I mean, you're better to him than most nobles are to their servants, I'll give you that," he said. He poked the fire, knocking a log out of place and sending embers coiling into the air. "But at the end of the day that's what you treat him as: a servant. Not a friend."

"At the end of the day he is a servant."

"No disrespect intended, Sire, but you wouldn't be here if that were true."

Arthur watched Gwaine upset another log. He tried to let Gwaine's words bounce off of him- he was normally so adept at blocking the knight out- but no matter how many times he told himself that it wasn't true, that Merlin understood, he couldn't get Merlin's words from last night out of his head- I'm not worth that. He couldn't forget the resigned look in his eyes, the set of his jaw that communicated that what he was saying was gospel to Merlin, something that he had repeated hundreds of times to himself.

Arthur had messed up with his friend. He knew it, but he might not be able to fix it this time.

"Just think about it." Gwaine tossed his stick onto the fire, oblivious to Arthur's turmoil next to him. "I just thought you should be aware of how Merlin feels, since tomorrow…"

He didn't finish, but the words rang out around them anyways. Tomorrow there won't be any rational conversation with him.

Not that any conversation with Merlin was ever truly rational.

Gwaine got up, leaving Arthur to his thoughts. The king stared at the fire, listening to his knight rifling through every bag they had in search of food. Arthur knew he would find something. The kitchen servants never let the king leave on a trip without an adequate amount of food, especially if it was a trip designed for traveling and not hunting.

A stick snapped next to him and Arthur jumped to his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword as he turned to see Merlin standing there, sheepishly clutching a blanket around his shoulders. Arthur relaxed.

"Sorry," Merlin said, "I got bored."

"It's fine." Arthur cleared his throat and hoped that his cheeks weren't burning because of the overreaction. "Sit down, you shouldn't be up."

Merlin joined Arthur on the log. While the servant took up Arthur's role of staring at the flames, Arthur watched Merlin out of the corner of his eye, taking in his tired expression and flushed cheeks. Despite the chill in the air a film of sweat caked Merlin's dark hair to his forehead. The fever was creeping upwards.

"You really shouldn't be up," Arthur repeated with a frown.

"This is my last chance to be up for a while. Let me enjoy it."

Arthur rolled his eyes but decided not to push it. He knew when he was fighting a losing battle.

For a while neither of them spoke. Arthur kept listening to Gwaine's cheerful whistling as he assembled dinner.

"It's nice," Merlin said, still looking at the fire.

"What is?"

"Just sitting out here. Not having to worry about cooking or cleaning the dishes or getting maimed by whatever beast you're hunting."

Arthur turned to Merlin incredulously. "Merlin, you are literally dying and you're happy about a day off?"

"I didn't say that," Merlin said. "I just said it's nice. It's like camping."

Arthur snorted. "When have you ever gone camping?"

"Never. I just think this is what it would be like. It's nice."

"Are you sure the delirium is supposed to set in tomorrow and not tonight?" Arthur asked, watching Merlin crane his head back to look at the stars that were starting to appear in the dusty sky.

"I'm not entirely sure at this point," he said to the rising moon.

Arthur rested his chin on his fist and continued to watch Merlin. The fire and the moonlight were both fighting for space in his eyes, resulting in an odd swirl of reflections half-covered by drooping eyelids. The tips of his ears were red with fever, but he looked more peaceful than Arthur had ever seen him. Without that goofy smile he always wore when trying to skive off duties or come up with excuses, Merlin's face was much more serious, his expressions carrying a new weight to them. Arthur almost felt that he was looking at a new version of Merlin, one that only came out at night, one that he had never noticed before.

Merlin glanced at him. His forehead crinkled. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Looking at me. And I can't tell what you're thinking. It's weird; I can always tell what you're thinking."

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm a closed book of secrets."

Merlin snorted, then winced and rubbed his ribs. "Whatever you say, sire," he said, his teasing tone cut with exhaustion.

Arthur looked at his feet. Even though he knew Merlin only ever used the title to poke fun at him, his mind bounced back to both Gwaine and Guinevere's words. He wanted to say something, but where was he supposed to start? He wasn't very good with this sort of thing.

Before he could force any words out of his mouth Gwaine had shoved dried meat and bread into both of their hands and collapsed on the ground next to Merlin. "Dinner," he announced, stuffing his own roll in his mouth.

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "This is it?"

"I got sick of looking for the freshly roasted goose and mashed parsnips, princess."

Arthur resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Gwaine. Instead he tore off a piece of meat and took a bite.

"So how are you feeling, Merl?" Gwaine asked.

Merlin looked at him. "Merl?"

"What, I can't give you a nickname?"

"My name is literally Merlin. Why would you feel the need to shorten it?"

"Two syllables is one syllable too long. All strong names are one syllable. Gwaine, for example. And Merl."

"My name has two syllables."

"And that's why you're the only one in the kingdom named Arthur."

Arthur threw a piece of bread at Gwaine, who rolled out of the way with a bark of laughter.

"Seriously," the knight said when he came back up, "how are you doing, Merlin?"

"Fine," Merlin said, tearing off a piece of bread and looking closely at it.

Gwaine raised his eyes to the stars. "To hell you-"

"Really, Gwaine, I feel alright right now," Merlin said. "I'm a little bit hot because of the fever and it hurts when I move, but I'm conscious, aren't I?"

"You at least need to eat something," Arthur said, watching Merlin roll up the piece of bread into a little ball between his fingers.

Merlin dropped the bread ball. It disappeared into the grass at his feet. "I can't," he said.

"Merlin," Gwaine said, his voice uncharacteristically stern, "you need to keep your strength up."

"No, I mean, I can't." Merlin kept his eyes fixed on the ground as though he was looking for the bread. "It will come right back up. I can't eat right now."

Gwaine glanced at Arthur. The king took another bite of his dried meat, chewing slowly, carefully, and smelled the thick smoke that sent thousands of memories flitting into his mind, thousands of other fires and camps just like this one.

"You need to drink, at least," he said at last, finishing off the rest of his bread in one bite. He stood up and walked over to the pile of supplies they had unloaded from the horses, searching for the water skin.

"I thought we'd found no water?" Merlin asked, turning on his log with a frown. The blanket was drawn more tightly around his bony shoulders now, his fingers clutching it closer to him.

Arthur emerged with the water skin and tossed it to Merlin, who caught it in clumsy hands. The servant frowned when he felt the liquid sloshing around inside.

"But-"

"Just drink it, Merlin," Arthur said, dropping back into his seat.

"There's no water around here, though," Merlin said, unopened skin still in hand.

"Trust me, we know that." Gwaine sighed. "What I wouldn't give for a hot bath right about now."

"What have you two been drinking?"

"If I had a piece of gold for every time someone said that to me-" Gwaine said with a smirk.

"Gwaine."

"Look, Merlin, just drink the damn water," Arthur said in exasperation.

"No." Merlin set the water skin down and turned his nose up. "You two haven't had any all day. I've been drinking all of it."

"You're the sick one, you idiot." Arthur snatched up the skin off the ground and shoved it back into Merlin's hands. "Drink."

"No."

"That's an order, Merlin!"

"You can't order me around!" Merlin snapped.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. Merlin maintained his glare for another few seconds before wilting in the firelight and dropping his gaze.

"Sorry," he muttered, staring at the ground.

"Don't be," Arthur said. "You're right."

Merlin looked up and shot Arthur a look that plainly said, 'Who are you and what have you done with the king?'

"Sorry?" Gwaine asked from the ground.

"He's right," Arthur said. He sighed and got to his feet. "I can't order you to drink it, Merlin. But I can refuse to drink it myself. Or maybe I'll just dump it in the bushes. Either way, that water's either going into you or the earth. Take your pick."

Merlin glared. Arthur smiled. Merlin uncapped the water skin and took a violent sip of it.

"I hate you," he muttered.

"Sure you do." Arthur gave Gwaine a light kick as he passed on his way to the supplies.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The embers were dying in the fire. The drop in temperature had rendered Arthur's thin blanket useless, but he didn't fancy the prospect of getting up to coax the flames back up. It was too dark and much too cold.

He shifted, turning onto his side and curling up under the scrappy blanket. A flicker of unease flashed through his mind. Squinting through the darkness he traced Merlin's tiny shape underneath Arthur's thick woolen blanket that he knew kept the elements entirely out. Merlin was probably hot underneath that with his fever; Arthur had never been uncomfortable when using it. Had Merlin been this cold every night they had been on a trip? Had he kept silent about the rocks and chill? And why hadn't Arthur noticed until now?

The stars were dim overhead. Arthur could barely see them through the inky clouds blotting them from view. He heard a low moan and turned to see Merlin shift, shuffle underneath his blankets, and then fall silent again.

Arthur knew that he shouldn't, that Merlin needed his rest, but the word passed his lips anyways. "Merlin?"

There was a moment of silence in which Arthur decided Merlin must be asleep after all. But then a voice as wispy as the smoke curling out of the dying fire said, "Arthur?"

Oh. He hadn't really expected him to respond.

"...Are you alright?"

"…Yes, it just hurts a little."

"…Oh."

The whisper of the wind in the trees.

"Arthur?"

"Merlin?"

"If- if I say anything tomorrow-"

"Say anything?"

"You know, while I'm delusional?"

"Oh, yeah."

"If I say anything that doesn't- I mean, I might say stuff that sounds kind of suspicious, considering-"

"Considering what?"

"…Just… promise you'll let me explain before you jump to any conclusions."

"What could you possibly say that would warrant that?"

The hoot of an owl somewhere in the forest.

"…Just promise me. Please."

"…I promise."

"Thank you. And if I don't wake up-"

"Shut up, Merlin."

"No, Arthur, if I don't wake up-"

"Shut up, Merlin."

"But-"

"For god's sake, shut up."

"…Fine."

"Hmph."

Gwaine snored in his sleep. Two pairs of eyes stared up at the night.

"Arthur?"

"Hm?"

"I don't want to go to sleep."

"…."

"I don't want to wake up and be- what if I don't-?"

"You'll be fine, Merlin. Gwaine and I will be with you. We'll watch out for you. You're safe."

"…Thank you."

"Go to sleep, Merlin."

"…Okay."

Somewhere, a bat swooping low, crying out for prey.

"Goodnight, Arthur."

"Goodnight, Merlin."

Even the embers were dying. Arthur rolled over onto his other side and stared at the flecks of orange, smelled the last of the smoke dissipating. He thought of that one hole he had found in his blanket on the last trip. He hadn't had time to patch it yet. It would be right at Merlin's shoulder.

He got up to stoke the fire.

A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews! I hope you enjoyed.