Fic: Crossroads Of Disbelief, Merlin BBang
Chapter 8
When morning came Arthur spoke nothing of the few words shared in the darkness and Merlin, wiser than many gave him credit for, did not ask of it. Instead he handed over his magically enhanced salve to Arthur and left to tend the horse, hoping the man would take the hint and tend to hidden wounds he would otherwise refuse to acknowledge. When he came back Arthur was moving with more fluidity than he had since Edgar Baranak had so ruthlessly upheaved their lives, the bedding already rolled and waiting at his feet. He wordlessly exposed his back to Merlin, bidding the wounds be checked and Merlin wasted no time gently smoothing the healing ointment in place.
“The wounds are healing well,” he prodded gently at the worst of them, glad to see that they had closed enough that it was a long, brown scab in place of an open, festering tear.
“Yes,” Arthur agreed blandly. “Surprisingly. I had not expected to be able to move so well for a few weeks yet, if at all.”
“Yes, well,” Merlin shifted on his feet, sudden unease making him fumble the ointment jar and nearly drop it to the forests floor, “Gaius is the kings physician for good reason.”
“Yes, that has never been in question,” Arthur hummed, unable to hide a flinch as Merlin pressed into a tender welt. “He seems to have out done himself this time. If I didn’t know any better I’d say it was almost magical how well it works.”
Merlin swallowed thickly and pasted a wide, unconcerned grin on his face as Arthur turned and allowed him to examine the burn. It was still weeping clear liquid in places, but was coming along well. Just not well enough for Merlin’s like. “Magical or not you’re still nowhere close to healed. The surface of the wounds, and the illnesses they’ve wrought seem to be under control but the damage was deep. You will need days before you begin recovering your energy.”
“We have one day,” Arthur announced firmly and Merlin knew better than to argue, well aware of what was at stake, “and then we shall have reached the castle.” He shrugged his shirt back in place, carefully, and Merlin pushed back to his feet, suddenly weary under the intense blue gaze. “Will you be able to make it?” He asked directly and Merlin, surprised and perhaps feeling a bit hurt and insulted at the apparent doubt, scoffed.
“Will I be able to make it? I don’t think I’m the one we need to be concerned with here.”
“If you think I haven’t noticed that the pain you’re suffering is getting worse then you are sorely underestimating my intelligence. I see a great deal more than you give me credit for.” Merlin paled as these words fell from Arthur’s lips even as he rallied to appear unaffected. It was true enough, the pain had not diminished at all with the too few hours of sleep he’d managed in the night, but the way Arthur was watching him now…it was unfamiliar, at least in relation to Merlin. It was imploring, and demanding it felt like he was trying to look inside Merlin, to suss out his secrets. Which was wrong, because Arthur had long been fond of declaring that Merlin wasn’t important enough to have secrets.
“I’m fine,” he insisted instead, because he had no other options at the moment, and Arthur’s eyes softened a little in the corner, a bit of his sudden defensiveness falling away and the exhaustion once again becoming known.
“You’re not,” Arthur dismissed his claim offhand. “Is it getting worse because we’re gaining proximity to Edgar, or because we’re running out of time and the spell’s hold is deepening?”
“Either?” Merlin sighed and pressed the heel of his hand to his temple, wishing the throbbing would stop. “Both?” he met Arthur’s steady gaze and shrugged. “Does it matter? I’m not staying behind, regardless,” he stated and was unable to keep the note of iron certainty from his voice. Arthur, for the first time since they left Camelot, smiled. It was not a happy smile, his eyes were dark with torment and weariness, but it was an attempt, which was as heartening as his attempts to insult Merlin.
“I don’t think you know how to stay behind Merlin. Even if I ordered it you’d find a way to follow me.” He turned and bent to gingerly pick up the bedding, managing to keep the pain he must be feeling from his face. He was already practicing hiding his sorrows, preparing for the confrontation with anyone that wasn’t Merlin.
Merlin hated it.
“Of course I would,” he agreed regardless and carefully pulled the bag of supplies from his prince as he led them to the horse. “It’s no fun hearing about what a fool you’ve made of yourself second hand.” Arthur graced him with a haughty glare that was truer to character than the aloofness he was aiming for.
“You’ll be hearing it from the stocks if you’re not careful,” he warned, strapping the blankets in place and pressing a hand to the horse’s thick neck.
“I’ve heard that one before sire, frankly it’s getting a little timeworn.” He stood back as Arthur asked the horse to drop to her knees once more, not looking at Merlin as he slowly mounted her and she pushed back to standing with a rolling snort.
“Get on the horse Merlin,” he ordered by way of rebuttal and Merlin followed the order, nearly unable to swing up himself as a wave of pain struck his head and almost knocked his knees out from under him. Arthur reached behind him, a move that no doubt cause him great pain, and steadied Merlin. “Good?” He asked softly and Merlin nodded, his body aching with the want to rest and escape the pressure. A moment later he felt a small, cool object pressed to his hand and opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed. It was a vial of pain easing tonic.
“No, it’s the last one,” he informed Arthur, who responded by pressing it harder into the back of his hand.
“I know,” he huffed impatiently. “Take it, you’ll need the rest if you’re going to be any use once we reach my army.”
“You need it-”
“Not right now I don’t,” Arthur stubbornly pressed harder and Merlin, losing the will to argue in the face of the ache, turned his hand and accepted the potion. It tasted as vile as he remembered and he imagined it began working immediately as he already began to feel lethargic. The guilt at taking the last of the potion crept up as his eyes began to close. “Now you’ll suffer too much,” he heard himself say, ignoring how Arthur firmly grasped both Merlin’s forearms over his belly to help secure him in place.
“No, I won’t,” he denied, which was so like him. Stupid, stubborn, arrogant- “You’ll just need to use your words to help me, instead of the potions.”
“Words,” Merlin agreed, beginning to drift between the motion of the animal carrying them and sleep. “Okay.” He pressed his forehead into Arthur’s shoulder, and rolled his face to rest more comfortably. Between one moment and the next he was gone, fast asleep. Too asleep to notice the hand clench briefly tighter over his arms, or the way one shoulder drooped lower to alleviate pressure to a wound.
“Okay,” Arthur whispered to himself, taking deep breaths as he accepted Merlin’s unknown acknowledgment. “Okay.”
ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ
“What have you to report?” Arthur’s voice snapped demandingly and Uther looked up from the map he was pouring over to see a messenger standing in the entranceway to their tent. The broad shouldered man took Arthur’s words as permission to enter and stepped forth, bowing slightly to Uther and then his son, who merely waved a hand impatiently for an answer.
“We have been unable to locate King Baranak and his accomplice at this time,” he announced. “Their last known whereabouts led away from Baranak’s kingdom, but we can not state with certainty that he remains in flight away from both Camelot and his own lands.”
“So you have no idea where he is or where he might be going,” Arthur stated flatly and the hunter’s messenger nodded. “And I’m to understand that you are the best trackers Camelot has to offer?”
“Arthur,” Uther warned and dismissed the messenger with a nod.
“Forgive my displeasure father, but it is surely understandable that our message to Baranak’s forces will be greatly hindered without his execution at their foundation-”
“Enough,” he cut his son off sharply and frowned at him, taking a good look at his only child. Tall, handsome, strong, but with fewer calluses on his hands and frillier clothes than he remembered. “Do not dare lecture me on the machinations of war,” he growled. “I am well aware of what his continued survival will mean. It will, however, not delay us. We will discuss terms with Sir Holden in the morning, and should he decide to not surrender Baranak’s lands and titles to us then we will commence with the siege.” He could not deny the pain at the thought of causing such havoc on his passed friends lands, on people he had feasted with, no matter the necessity.
“Holden will not surrender,” Arthur stated with a certainty that was unwise and brash, but Uther was finished discussing this for the day. He had had an aching headache since he’d set out on this tragedy of a war and continued discussion was not helping. He turned back to the castle plans that Arthur had roughly sketched out from memory; if he had to take over the land he wanted to do so as quickly and with as little loss to life as possible. It was the least he could do for the memory of his friend; the least he could do to not make the people suffer for the mistakes of their foolish young King.
ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ
“I’m awake!” Merlin came to with a snort, jerking back from the body he was practically draped over, and stilling as soon as awareness settled in.
“I suppose this means you’re finished drooling on my shirt then,” Arthur grumbled quietly back. Merlin blinked, eyed the obviously wet patch on Arthur’s shoulder blade, and chose to ignore both it and the painful drumming between his ears in favour of looking about them. Clouds had rolled in, dark and dreary and making the air heavy with the threat of rain. Above them the trees swayed in the wind, branches laden with leaves clashing as they protected the forest floor from the worst of it. It was then Merlin noticed Arthur’s shivering. It was subtle and came in brief tremors, but it was there. Merlin very gently shifted and Arthur, seeming to realize he still had one hand clamped over Merlin’s forearms to hold him secure, abruptly released him. His movement was slow as he stretched the limb out and then buried it in the thick mane at the mare’s nape. Steadying himself.
“Have you eaten? Had anything to drink?” Merlin asked and Arthur waved a hand imploringly at the water skin resting by his thigh. He shivered again and Merlin frowned. “We should stop sire, have some food and rest a bit.”
“No,” Arthur decided, which of course he would, magic forbid he take a thought for his own health when such a dire task lay ahead of them. Merlin worried the fever might be coming back.
“Arthur-”
“You can pass me some of the dried meat and fruit if it makes you feel better, but we cannot stop yet,” Arthur ground out. “The clouds are too thick, nightfall will arrive sooner than we expect and it will be far more difficult to navigate in the dark without stars. We must move until we cannot.”
“How far are we?” Merlin twisted carefully to find said food, eyes briefly looking into the sparse foliage around, not seeing any familiar markings.
“With luck we’ll be a stones throw to the castle by night fall, assuming, of course, that we don’t run into any complications along the way. My father will have scouting parties patrolling the woods and paths leading towards Baranak’s castle to prevent surprise attacks from behind. We need to be careful.” Arthur sounded weary, his voice breaking into a brief cough though he nodded his thanks as Merlin pressed a dried strip of venison into his hand. The brief hesitation before he raised the food to his lips spoke enough to Merlin about his lack of appetite. They rode on in silence, Merlin deciding against requesting a break to drain his bladder and making sure Arthur consumed a few piece of dried apple before he waved Merlin off.
The sway of the horse, the warmth of her body, lulled Merlin into a false sense of security even as he kept a close eye on Arthur’s flagging energy and slowly increasing tremors. Three times Arthur stilled their mount behind a thick set of shrubbery, silencing Merlin with a raised hand and waiting, pained blue eyes slowly taking in their surroundings until he deemed the threat past. Merlin, having difficulty hearing the slighter sounds beneath the pounding in his head, only caught sight of the back of one of Camelot’s patrol’s, and even then it could have been a deer for all he had seen. He ignored how Arthur’s hand fell to his hip in time like these, fist clenching tightly as he was reminded that he did not have a sword at hand, and breathed easier when they began shifting their way through the forest once more.
As the evening light began to wane the skies lived up to their promise of rain, the water heavy enough to breach the trees and slowly begin to soak their clothes. It wasn’t long before Merlin could feel the cold press of it on his skin, trickling down his neck, chilling him unpleasantly. Arthur began to slouch more and more in his seat until Merlin forcefully took the reins from him and gently held him in place. It was the lack of complaint that had him most worried, even more so than the near constant shivering. Enough so that when they came across a heaving pile of moss covered rocks and he noticed a slight overhang he pulled them to a stop. It was enough to rouse Arthur from wherever he had gone to in his mind.
“What? No stopping, there’s still light,” he protested, coughing once more to clear his throat.
“Shut-up,” Merlin muttered in his ear as he stiffly swung his leg over the rump of the animal and gracelessly slid down her side until he was on his own feet. He kept a hand on Arthur to hold him up and ignored his protests as he had the horse kneel and began to gently drag him off her back. “She needs rest,” Merlin pet her flank and, under Arthur’s dark glare, he helped him limp slowly over to the outcropping and left him leaning against the rock. He pranced off to take care of his bodily needs then, the relief almost blissful, and he returned to find his Prince returning from the other side of the rock, clearly having the same intentions.
At that point it was quick work to pull their soggy bedroll and supplies from the horse, dropping them under the overhang and have Arthur sit down, leaning forward so as to keep his back from the hard, lichen covered rock. Arthur watched silently as Merlin dashed about under the rain, gathering the driest bits of wood he could find. With the rain and the cover of rocks they should be safe enough for a small fire. Even if they weren’t Merlin would have done it anyway, chilled to the bone and only imagining how ill Arthur must feel.
They had one dry shirt buried in the leather saddlebags and Merlin wasted no time dragging Arthur’s old one gently over his head, cleaning his horrid wounds, and dressing him in the dry one. Then he pulled the flint stones out and, with determination, set out to start the small fire. All the while Arthur remained silent, steadily watching and Merlin had no difficulty picturing the blue gaze in the darkness, bloodshot and achingly tired. It was unnerving, more so than usual, and it became more so the longer Merlin struggled with the stones and damp wood and moss and failed to get flame.
“Problem Merlin?” He asked after long moments of struggle and Merlin, cold and miserable and irritated pressed his lips in a tight facsimile of a smile and half tilted his head to look at the man.
“Problem? No, why ever would you think that? Clearly everything is just brilliant,” he snapped the stones together harshly, creating sparks but nothing catching. He’d always been shite at starting a fire this way, but he generally managed to hide that fact with a quick spell or disappearing on an errand until another knight or servant started it for him. After a few more strikes he paused, bowed his shoulders in frustration and took a calming breath before he chanced a look to Arthur. He was still watching him steadily, no rancour or impatience on his face, nor blame or mocking that was generally present in the face of Merlin’s small failures. He was calm, steady, and assessing, which was more bothersome than any other look Merlin ever saw on him. He looked like he was waiting, but not for the fire. Merlin swallowed thickly under the gaze and turned his attention back to trying to start the fire.
Around them the rain beat softly on the ground, a cool breeze making his hands near numb with chill, the occasional spatter of water still jumping past their limited shelter. Merlin began breathing heavily through his nose to calm his nerves, his frustration, the sheer feeling of helplessness at the entire bloody situation that he not only failed to prevent, but failed to fix before Arthur was…before he was…hurt, and now he couldn’t even start the simplest of fires to try and chase away the cold. To try and ward off sickness that would no doubt attack Arthur with a vengeance under these conditions. It was unfair. It was cruel. It was-
“Merlin,” Arthur’s voice, quiet and steady so in control it calmed Merlin’s racing emotions, at least slightly. He paused in his work and looked over more fully now, waiting to see what his prince needed. Arthur watched him, a knowing look on his face mixed with a brief flash of sadness that Merlin had no context for. Arthur breathed in slowly, clearly preparing to say something important. Had Merlin had even an inkling of an idea of what was to be said he might have reacted with slightly more poise.
“Use your words,” Arthur ordered, and then waited expectantly, almost grandly despite being hunched over in half soaked clothing and sitting on damp ground, shaking. Merlin frowned in confusion.
“My words? Usually you’re trying to get me to stop talking,” he flexed his fingers, preparing to check on Arthur’s temperature and wishing he could see him more clearly. He did not expect the nearly pained huff of irritation.
“Merlin,” Arthur began again, slowly, “use your words to ignite the fire.”
There was a moment where Merlin was caught wondering how severe Arthur’s illness must have grown since they’d dismounted, because clearly he wasn’t speaking the common tongue any more. It was a brief moment. When his meaning sharpened clearly in Merlin’s mind he couldn’t help the feeling of his blood running cold, slowing and stopping within his body for what felt like years, only to rush forward in a burning flare of heat blossoming in his chest. He flinched back, not aware he had done so until his bottom landed on the soft earth and his hands dug into the dirt to steady him. The pounding of his heart increased the pounding in his head, making thought difficult, making reactions slow, and he couldn’t help the instinctive feel of fear and uncertainty. How could he not, when the secrecy had been trained into him from childhood. It took him a long moment to steady the instinct, to let the surge of adrenalin calm, and to recognize that Arthur wasn’t, in fact, trying to execute him with the one dagger they had. Or the wooden spoon, because Merlin was fairly certain Arthur could turn the dullest of tools into weapons.
Arthur was just watching him, his face steadily cast more and more in shadow as the last of the evening light receded. There was still no anger, no murderous intent, but Merlin wasn’t sure what to make of it, what to think. He was panicking, clearly reading more into what Arthur had actually meant. He couldn’t possibly know.
“You must be mistaken sire,” Merlin swallowed heavily, forcing his voice to remain steady despite his shaking nerves. “Words can not start a flame.”
There was a tense stretch of silence, foreboding and weighing on Merlin’s shoulders in the worst way as he watched the man he had grown to respect more than any other cast judgement before him. When Arthur sighed, the irritation in his tone was at least familiar and therefore welcome even as he now stared daggers at Merlin.
“Do you take me for an idiot, Merlin?” He asked softly. The question sat in the air between them, untouched for a long moment, before Merlin swallowed and shook his head.
“No.” No he did not believe Arthur Pendragon to be an idiot. A prat, a git, an arrogant man with faults like any other, who was raised to be naive about many common plights and expectant of what sometimes felt like lavish royalties. A man who had responsibilities for people he would never meet sitting like an anvil on his shoulders since childhood; raised to lead, choosing to honour, and whom Merlin had (quickly) learned felt much and hid more of himself than any other he knew. Apparently he hid much more than Merlin had ever credited him for.
He’d never thought him an idiot.
Perhaps he should have thought himself one though.
“Light the fire Merlin,” he ordered softly. Merlin was many things but a coward he was not, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“Leohtbora.”
The fire flashed into life, warmth immediately reaching out to them, perhaps hotter and dimmer than a fire its size should be but that was intentional. The wood sizzled and cracked. Merlin blinked slowly and looked back to Arthur, his hardened, near gaunt face tired under the orange glow dancing on his body. Merlin watched him, waiting for the promise of execution.
It did not come. Instead Arthur just kept watching him, silent, tired, and clearly waiting for something more from Merlin. Merlin didn’t think that something more was magic, but seeing as he’d apparently been discovered there was no turning back now. With a few more words he had their clothing dry, their bedding dry and warm, and the ground beneath them no longer soaked into their leggings. He instantly felt better and, as he was watching Arthur with focus, he noticed the minor softening of his shoulders as well. It still did not calm Merlin’s racing heart, frayed nerves or pounding head.
“How long have you known?” he asked, voice nearly cracking he spoke so softly, and resisted reaching out as Arthur’s hand shifted to hover over the burn wound on his stomach.
“Did you know your eyes glow when you use magic?” Arthur asked in response, his steady gaze even more unnerving now that Merlin had an insight into his thoughts.
“Yes. Will told me once, when we were children,” he swallowed at the memory. “Like a demon.” Will had been teasing of course, no real intention behind the comparison. It never really hurt because he never really thought about it. He chose not to.
“Nothing like a demon,” Arthur growled and a little bit more of the fear Merlin was harbouring in his heart split away. “I would know.”
“You would,” Merlin agreed with a swallow, feeling shaky and cool. He’d spent hours upon hours imagining how this conversation, how the revealing of his greatest secret, would go. None of his imaginings had led to what looked an awful lot like quiet acceptance. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a great deal calmer than I had ever imagined you would be, considering…” he trailed off and Arthur snorted, gingerly pulling open the sack of supplies and pulling out the hard clump of cheese and the last of their stale bread, halving them evenly and passing Merlin his share. He didn’t flinch when their fingers grazed, though Merlin nearly did himself.
“I’d like to believe I have enough judgement of character to not fear you.”
“You never have to fear me!” Merlin hissed, the flames flaring brightly in accompaniment to his vehemence and Arthur raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
“Yes, I know, otherwise I would have had you removed long ago.” The words were revealing enough and Merlin began casting about for when Arthur might have witnessed his sorcery. There were so many possibilities.
“If your father-”
“He will not find out,” Arthur smoothly cut him off, words stated as fact though his eyes flashed in warning at Merlin. “Despite your occasional lack of regard for subtlety and secrecy. Honestly Merlin, did you think I wouldn’t notice that every time we came across a magical beast I somehow managed to slay it despite being knocked out?” He shook his head, though only slightly so as to not aggravate his wounds and with a flash Merlin realized that he was still in considerable pain. He swallowed the guilt of having finished the pain remedy that morning.
“Honestly,” Merlin was feeling a little put out now, now that the fear was giving way to sheer relief that he couldn’t even describe. “I really thought you bought it. I make sarcastic comments all the time about it, you’ve never given me reason to believe you knew.”
“I guessed, not knew,” Arthur frowned into the fire, eyes pinched and clearly growing more tired by the moment. “There is a big difference and I do not believe in casting doubt without evidence, or casting doubt at all when I know that nothing but harm will come of it.”
“You’ve committed treason to your own kingdom, for a servant,” Merlin whispered, trying to wrap his head around it.
“Yes, more than once as it would seem, so try to not make me regret it.” They sat in silence and ate the near rock hard bread and cheese, flavours sharp on his tongue.
“That’s why you so easily accepted my belief in your identity, because you assumed that my magic is somehow helping me overcome the curse.”
“Is that why you were able to see through the curse when my own father can not?” There was a bitterness in Arthur’s question, and a longing Merlin didn’t understand, and he shrugged a response.
“I don’t know, maybe.” It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was all he knew to give. “Still,” he leaned forward and passed their dwindling water supply to Arthur, pretending to take a drink of his own when Arthur pressed it firmly back. “Before this,” he swallowed and pointedly didn’t look to where Arthur’s hand still hovered protectively over his stomach, “to not say anything, to still allow me at your side, every day, every night, while you slept, while you ate…” while you were at your most vulnerable. He swallowed down the rest of his words and Arthur, for all the talking he had done tonight, seemed relieved.
“We go on foot from here in the morning, we’re not far now and will need the stealth a horse can not provide,” he announced and moved to the bedding, Merlin scrambling up to help him and perversely relieved that, after only a brief flinch at the sudden contact, Arthur allowed him to set up in their currently familiar arrangement. “The fire-”
“Will burn down before dawn. I have wards in place to conceal us from any search patrols. Rest now, tomorrow’s a big day.” Arthur snorted disbelievingly into Merlin’s chest but did not argue the point. The fate of two kingdoms was at stake tomorrow; the knowledge that time was running out, that Arthur could be trapped (might even already be trapped) in a world that would see him as no more than a snake of a King who ruled through mistrust and treachery rested in both their hearts. No matter what happened, tomorrow they had to end this, for everyone’s sake.
The fire crackled lightly, dancing with the patter of rain about them and Merlin tried to calm his still racing heart, tried to fall asleep after the overwhelming knowledge he had been gifted with that night. Beside him, Arthur lay with the familiar stiffness that bespoke of damages that would take much more to heal than the mere death of Edgar Baranak. For a long time they lay there, awake and exhausted, until Arthur’s hand curled in the fabric of Merlin’s shirt and he took a breath to speak.
“There are many that I respect in this life,” he began, only heard because he was so close, “but few that I have had the freedom to trust, and fewer still that I would grant myself that freedom with.” Merlin was pretty sure, for a moment there, that his heart stopped beating at the implications of the soft words.
“Same here,” Merlin choked back, not daring to say more than that and perhaps tightening his arms more than strictly necessary around Arthur. So he came to understand that despite their many, monumental, differences, in some very crucial ways they weren’t that different at all. After a while he began to murmur the healing spells softly, voice nearly masked by the storm as he focused the energies on Arthur. Not long after that Arthur relaxed enough to sleep. It would need to be enough.
ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ
Previous Next
Master list