Fic: Crossroads Of Disbelief, Merlin BBang

[thoughtreflex]

Chapter 7

The castle grounds weren’t as quiet as was the norm for the late hour.  Servants that would not be setting out on the road to war in the early dawn light were trying to quietly finish preparations, last minute carts being piled high with rolled tents, banners being mended, boots being oiled.  A few knights stood watch, tired, weary eyes following the proceedings but missing Merlin completely as he snuck through the shadows, his heart pounding loudly and breathing short in nervousness.

He made it to the dungeons without trial, and even then the new guard stationed outside Arthur’s cell was half asleep on his feet, leaning against the cold wall, frowning.  He looked older in the torch light, perhaps a knight that had taken to field some time ago but had agreed to the posting so the majority of younger, able bodied men could head off to fight.  Merlin put him to sleep with a few simple words and managed to catch him before he hit the ground.  He didn’t want to hurt him.  There had been enough of that going around.

He took a steadying breath as he unbolted the heavy door separating him from Arthur.  He didn’t know what to expect, it had been an entire day since he had last been to tend him, but the animalistic snarl as the door swung open wasn’t it.

He froze, firelight dancing from the torch in his hand, hot enough to cast heat towards him but he didn’t notice.  Arthur was struggling to his knees, once again shirtless, the wounds on his back clearly having reopened enough that the dark blood had soaked the top of his pants, half-way around his side.  His eyes were dark, bags of exhaustion dragging the skin beneath even as they were peeled open wide, the white’s catching in the fires glow.

His burn was raw and oozing, torn and swollen.  There was a dark bruise forming over one hip, peaking out from his pants, one drawstring hanging out thoughtlessly.  Another mark shadowed beneath his ribs that hadn’t been there before, sitting just beneath a shallow scrape that he could barely make out in the dim light.

“Arthur,” he swallowed heavily, barely managing to get his name out and Arthur’s struggle to push to a kneel halted.  He stared at Merlin, blinked slowly, and exhaled loudly as he shifted back onto his hip.

“Merlin,” his voice was hoarse, slurred, no doubt from a fat lip.  They were silent a moment, Merlin almost afraid to approach, needing permission, the sharpness of Arthur’s snarl only moments before still echoing in his ears.  “Have you come to rescue me or is this another one of your inept attempts at socializing?”  He broke the silence, his relief not quite as disguised by the snide tone as his prince would like.  Merlin moved forward, rooted the torch in the wall sconce and fell to his knees before Arthur, the guard’s keys rattling loudly in his hand.

“If you’d rather talk than go for a highly recommended midnight stroll then I’m all ears, though I’ve been told I tend to use them as more of an accessory than an actual tool.”

“Kind of like- your mouth- you mean,” Arthur tried, he really did, but Merlin could see aching hurt in the curve of his shoulders, the exhaustion in his half curled hands as Merlin gently took them and unlocked the heavy metal bracelets.

“I’ll have you know that I never say anything that doesn’t need to be heard,” Merlin wanted to wrap them now, the bruising looked darker without the metal obscuring it, crusts of dried blood scabbed over shallow sores, but they didn’t have the time.  Arthur seemed to understand this, forgoing a response to conserve his energy as Merlin helped him into a shirt as gently as possible.  “I’m sorry Arthur,” Merlin whispered into his ear, feeling the heat radiating off the man’s entire body as he moved to his side and gently raised an arm over his shoulder, “but we need to move.”

“Then do it,” he ordered, sharply, nearly growling and Merlin forced them both to their feet, taking so much of Arthur’s weight that he nearly toppled back down, but Arthur had locked his legs by then.  Merlin didn’t need to see his face to know the sheer determination that would be all over it.

The first few steps were agony.  Arthur hesitated before each one, his hand flexing on Merlin’s shoulder as he forced his limbs to move forward after so much disuse, until he made a hurt, angry noise in his throat, straightened up, and began to move with purpose.

Merlin kept his arms around him as securely as he dared, terrified of causing more pain but needing to support him.  Arthur said nothing about it, glancing at the guard as they moved beyond the cell, then glancing around the room, gaze lingering on the rough rectangular table covered in wax drippings.  Merlin couldn’t see his face, didn’t know what he was thinking, he just led them on.  There was no point moving the guard, it would take too long and anyone coming down here would discover Arthur’s escape in moments anyway.

It was almost ridiculously easy moving through the dank undertunnels of the castle, the ground not quite smooth but for once nobody blocking their path, until they were finally beyond the castle wall.

Arthur was lagging, his steps faltering, nearly taking Merlin down as he tripped over a clump of grass, and Merlin nearly sobbed in relief when the shadow of a large, dark horse finally loomed before them.  Right where Morgana promised.

She whinnied at their approach but calmed the moment Merlin cooed at her.  She had no saddle, but a thick saddle pad with sewn in stirrups was strapped to her, along with several bulging bags.  Arthur reached a shaking hand out to her, fisting her mane and letting her take his weight as Merlin moved to untie her bridle from the trees branch.  Here Merlin paused, trying not to stare at Arthur in the darkness; Arthur and his laboured breathing, the memory of the sweat that had broken across his skin, his entire body shaking, and he feared the next step.

“Arthur, you need to get on the horse,” Merlin whispered, glad at least for the slight wind because it masked the tiniest of sounds.  Arthur rolled his brow over the horses neck to gaze at Merlin, and nodded slowly.  Then, with a quick tap Arthur ordered “down” and the animal shifted, snorted, and dropped to her front knees.

“Oh,” Merlin blinked and moved quickly to help as Arthur so very carefully lifted his leg over her back and slid into place.  “I didn’t know she could do that,” which was a relief beyond words and Merlin patiently waited for her to stand back on her forelegs before swinging himself up.  Thankfully the bags had been placed for two riders, pressing at the back of Merlin’s thighs but not in the way.

He hesitated a moment, not certain what to do with his arms, before Arthur finally seemed to lose the last of his energy and began to sag forward.  Merlin very gently wrapped an arm around him and pulled him back until his back rested against him.  The heat on his body was unnatural, it practically burned through his clothes.  Sick.  He was too sick.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Merlin whispered, knowing the position must be agony on his wounds but Arthur didn’t answer, already too far gone in either sleep or the unavoidable rest of the injured.  Merlin carefully splayed his hand over his chest, holding him in place, and reached for the reins with the other.

As they rode through the night he whispered words of healing and hoped, with all his heart, that Arthur would be okay.

ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ

The ringing of the castle bells broke the early morning silence, rousting half asleep sentries from their posts and dragging those who managed to fall asleep from their bedrolls.  Uther was already wide awake.  Wide awake and standing still as a statue as he looked over his kingdom in the predawn light.  The warning bell was almost a relief, pulling him from his dark thoughts with the swiftness of a sword being drawn.

He turned sharply and moved back inside just as Arthur burst through the hall doors with his manservant hot on his heels.  He looked as though he had been getting a good nights rest, his dark hair wayward in the halls candle light.

“What is it?” He asked, his voice rough from sleep as he looked to Uther for explanation.  Uther didn’t know, but it was only ever moments after a bell before his knights informed him of the problem and, true to form, Sir Kay came marching imposingly through the door, two of the castles guards following closely.

“Sire,” he bowed his head briefly as he stopped before Uther, his face grim, and took a moment to nod at Arthur as well.  “King Baranak has escaped the dungeons-”

“What!” Arthur stepped up beside Uther and narrowed his eyes at Sir Kay with an anger that was quicker to rise than Uther had grown accustomed over the years.  Ne’er the less this was not the time to dwell on the changes wrought on his son from the trials of torture, painful though they were.  “What do you mean he’s escaped?  I was there last afternoon and he could scarcely stand!”

Sir Kay kept his face carefully blank as he looked to Uther’s son, but Uther had known this man for years, had fought by his side and knighted him when he was barely of age himself and he could see the unease in his eyes now.

“As you say Prince Arthur,” he bowed his head again, “then I suspect he had aid in his retreat.”

“Enemies surround us,” Uther muttered and then, more sharply “what of the guard tasked with watching him?”

“He is uninjured but cannot recall what happened; one moment he was standing sentry and next he was waking on the dirt with the torches dwindling and the cell open and empty.”

“Who’s responsible for this incompetence?” Arthur demanded, dark eyes alight with rage that concerned Uther though he fought to not reveal it.

“It is of no matter at the moment,” Uther waved off, “it will be dealt with.  At this time we must set a course of action.  We will delay the march to Baranak’s lands until we-”

“No!” Arthur snapped and Uther turned then, narrowing his eyes in warning and staring at his son until the boy’s shoulders dropped and his heated eyes turned apologetic.  Prince or not his was not the place to interrupt his King and Uther was loath to let him forget it, especially now when his emotions seemed to rule him.

“Forgive my impudence your Majesty,” he bowed his head in respect before looking up with eyes still aflame with emotion.  “I simply wish that we not delay the march to Baranak’s lands for fear of it making us look weak and unprepared.”

“You would have us attack even while the one we fight against is running free in our fields?”

“Yes sire, I would.  We must not show weakness, of any kind,” Arthur pressed his lips together and breathed deeply through his nose, once, as he pleadingly met Uthers gaze.  “We’ll have a hunting party of our finest trackers out to find him and bring Baranak and his accomplice back to us, but I do not wish to delay our offensive strike.  We will give the enemy too much time to prepare a defence.”

What defence?  Uther wanted to ask.  Baranak’s lands were stuffed with farming communities, their few discovered mines not offering much in the way of trade and their army less than half the size of Camelot’s.

“Father,” Arthur’s cool eyes pleaded with him, too filled with anguish, “our men are ready to fight for us, to help reclaim the honour the deception stole, that the dark magic stripped from us with every day spent in the bowels of that place.  Should Baranak make it safely back to his reign,” he paused as though his thoughts pained him, and shook his head, “his kingdom cannot be led by a man so cruel, so lost with his humanity.  His people will suffer in the years to come, let us not allow it.”

Uther didn’t sigh, didn’t allow his shoulders to slump.  His boy was not a stranger to battle, he understood the loss and the pain that such hostile actions would become yet he still felt that it was the only course.  So it must be.

“We ride out as planned,” he declared and turned to Sir Kay, “have your best trackers accompanied by two Knights set out to find Baranak.  Bring him to us alive and no more damaged than he already is.”  He turned back to Arthur, gazing deep into his dark brown eyes.  Uther remembered once thinking how his son resembled his other.  He couldn’t see it anymore.  “Sir Holden will not meet us on a battle ground, he needs the protection of the castle walls to stand a chance of resistance.  Edgar Baranak will be beheaded at the foot of his foundations.  We will see if this is enough for Sir Holden to lay his arms down.”  He turned and began moving out, he needed to have his armour strapped on if they were to leave by the time the sun crested the hill.  “I want no villagers hurt in any way lest they give you no choice.  We are invading their country, they do not need us invading their homes.”

“Yes sire,” he could hear Sir Kay bow deeply behind him and did not turn back.  If he had he might have seen the unreasonable glee on his son’s face and begun questioning the entire purpose behind their invasion once more.

ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ

Merlin did his best to keep Arthur as still as possible, but it was an unreasonable wish considering the movement of the horse combined with the uneven ground and trickery of darkness.  He didn’t realize how grateful he was for Arthur’s unconscious state until the man woke in his arms and quickly cut off a strangled gasp.  His body stiffened, his back pulling wetly away from Merlin’s chest, creating space between them that almost felt like more of a wall than the damned curse did.

“Arthur?” he questioned thickly, the early morning chatter of the forest competing with his voice.  Arthur took a deep breath and one of his previously limp hands rose to cover Merlin’s; instead of removing it as Merlin had feared he simply curled his fingers around Merlin’s own and held on.  Between the heat of his chest and the warmth of his palm there was no doubt that his fever had yet to break.

“I’m fine,” he croaked regardless, voice wispy dry and Merlin gently pulled the horse to a stop and reached to the water skin strapped by his thigh.  He uncorked it and brought it to Arthur’s lips.

“Slow,” he warned, carefully tipping the leather bag to the right angle.  Arthur managed a few sips before he choked a little and pushed the bag away.

“No…more,” he gasped and Merlin quickly put it away, their mare shifting uneasily beneath them.

“Arthur,” Merlin began again, picking up the reins and very carefully not dislodging his other hand from beneath his Prince’s surprisingly strong grip.

“Keep going,” Arthur interrupted him with heavy breath and a half cough.  Merlin could feel in his chest where he stifled a groan and he wanted to argue.  They should stop, Arthur needed rest, but-  “keep going,” Arthur ordered again and dropped his head back to loll against his shoulder.

“We need to stop,” Merlin began looking around, trying to see if this would be a reasonable place to camp, but Arthur flopped his head back and forth in disagreement.

“No- keep moving,” he swallowed, “more distance.”

“I don’t think-”

“Move!” he snapped, or at least tried to.  Merlin sighed but urged their mount on.  It was difficult to not notice the pain Arthur was in, the stifled gasps, the grip around Merlin’s hand near crushing at times, the way he kept his back arched from touching Merlin.

When the sun had reached mid-morn Merlin had had enough.  Arthur was near delirious, Merlin couldn’t help him on horseback, and they were both in desperate need of rest.  He wasn’t overly familiar with this area of the forest, but they’d crossed a stream a short ways back and he curved the horse in its direction.  It was a while before he came upon it again, the trees thick and hanging around them, providing cover from the cool wind that had cropped up.

Merlin slid carefully off their horse, legs nearly buckling from being astride so long, and repeated the order Arthur had given the mare upon mounting.  She heaved to her knees, head swinging back and forth as though trying to see them, and Arthur tipped to the side, nearly falling off her back instead of waiting for Merlin’s aid.  Merlin barely caught his stumble in time.

“Idiot,” he couldn’t help muttering fondly as the prince scowled at the ground, limbs shaking from the effort but still stubborn enough to hate needing the help.  Arthur tossed him a half hearted glare and allowed Merlin to lead him a few feet away and sit him gently on a tuft of grass and old leaves.  He pulled their things from the horses back and despaired that there wasn’t a great deal of grass for her to graze.  He looked between Arthur and her and when he caught Arthur’s glare he took the hint and led her a short distance through the trees to leave her by the stream and a heavier looking spot of greenery.  “Thank you,” he murmured to her, stroking her neck tiredly and she stepped away with a flick of her ear to drink deeply.  Merlin turned to head back, hesitated, and carefully muttered the strongest concealing spell he knew.  He felt the magic course through him, it made his pounding head ache more and his vision blurred for a moment, but when he finished he felt safer than he had since he’d determined who Arthur really was.  “Try to stay quiet and not give us away eh?” He asked the horse, who snorted in response, though that could be from her snuffling the ground for an acceptable meal.

When he near stumbled back to Arthur it was to see him slowly, agonizingly slowly, unrolling their only bedroll on the ground.  Merlin very carefully did not sigh.

“What is this?” he moved beside Arthur and gently tugged it away despite the heated glare.  “You get injured and, for the first time in your life I might add, you decide to help with setting up camp?”

“Also, for the, last time” Arthur breathed out, but the haughty effect was lost when his gaze fell on Merlin’s chest and he grew distracted.  Merlin frowned, looked down, and remembered the majority of early morning when he had kept Arthur pressed close.  His blue shirt was stained with dried blotches of brown blood.  Not even his red scarf or jacket had escaped untarnished.  “I’ll, get you a, new, shirt,” Arthur swallowed passed the effort of speaking, his eyes slightly glazed from fever and Merlin shook his head.  He couldn’t care less about his shirt.

“I have plenty more, don’t worry about it,” which was a lie, he had one more, red and worn, resting in a heap on his bed back home.  “Besides, I’m an expert at removing blood from clothing, or are you forgetting that I handle allll your laundry.” Arthur blinked slowly at this and Merlin grabbed the water skin once more.  “Here, drink,” he ordered and Arthur hesitated before making the effort to swallow a few more mouthfuls.  Merlin did the same before tossing it to the side.  “I need to clean your wounds Arthur,” he couldn’t help the apology in his voice and couldn’t help the way Arthur just nodded in resignation before he sat straighter and started to struggle to remove his shirt.  Merlin laid a gentle hand on the bruised and swollen wrist, halting the action.  “Let me, I don’t want you to accidentally tear anything further.

“Not a child,” Arthur glared.

“No, you’re really not, but I still don’t want to see you anymore hurt than you already are.”

Arthur blinked at him, no doubt at the sternness in his tone, and capitulated.  Most likely he was too drained to argue.  Merlin carefully set about getting the one pot from the bags and filling it with water from the stream and began the slow, laborious process of removing clothing plastered to injured skin.  Arthur didn’t protest once, but his knuckles were bloodless in his lap by the time Merlin finished.  “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered as he placed the soiled clothing aside and Arthur’s eyelids peeled open suddenly, heated with an anger Merlin wasn’t overly familiar with.

“Not.  Your.  Fault.” Arthur pushed out between clenched teeth.  Stormy blue eyes held his gaze until Merlin blinked and nodded and looked back down to the burn on his torso, the angry strip of bruising over his hip that disappeared under his pants.  “Nobody’s fault but Baranak.” Arthur finished with a snarl and startled Merlin deeply when he raised a shaking hand and laid it gently on the side of Merlin’s brow.  Pointedly.  Arthur was aware of the ache in his head, the pain so deep and constant it nearly left Merlin out of sorts, but not so bad that he couldn’t function.  “Getting worse?” he asked softly and Merlin smiled instead of agreeing that yes, actually, the pain was getting worse.  It must have to do with the dwindling time to its conclusion.

“Let’s get this cleaned and then we can rest.  Rest will be good for us,” Merlin said by way of answering and Arthur’s shaking hand dropped back to his lap and he nodded.  Merlin had to go back to the stream four times to replace the water, muttering little warming spells under his breath so the shocking cold wouldn’t be so painful on the torn flesh.  By the time he pulled out the salve he had taken from Gauis’s stores Arthur was curling over himself in an unconscious attempt to escape the pain and Merlin went back to the waters edge once more, rinsing and refilling the pot, and held the jar out before him.

“Þu fornimst adl fram guman!” he cast the words at the jar, the same words he’d used to cure Gwen’s father from the plague, and hoped to the energies that he wasn’t being foolish.  Hoped he wasn’t revealing too much.  With his back turned he didn’t notice the way Arthur’s fevered eyes, set at half mast, watched him intently.

He never noticed when Arthur watched him like that.

When he returned to the prince’s side the blonde, dirt caked man did nothing to dissuade him from liberally smearing the medicine all over his wounds.  He accepted a potion to hopefully break the fever without protest and choked down more water before Merlin wrapped his wounds once more.  He pulled the blanket from the pile of belongings, so tired now his own hands were shaking and his vision was near constantly blurred.  He lay Arthur on his side and spread the blanket over his legs before stretching out alongside him.  Then, very slowly and with clear intent, he pulled at Arthur’s arm so the ill man’s chest was rolling half over his own, his head pillowed on Merlin’s shoulder and his wounds had no chance of being pressed into the dirt covered ground.

Arthur’s entire body went taught as a stick and for a long, tense moment Merlin feared he would protest the arrangements, against all sense.  Then Arthur took in a shaky breath and very slowly relaxed into him.  It was a while before his near panicked breathing calmed and Merlin lay still the entire struggle.

“Need to watch,” Arthur mumbled into his shoulder, “trackers…”

“Shhh,” Merlin closed his eyes, feeling the pressure to sleep close in on him.  “It’s taken care of.  Nobody will find us here.  Rest.  You’re safe.”

The moment Arthur’s body went completely slack over his Merlin lost his own battle against slumber, the stress and pain and loss of sleep for what felt like forever finally too much for him.

ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ

Merlin stirred once in the early afternoon light, Arthur breathing heavily on his shoulder and not even twitching at the slight movement.  For long minutes Merlin listened carefully as footsteps moved through the forest near them, soft conversations murmured about how the trail ended, how there was nothing more to track, how they had no idea where Prince Arthur’s prisoner and accomplice had gone.  He listened as the trackers (Merlin did not recognize them for whenever tracking was needed in his presence Arthur was always there to take the mantle) discussed that he and Arthur must have used the stream to disguise their wanderings.

Merlin heard the unease in their voices, the mutterings about not bringing prisoner Baranak before Uther at the foundations of his own castle.  Of the determination to find him so Arthur could be avenged.  Of their decision to follow the stream and hopefully pick up the trail further down.  When they moved on, not fifteen paces from where he and Arthur rested, from where their horse rested, Merlin breathed a soft sigh of relief and drifted back to sleep.

“I’ll kill you,” Arthur murmured into his chest sometime in the late evening, waking him once more and Merlin felt cotton headed and alarmed as Arthur’s fingers dug into his rib cage, sharply.  He squeezed and released, squeezed and released, and Merlin realized with a start that the man was dreaming.  “do this-” his voice was gravelly and choked and completely foreign to Merlin’s experienced ears.  “-do this- life is forfeit.  end you.  don’t.”  Merlin couldn’t help the tears the pricked his eyes at the desperation in Arthur’s voice.  The fear, the pain, the sheer misery he would never allow himself to show were it his choice and Merlin turned his head slightly and brushed his lips across Arthur’s sweaty brow.

“It’s okay,” he hummed softly into the dirty hair.  “It’s okay, I’m here now.  Nobody’s going to hurt you anymore.  I’m here.”

Arthur settled almost instantly, tense body relaxing, his fingers holding more than gripping and Merlin, his head clearer than it had been when he’d lain down, moved carefully out from under Arthur in the darkness.  He checked the horse, and then made Arthur stir, eat and drink, though Arthur was distinctly unhappy about it.  He cleaned the wounds again, they already looked a hundred times better from the poultice, no longer flaming with the beginnings of deep infection, no longer dripping crimson or sick, milky white.  He put out the small torch light he used to see by and shuffled back in place, Arthur not protesting the positioning at all this time, sighing shakily into Merlin’s shoulder before falling asleep once again.

It was a long time before Merlin was able to follow.

When he awoke next it was to the cool press of air on his body and a loss of weight that nearly had him startling up in panic.  The soft splashing of water very close by settled him and he cracked his eyes open in the early morning light to investigate.

Arthur was awake.

He had stripped bare and was kneeling in the small stream, cupping water up over his face and then beginning to rub it into his hair.  His skin was pale in the sunbeams, the bruises on his wrists not as bad anymore but still looking black in comparison to the ivory skin.  Merlin looked to the burn wound on his torso, the skin pulling together faster than was natural and looking less painful than it had mere hours before.  Then his eyes caught on the bruises he hadn’t seen before.  Deep and black, blacker than the bands on his wrist, purple around the black, small and numerous and pressed deep into his thigh, wrapped around his hips, pressed so low on the small of his back.  The perfect size for strong fingers.

The long, hard line of a bruise that Merlin hadn’t investigated fully earlier now much clearer, more defined, the press of a hard, sharp edge over hip and lower belly.  Like a table.  Like the table covered in candle drippings and the night guards dinner plate.

The dizziness Merlin had finally rid with his sleep came back all at once.  He closed his eyes to this new image seared in his mind, swallowed compulsively against its implications, and took a breath that felt like it stabbed right into his chest.

He heard Arthur growl in frustration and opened his eyes again, waiting to be asked for help, but Arthur didn’t appear to know Merlin was awake.  He was frustrated with cupping water over his head, it was taking too long, and Merlin very carefully took another breath and schooled his face.  He sat up on the bedroll, ignoring the twinge in his back from sleeping on the ground, and reached for the pot.

“Here,” he called softly and held it up when Arthur looked sharply over.  At Arthur’s considering nod he half tossed half slid it within his reach and didn’t stick around to watch as Arthur carefully picked it up and began dousing his hair more thoroughly.  “I’m going to check on the horse,” Merlin announced, very proud of how bored and steady he sounded, and tripped on a root as he moved off through the trees.

The mare was where he’d left her, the area around her picked clear of grass and Merlin moved her to another spot where she happily set to work.

He couldn’t help leaning his back to a tree as his shaking legs threatened to give out, and slid carefully down until his knees were practically pressed to his chest.  He tilted his head back to stare at the canopy for a long time, very carefully trying not to think at all about what he suspected he had just learned of Arthur’s imprisonment.

It didn’t work.  The fury, the sheer rage at the atrocity, the maliciousness, the…Merlin didn’t even have words.  He couldn’t find the words and he wanted to sob but instead he suffered the anger bubbling like a live thing just beneath his skin.  Arthur had to take his enemies life for the spell to break, but he came to the decision that if Arthur, for whatever reason, was not able to kill Edgar Baranak when the time came then Merlin- Merlin would really have no problem finishing the job.  Merlin would find a spell from the dark book that Gaius forbid him to look at and flay the man’s skin from his bones.  He’d-

“Are you quite finished resting for the morning?” Arthur’s even, unimpressed tone cut through the heart of his darkest thoughts and he startled, looking to find his prince carefully sliding the soft saddle over their horses back.  His movements were still pained but clearly no longer overwhelming.  His face was flushed from illness, but not from the fever of the day before, that had broken in the early evening.  “Honestly Merlin I would have thought you’d gotten enough sleep with the day and a half of lounging around you’ve imbibed in already.”

“That I’ve imbibed in?”  He couldn’t help the automatic incredulous cut to his tone and Arthur looked over at him with a raised eyebrow, daring him to continue.  Merlin ignored it.  “I’ll have you know that I was the one that kept us both astride this horse all night before we both took rest here.”

“And yet I’m the one packing the horse while you’re sitting on your arse staring at birds,” Arthur tightened the girth, turning away to hide the grimace of pain the action no doubt caused and Merlin was on his feet instantly, worried and trying not to show it.  Arthur didn’t always respond well to people truly caring over him, not on any personal level anyway.  “Here’s an idea, how about you try and cobble something together for breakfast before we both relapse from starvation, hm?”

Merlin didn’t waste any time arguing over that order, both glad for something to distract himself with and for the fact that Arthur, for the first time since being thrown into the dungeon, was requesting a meal.  He didn’t make any comment as Arthur managed only half of the meager offerings, but was relieved when he drank deeply from the stream and ignored all the jibes about his cooking abilities.

It wasn’t until they were once again ahorse, Arthur not hesitating to ask the creature to drop to her knees in care of his healing injuries, that Merlin thought about how deliberately disrupting Arthur could be to Merlin’s thought process.  He wondered if Arthur took care to distract all his servants from their deep, dark thoughts, but he knew the answer was a resounding no.

It wasn’t until midday when Merlin, trying not to press into Arthur’s back as they rode (desperately trying not to clutch too heavily over the mans hidden bruises as he held on) that he thought to ask his prince exactly where they were going.

“Where do you think we’re going Merlin,” he shot back with impatience and Merlin rolled his eyes.

“If I knew I clearly wouldn’t be asking you.  I’ve never been to these parts before, it’s all unfamiliar to me.”

“You know proper royalty would take punishment for that insolent tone out of your hide,” he responded dryly.  Merlin fished about his leg for the water skin, uncapped it and passed it forward.  Arthur took it without hesitance.

“Well it’s a good thing you’re not proper,” he took the skin back and had a drink of his own.  He contemplated shoving another potion down Arthur’s gullet and decided to wait until they stopped for meal.

“It’s a good thing for you that I prefer the stockades to the noose.  It has been a while since your last visit to them if I recall.”

“It’s true,” though the last time Arthur had locked him in the stocks for misbehavior he’d spent just as much time visiting him throughout the afternoon as he had away.  And he’d let him out earlier than he’d said he would so Merlin could fetch him his supper of cooled chicken and boiled potato. “Though you’re so often lost without me at your beck and call that I fear the separation might be more than you can handle.”

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” he growled back, though Merlin could hear the very faint amusement in his tone and that, at least, was a small victory, before Arthur swallowed and gently steered the horse around a felled tree.  “I do believe there is a war that needs to be foiled,” he announced loftily, like it was no big thing though the grip on the reins said otherwise.  “We’re already a day and a half behind, but I plan to be there before the siege begins.”

“Siege?” Merlin swallowed, fear spiking through him at the thought of all the death Baranak was planning on bringing to his own people as well as Arthur’s.

“Yes, siege,” Arthur gave an aggrieved huff.  “Sir Holden will be in charge, Baranak’s heir is too far removed to arrive within time to lead and too young to properly rule through battle.  Their army is small, they will need the protection of the castle walls once Camelot attacks, though it won’t be enough to help them.”  Arthur shifted slightly in his seat, and Merlin leaned back to make sure he didn’t brush against his back.

“No, no I know about the siege,” Merlin declared softly, closing his eyes in the hope that it would settle the slight dizzy spell that attacked him.  “I don’t know why I sounded surprised, of course you would want to go there.” He swallowed thickly as the spell mercifully receded, and opened his eyes to the back of Arthur’s sweaty neck, his hair curling slightly at the nape.  “But how did you know?  I never mentioned Edgar’s motivations to you.”

“Please Merlin,” Arthur scoffed softly, not bothering to hide the weariness in his tone as he shifted again, sucking in a near silent sharp breath at the pain as he futilely sought a comfortable perch.  “I’ve known Edgar since we were children.  I know his thirst for power, I have known his lust for cruelty since we became young men, I have seen how he treats his servants and how he preens with nobles.  If I were he,” he snorted darkly and Merlin swallowed thickly once more, “if I were in his place now, with the merit for retribution and the backing of all of Camelot, then claiming Baranak’s kingdom would be the only sound retribution.  I’m frankly surprised he hasn’t moved to attack his lands sooner.”

“Your father,” Merlin faltered slightly and started again when Arthur’s shoulders stiffened.  “King Uther was hesitant to respond so swiftly to bloodshed.” Arthur took a slow breath and then nodded.

“Yes.  He and Camilus were good friends, it was one of the few alliances we could trust to never weaken or crumble.  His son-” he snarled and then paused a moment to control the fierce anger that flooded his tones, his body trembling slightly in rage and Merlin couldn’t help thinking of the bruises Arthur wouldn’t let him touch while rubbing poultice into his wounds.  “His son is not deserving of the blood of such a man.  He is unworthy of his kingdom.”

They rode in silence for a while after that, picking their way through the forest as the sun began to dip to the west.  It wasn’t long before Arthur began sagging more and more, his arms drooping to his lap until the horse was basically steering herself.  Merlin carefully wrapped his arm back around his chest, holding him lightly so he wouldn’t slip if he fell asleep.  Arthur sighed heavily but lifted his tired arms again.

“How do we break the curse?” he asked with a rough voice after another long bout of silence.  Merlin curled his fingers in Arthur’s shirt before relaxing, unable to hide the nerves of discussing magic with anyone but Gaius.  He stayed quiet a moment too long apparently, when Arthur impatiently dug an elbow back and gently knocked him in the ribs.  “Come on, I know you must have an idea of what’s going on.  You and Gaius always know,” there was a warning in his voice that Merlin wasn’t quite sure of, but he hadn’t been planning on hiding his knowledge about this curse from Arthur -that would be ridiculous- so he unclenched his fingers and began fumbling for the bag by his thigh.

“The only thing I could come up with is that you need to kill Baranak.”

“Well…that seems simple enough,” Arthur decided, leaning back slightly.

“I’m assuming this means Edgar is still shite with a sword,” Merlin fervently hoped aloud, because at the rate they were going Arthur wouldn’t be healed enough for any kind of fair battle.  Though that had, admittedly, never stopped him in past circumstance.  It certainly wouldn’t slow him down now, not with the kingdom at stake.

“He never did enjoy sparring, but he was King Baranak’s heir and has been trained by their best knights.  You’ve seen us spar.”

“Well, you certainly don’t sound concerned,” Merlin muttered, because despite the recommendation Arthur came across as positively derisive.

“He’s never come close to besting me in a tournament, nor in practice.  I am not concerned.”  He said it with the brashness and confidence that he always held for his fighting skills and his tone left nothing to question.  The way he was sagging back slowly in Merlin’s embrace left everything to question, but Merlin wisely did not mention this.  Instead he swallowed down the cold worry that crawled up his throat and pressed the tonic he had unearthed from the bag into Arthur’s hand and took the leather reins.  “What’s this?” Arthur asked even as he fumbled with the cork stopper.

“To help ease the pain sire, and speed your recovery.”  Arthur’s hands froze at raising it to his lips.

“This will put me to sleep?”

“That’s not the purpose for it, but I’m guessing that decrease in pain will increase your bodies need to rest.” Merlin could practically feel the stubborn frown creeping along Arthur’s face, though he couldn’t see it, and the stubborn arse began to lower the potion.

“The pain is not unbearable and we need to keep moving.  I will take this once we-”

“You’ll take it now,” Merlin happily cut him off, trying for cheerful but knowing the strained warning came through loud and clear.  Still Arthur made no move to take the potion.

“Excuse me?” he asked darkly, turning his head slightly to the side and giving Merlin a great view of his inner ear.  “It’s times like these that I truly believe you forget who you’re addressing,” he warned sharply and Merlin snorted with just as much sharpness.

“You’d be surprised how difficult it is to forget such a prat,” he wrapped both reins in one hand and gently rested his other on Arthur’s wrist, making no move to restrain him.  He could feel the trembling in the mans fingers and bit back a grieved sigh.  “Arthur,” he softened his tone, “there is no shame in taking rest and comfort while the road offers it.  We will keep moving, I will keep you securely astride should you sleep.”

“You?  And I suppose you’ll keep us headed in the right direction?  You can barely see straight with that headache of yours.”

“I can see just fine,” he denied, which was thankfully true at this particular moment, “but you need to heal.  How do you plan to take back your kingdom if you’re too sick to fight?”  It was perhaps a low blow and Arthur clearly didn’t appreciate it as his grip tightened on the delicate bottle to the point Merlin was suddenly worried he would crush it.  Then he took a deep, calming breath and forced his body to relax the way Merlin had seen him do at a hundred dinner parties and council meetings.

“Is it one of your tonics?” he wondered, which gave Merlin brief pause before he shook his head.

‘No, it’s one of Gaius’s.  You’ve had it before while recovering.” Arthur nodded tightly and apparently needed another moment of decision making before he pulled it to his lips and drank it down in one swallow.  He made no complaint of the bitter taste and accepted the water silently when Merlin offered.  The silence was strained for a while before Arthur’s posture finally relaxed, to Merlin’s relief.

“Keep us on track?”  Arthur asked with a sleep filled voice, obviously still fighting to stay awake.

“Of course,” he assured instantly, tightening his hold on his prince.  Arthur leaned back into him more solidly, his head lolling on his shoulder.

“Should be at border by midnight,” he slurred, breathing sharply a moment and starting to sit forward but Merlin easily -too easily- held him in place.  Arthur’s shoulders and chest tightened for a moment before his muscles relaxed more completely and Merlin shifted slightly to carry the weight.  “Don’t get lost” he mumbled, almost too quiet for Merlin to hear, but hear it he did and a warm smile curled his lips.

“Git,” he muttered back, perhaps a tad too fondly.  “Sleep.  I’ve got you.”

It was a long, painful ride to the border but Merlin didn’t dare stop until the stars were out and their mare began to falter in her steps.  The ache in his head was almost too much to work through, but he forced himself to get her to food and to clean Arthur’s wounds once more.  Arthur remained silent throughout, his eyes dark in the night as he watched Merlin work.

When it came time to bed down on the single roll once more Merlin finally hesitated, kneeling by Arthur’s side before carefully admonishing himself for his caution.  He’d been touching Arthur near constantly since they stole away from Camelot, had had his arms wrapped around him in one manner or another since this horror of a journey began.  It was no different now.  He slipped onto the thin roll, glad there were no rocks beneath that he had missed earlier, and after another hesitation he pulled Arthur to drape across his chest once more.  Arthur helped more this time, a sure sign that his wounds were getting better by the hour, but it was impossible not to notice him pause before he lay his arm over Merlin’s chest.  Impossible to not notice when Merlin was looking for it so vigilantly.  After Arthur silently pillowed his cheek on Merlin’s shoulder it was also impossible not to notice the stiffness of his body, the tension thrumming through every part of him in contact with Merlin’s own.  They lay there in silence a long while, Arthur’s breath shaky in his throat and when it seemed as though he would never be able to relax Merlin decided it must be from the contact.

God knows if what Merlin suspected had happened to Arthur was true then touching another person in this setting was bound to be distressing.  The hot rage swelled in his chest once more but he calmly fought it back.  There were enough leaves around to make a comfortable nest for himself and he could stuff them under the bedroll to help prop Arthur up as well.  Surely it would be more comfortable for the man.  With a thick, uneasy swallow he moved to pull gently away.  He didn’t make it past shifting his shoulders before Arthur’s fingers dug sharply into his rib cage with the unyielding grip Merlin was always so impressed by.  Merlin froze, unable to keep his own breathing steady now as heartache started to well up inside.

“Arthur” he started, hushed, but he didn’t get a chance to explain his intentions when the iron grip squeezed again in warning.

“Stay,” Arthur ordered, as unsteady as Merlin had ever heard him.  Merlin swallowed heavily and closed his eyes tight.

“I thought you might be more comfortable-”

“Stay,” Arthur ordered again, firmer, and Merlin easily gave up any intention to move.  After a long moment Arthur’s grip eased though his body did not and they lay in the darkness listening to the night sounds.  Merlin wished for the warm crackle of a fire but he dared not light one when Camelot’s skilled trackers could be so close.  He could feel Arthur rhythmically clenching and unclenching his jaw, until he finally relaxed into Merlin fully, his breath still unsteady and Merlin remained quiet, the pounding in his head making his skull ache where it rested on the ground.  “I will never condemn your touch,” Arthur’s voice croaked softly into his chest and he felt his throat work against his arm as he swallowed, “nor fear it.  You need not pull away.”  Silent tears came unbidden to Merlin’s eyes and he found he didn’t have words to express how humbled he felt in that moment.  Not knowing what else to do he pulled his arms tighter around Arthur, hoping it wouldn’t be too much, but Arthur made no protest and not long after Merlin felt him slip away to slumber.

It took Merlin much longer to escape the pain, both in his head his and heart.

ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ

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