Chapter Text
Arthur had never pushed Hengroen so hard in his life. The horse was panting, sweat and foam running out of his mouth as he sprinted across the countryside. Had Merlin been conscious, he probably would have scolded Arthur for being too hard on the poor steed but the man was unconscious, carefully coddled in Arthur’s arms. Arthur didn't know how to treat Merlin’s wound. Merlin was the one with the medical knowledge. But he knew that so much blood wasn’t good. The rest of the knights pounded on behind him. The entire group was completely silent, all of their attention focused on driving their horses forward and trying to avoid thinking of what might be inevitable.
The Albany forest wasn’t too far from Camelot, it had only taken them a few hours to get there that morning. But it took a fraction of that time to get back, or at least it felt that way to Arthur. He sprinted through the lower town, people rushing to get out of his way. When he finally reached the castle courtyard, he leaped to the ground as quickly as he could without disturbing Merlin.
“You!” barked Arthur. A ginger girl who was carrying a basket of bread jumped and looked to Arthur. “Yes sire?”
“Go fetch Gaius! Tell him that he’s needed in his chambers,” yelled Arthur, already walking to the physician’s chambers.
“But—”
“Now!” Arthur glared at her and the girl scurried away, her basket forgotten.
Arthur ran as fast as he cold, caring little about the people that he ploughed through along the way. Again, Merlin’s voice popped into his head. “You inconsiderate prat! You can’t ram through everyone in the hallway!” Arthur’s heart clenched. He may never hear that voice again.
Arthur burst into the physicians chambers. “Gaius!” he called, hoping that the man was in. He cursed when nobody replied. The man was likely out on his rounds. Arthur carefully lowered Merlin into the patient’s cot. Merlin’s skin was usually pale, but now he was so pale that he was almost white. His breath was haggard and difficult and his forehead was dripping with sweat. Despite all of this, part of Arthur relaxed. Arthur had gotten him to Gaius alive. Gaius could fix it. Gaius always fixed it.
The man in question burst into the room a minute later. “I do hope that you have a good reason for terrorizing the castle and scaring poor Cass—” Gaius’s mouth hung open and his eyes opened wide when he saw his ward on the cot. He ran over and immediately and held a hand to his pulse. He then began grabbing various bottles.
“It was good of you not to pull out the spear, but it has to come out now,” said Gaius. “One of you come and help me." Arthur rushed forward, only to bump into Gwaine.
“Out of the way Gwaine,” growled Arthur.
“No, I need to help him. You’ve done enough,” Gwaine growled back, but Gaius had no time for either of them.
“It doesn’t matter who does it! One of you get over here, I don’t have time for this!” Gaius snapped.
Leon meekly made his way over. In his rush, Arthur had barely noticed that all the knights had followed behind him.
“Apply pressure as I pull this out,” said Gaius. Leon nodded, and Gaius pulled the spear out of Merlin, which caused him to jerk. “Don’t worry my boy,” said Gaius. “Everything will be okay,” but his normally even voice was shaking.
Guinevere burst into the room. “Arthur, what’s going on? The entire castle is in a frenzy.” She followed the direction of his eyes to Merlin, and then gasped in shock.
“Is he going to be okay?” she shrieked, rushing over to Gaius.
“I don’t know.” Gaius was rushing all over the room. “I can’t do this with you all distracting me, Go!” he said.
Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but again, Gwaine beat him to it. “We need to stay we have to be with him,” he insisted.
“I’ll let you know if a turn comes for the worst, but I need space,” barked Gaius.
Gwaine opened his mouth again but Leon spoke first. “We won’t do any good by staying here,” he said quietly. “We have to leave.”
Gwaine’s mouth tightened, before he stormed out of the room. The other knights followed him, until only Guinevere and Arthur left.
“Are you sure that you won’t need any help?” said Guinevere. “I could assist you.”
“That’s no job for a queen,’ said Gaius.
“Merlin is my friend and a good man. If I can do anything…” Guinevere’s voice cracked and she began crying.
“Thank you for your offer Guinevere, but I’d need someone more experienced for this. I’d need…” his voice cracked as well. “Just go, I’ll send for you when I’m finished.”
Arthur went straight back to his chambers. He could tell that Guinevere was trying her best not to cry. They sat in their bed together, hand in hand, hoping that the worst wouldn’t come to pass. Any work he’d had to do that day was ignored. It seemed wrong to carry on as if everything was fine if Merlin was so hurt.
The time that had seemed to gallop by as Arthur had rushed Merlin home had now ground to a halt. Arthur had no clue how Gaius was doing with Merlin. Every minute he wondered if the man that he almost considered a brother was still alive. Perhaps he had already died, and Gaius was on his way this very second to give the news. He looked to the door in horrific anticipation, but Gaius never came.
Others did, and Arthur had his hopes crushed every time the door opened. He yelled at at least four servant who dared open his door. Sir Hector came in to try and convince him of… honestly Arthur couldn’t say. He couldn’t focus on anything but the memory of Merlin’s pale face. The man could have argued for his own execution and Arthur wouldn’t have known. George tried to convince Arthur to eat and do work, but Arthur could barely motivate himself to move at all. Eventually he ate lunch, or did he? Everything was such a blur. Despite time going by so slowly, Arthur could barely remember any of it.
The only time Arthur could remember feeling remotely this terrible was when his father had died. With a stab to the heart he remembered that that had happened due to Arthur’s meddling with magic as well. Arthur clenched his fist. Whenever he tried to give magic an ounce of it chance, it always stabbed him in the back.
The first bright emotion that Arthur remembered after his father’s death had come from Merlin. Arthur had spent the whole night alone in his rooms, shocked that his father was gone. Shocked that the man who had always seemed so strong had been rendered so weak and frail in his last days. But when he had first stepped out of his chambers, there Merlin was, idiot that he was, perched against his door.
“What are you doing here Merlin?” Arthur had asked.
“I didn’t want you to be alone.”
His eyes that had always been so bright and mischievous were now devoid of that, instead filled with sorrow and understanding. Arthur was still wallowing in the pain that the man who had lead him his entire life was gone, but the first signs of had returned to his heart when he realized that Merlin at least would be on his side, and would always be by his side.
Now Arthur was haunted by the pain he had seen in Merlin’s eyes before he had fallen unconscious. His brain played over and over again how he had screamed in pain, unable to say anything else. Arthur couldn’t lose Merlin. He was his responsibility to keep safe. Arthur knew that the bloody idiot only felt safe coming with them on hunts and missions and quests because he believed in Arthur. He could see it in his eyes whenever he looked to him. He had trusted in Arthur to keep him safe, and Arthur had failed him.
Finally, as the sun started to set, there was a timid knock on the door. It was a maid with news. Gaius wanted to see them. Arthur and Guinevere rushed down to the physicians quarters, unable to wait any longer for a verdict.
They were not the only ones there. Gaius must have sent for all of the knight as Leon, Elyan, and Percival were there. Gwaine was missing. Arthur presumed him to be in the tavern, drowning his sorrows as he always did.
Arthur pushed past everyone to look down into the cot. Merlin still lied there, and he looked more stable than he had a few hours earlier. His skin looked sickly and gaunt and his breath was strained. His shirt was off and his wound had been neatly patched up. But he remained in a deep sleep.
“Is he okay?” Arthur demanded.
Gaius sighed. “The spear did a substantial amount of damage, but luckily it missed his major organs. He may have bled out if given enough time, but you got him to Camelot soon enough for me to barely staunch his bleeding,” said Gaius.
Arthur sighed in relief. He could have sung with happiness, but then he looked to Gaius’ face. The man did not look as overjoyed, in fact he still looked worried.
“What’s wrong, isn’t that good?’ asked Arthur.
“Yes, it is good. Merlin may not die of the spear, but he is not yet out of the woods,” said Gaius.
All of Arthur anxiety rushed back in again. “What do you mean?”
“Merlin should have woken by now,” said Gaius, his voice heavy. “But he hasn’t.”
“What does that mean?” asked Guinevere.
“I believe that Merlin is in a magically induced coma. A spell is preventing him from coming to,” said Gaius. He turned to Arthur and said, “I must ask you sire, what did you do to anger the Disir?”
Arthur froze. “We… had a disagreement about my father’s legacy.”
Arthur couldn’t read Gaius’ face. It appeared entirely neutral, devoid of any feeling. “Well then, I suggest that you consider whatever it is that they said, because I suspect that they are the only ones that can lift Merlin’s curse.”
Arthur’s face contorted in fury. “You have to do something!” He covered his face with his hands.”
“I’ve tried Arthur,” said Gaius.
“This isn’t fair. Merlin was innocent he didn’t deserve to be caught up in this,” said Arthur. He felt his immense sorrow start to recede. It wasn’t leaving him entirely, no it was simply being covered by something else. Rage.
Merlin’s injury had set a cloud of misery over his entire person. This bloody rage was better, enveloping his body and muffling all other feeling. Arthur was king, he had hordes of resources at his disposal. He could do something about this.
Arthur turned and stormed out of the physician’s chambers and made a beeline to the armory. It was evening, so most of the knights had completed their training. Arthur hastily tugged on a mail shirt and began reaching for various pieces of armour. Perhaps somewhere his heart ached that Merlin would usually be the one assembling his armour, but Arthur’s rage was all-encompassing. Merlin would be back soon. Arthur would make magic bring him back.
“Sire?” Arthur turned to a confused Mordred standing at the doorway. His gear looked dirty and worn, and the man himself looked tired.
“Where have you been?” snapped Arthur. Merlin’s voice popped up again in Arthur’s head, which almost made him want to cry. It really wasn’t fair for him to be so cruel to Mordred. The boy was green, eager to please, and not experienced enough with Arthur’s tempers to know when not to take him seriously.
Sure enough, Mordred’s eyes grew wide and he looked down to the floor. “I’m sorry sire. I…I was just at the Southern outpost where you sent me.”
Arthur sighed as he tried jamming his chest piece over his head. “I’m sorry Mordred, I shouldn’t be so short with you. But something… unfortunate has happened.” Acknowledging how bad of shape Merlin was in would only make it real.
Mordred cautiously looked Arthur up and down. “What happened sire?” he said.
Arthur exhaled before saying. “Merlin has been injured by the Disir.”
Mordred’s jaw dropped in awe.
“What! But, how?”
“He… he got in their way,” spat out Arthur.
Mordred’s mouth bobbed like a fish, and there looked to be tears in his eyes. Arthur hadn’t realized that Merlin and Mordred were so close.
“Is he okay?” the boy finally grit out.
Arthur tried to speak before shaking his head. Mordred’s eyes—if possible— grew even wider and he quickly darted off, presumably to see Merlin.
Arthur continued trying to dress himself in his armour, but had great trouble. He had long forgotten the exact order that he was supposed to assemble his gear in, and he kept picking pieces that were too small, or too big for him. He fruitlessly tried silencing the voice in his head that sounded like Merlin mocking him for being unable to dress himself.
As Arthur was trying to do the strings for ties around his back, Guinevere slowly came in. Arthur grinned. Guinevere was exactly who he needed.
“Guinevere, darling it’s perfect that you’ve come,” he tried to smile. He wasn’t sure how successful he was.
“I need help putting on my armour, and there’s no better assistant than a blacksmith’s daughter.” He laughed loudly.
Guinevere’s eyes were still red. She had clearly been crying, but her posture was dignified, if a little stiff, and her face had been wiped dry. “What are you doing Arthur?” her voice sounded tired.
“I’m going to go to the Disir, to make them heal Merlin,” Arthur declared confidently.
Guinevere raised an eyebrow. “Your breastplate is on backwards.”
Arthur looked down. It was indeed. He chuckled to himself. “This is why why I married you! Do you think that any of those noble ladies know how this stuff works?” he laughed again and determinedly did not think about the man who pushed him to start seeing Guinevere.
“And what are you going to do to the Disir when you get there,” asked Guinevere.
“Why I’m going to… I’m going to demand that they release Merlin from their spell. If they don’t they’ll catch the wrong side of my sword,” he finished confidently.
“Really? Because from what the knights said it seems that that’s what you tried doing this time and it didn’t work!” said Guinevere.
“It’ll work this time, I’ll show them no mercy!”
“Arthur this is ridiculous,” said Guinevere. “You can’t just go running out there with some half-cocked plan!”
Arthur recoiled, then retaliated in anger. “How dare you! Do you not trust me! I’m the King and I will go to save my subject!”
“Arthur, this is madness! You’re going to get yourself killed!” Guinevere’s face became wet again as tears streamed from her eyes.
“Do you not think that I’m strong enough?” barked Arthur. “I can protect Merlin! He’s going to be fine. He’ll be up with that stupid smile of his soon enough and everything will be fine.” His voice cracked at the end.
Guinevere paused and took a deep breath. “You’re plenty strong Arthur. The best that Camelot has to offer. But getting yourself killed out of guilt won’t help Merlin. It’ll only hurt the kingdom that he loved—loves— so much. If he was here he’d beg you not to do this.
Arthur paused for a long time before throwing the gauntlet that he was holding down. He collapsed down on a bench and began running his hands through his hair. He tried to stop it, but tears began to run down his cheeks.
“What am I supposed to do Guinevere?” he said.
Guinevere sat beside him and stroked his arm. “I don’t know Arthur. But running off like this will help no one. Merlin’s my friend too.”
Arthur didn’t say anything after that, but he grabbed Guinevere and clutched he close. They both sat in silence for awhile, Arthur trying in vain to compose himself.
His father burst into his mind of all things. Arthur couldn’t help but think of how much he’d disapprove of this scene. He with his commoner wife in his arms crying at the possible death of an insolent servant. No, father wouldn’t have approved at all. His father wouldn’t have approved of most of what he’d done today.
Arthur shook his head and wiped his face. Guinevere was right, running off half-cocked wouldn’t help Merlin, but neither would sitting around crying like a girl. Arthur needed a plan, and for that he needed information. He wouldn’t get that here.
“We need to see Gaius,” said Arthur, barely managing to keep his voice even.
“Why?”
“Because we need information. This isn’t the first curse that we’ve dealt with.” He began to gain more confidence. This wasn’t the first curse that they’d dealt with. Arthur could beat this, but first he needed more information from Gaius.
He rose to his feet, his eyes a steely blue. “Gaius will be able to tell us what kind of curse this is, and then we’ll be able to figure out what we need to beat it. But we need to start soon.”
Guinevere rose to her feet as well. “That’s the Arthur that I know.” A smile tugged at the edges of her lips, but her eyes were still wet with tears. “I guess we have work to do.”
Returning to Gaius’ chambers was not as nerve-wracking as it had been before. Arthur had a plan, or at least the beginnings of one. And it would work. He just needed to begin and Gauis was the first step.
Returning was not any less heartbreaking though, Arthur couldn’t help but clench his fist at Merlin’s body on the cot. Seeing him was not any easier. The old man himself was seated at his table, flipping through one of the many tomes that littered the workshop. Good, he had already begun.
“I thought that you had retired, Your Majesty,” said Gaius.
“There is no time for sleep at a time like this,” said Arthur. “Do you have any idea of the curse that they’ve used?”
Gaius sighed. “I told you, the Disir were the ones that placed the spell on him and I suspect—”
“That’s not enough!” barked Arthur. He earned himself a swat from Guinevere and a glare from Gaius. “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that. But the Disir clearly aren’t going to lift the spell and demanding it from them would only antagonize them further. We need another option. We’ve lifted curses before, without killing the original sorcerer. We need a way of doing so again. I don’t care what it costs just… just find it.”
Gaius looked Arthur in the eye and nodded, “Whatever it takes sire.”
“Thank you.” Arthur turned to return to his chambers, but Gaius called from behind him.
“Wait.”
Arthur turned expectingly as Gaius walked to him with a small vial.
“It will help you sleep without dreaming.”
Arthur nodded in gratitude before retiring to his chambers, Guinevere followed closely behind him.
Mordred had never seen the king in such a state. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his hair was a mess, and he was wearing quite the ensemble of mismatched armour pieces. Even in his turbulent state of mind, Mordred immediately recognized that something was wrong.
“Sire?” he asked.
Arthur looked to Mordred with rage in his eyes. “Where have you been?” he snapped.
Mordred didn’t know what to say. He had thought that the king liked him. Had the man not been in such an obvious state of distress, Mordred may have begun questioning his devotion to him. Instead Mordred looked to the ground and said,
“I’m sorry sire. I…I was just at the Southern outpost where you sent me.”
For a second, Mordred was afraid that the King was going to burst in anger, but all that energy quickly deflated. He looked lost in a way that Mordred had never seen before. Arthur had always seemed so confident and sure of himself to Mordred. It was odd seeing the man so forlorn.
“I’m sorry Mordred, I shouldn’t be so short with you. But something… unfortunate has happened.” Mordred could tell by his tone that “unfortunate” was an understatement. Something very bad had happened. In fact, now that Mordred mulled it over, the entire castle had seemed off balance as he came to the armory. He just hadn’t noticed because of his own issues.
“What happened sire?”
Arthur was quiet for a few beats before taking in a deep breath and saying, “Merlin has been injured by the Disir.”
The bottom of Mordred’s stomach fell out. “What! But, how?”
Arthur’s eyes became beady and full of anger. The rage that Mordred had first observed in him was back, although this time Mordred understood it far more.
“He, he got in their way,” said Arthur grimly.
“What could the Disir want that Emrys wouldn’t?” wondered Mordred. The entire affair was shocking and baffling. Despite the two of them never having been particularly close, in many ways Emrys was his bedrock in Camelot more than Arthur was. If Mordred ever doubted his duty or the future, he looked to Emrys.
“Is he okay?” he finally asked. Arthur’s eyes gave him the answer to that question. He bolted out of the room, forgetting all sense of propriety and speeded to the physician's room.
The room wasn’t empty. Gaius was there of course, but his eyes were devoid of life. He looked older than Mordred had ever seen him. The Queen was there as well, her usual calm disposition utterly destroyed. Her face was red and puffy. Leon was comforting her, rubbing her back as she cried.
Mordred quietly pushed back all of them as he made his way to the patient’s cot. He gasped. Despite his humble clothes and job, Emrys had always seemed larger than life to Mordred. He had seemed powerful and striking because Mordred could feel his magic seeping through his skin. But now, Emrys seemed as fragile as the knights had always thought he was. His face was gaunt, his skin was white. If it wasn’t for the subtle movement of his chest Mordred would have thought he was dead.
Mordred turned to Leon. “How did this happen?”
Leon looked up. His eyes were dead as well. “The Disir were… unhappy. And Merlin bore the brunt of it.” Leon’s eyes were filled with tears as well.
“It doesn’t see right does it,” choked out the Queen. “Merlin is such a happy person. He was always so innocent.”
“He doesn’t deserve to die like this,” agreed Leon, rubbing her back.
Mordred took a deep breath in shock. “Is he really dying?” he asked. As awful as Emrys looked, it still seemed impossible to him that he could die.
“He’s under a magical coma,” said Gaius quietly. “I suspect that the Disir are the only ones who can bring him back.”
Mordred gulped before leaving the room. He couldn’t stand so much sadness. But it made no difference as the sorrow followed him back to his barracks. When he got there, he simply sat on his bed and stared at the wall.
What would he do now? He’d hoped that Emrys could help him with Kara. He remembered her defiant eyes, and how the anger had melted to shock as she realized who he was, and what he’d become. Letting her go had felt right in the moment, but was it? Should he have let her answer for her complicity? What would Emrys have done? Now there was no way to get that answer. There possibly would never be a way to get the answer.
Mordred pursed that thought from his mind. Emrys would be fine. Arthur would make sure of it. But what to do with Kara? He’d managed to be reassigned to Camelot, and thus pulled off the search for her, but should he have stayed and helped? Turned her in what he found her in the first place? Or was his not being directly involved with her capture enough. Perhaps she would escape and never hurt anyone again. Or maybe if she was caught she’d be killed on site. Another pang went through Mordred’s already sore heart, but Bors certainly had enough animosity towards sorcerers to do such a thing, regardless of if Arthur would approve. Thinking of Kara’s death was not easy for Mordred. She had been one of his closest friends in his childhood. But he wasn’t sure if he could bear watching her burn in Camelot. Could he stay back and let that happen?
Mordred took in a deep breath. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. For the first time in a long time, Mordred whispered a prayer to the Triple Goddess. He prayed that Kara would escape, or at least be killed away from Camelot.