Chapter Text
“Sire? Sire, can you hear me?”
Arthur frowned, the familiar voice sounding concerned. It took more effort than he expected to pry his eyelids open, squinting up at the sea of faces above him. He realized then he was on the floor.
“G-Gaius?”
The physician looked relieved.
“Why-“ Arthur swallowed, his throat dry. “Why am I on the floor?”
“That’s what I am trying to determine, Sire,” Gaius replied kindly. “Let’s try and get you up.”
Arthur blearily watched as Sir Leon and Gwaine came into focus, their grip gentle on his arms as they began to sit him up. Weakly, Arthur tried to pull out of their grasp.
“I can do it.”
The knights let go but stayed nearby, hovering. Gaius wisely held his tongue while Merlin watched on, uncharacteristically silent. The prince’s stubbornness got him almost into a seated position before his vision blurred. Once again, multiple sets of hands reached out to keep him from falling flat on his back.
“Can’t you just let us help you?” Merlin grumbled.
Arthur scowled up at him. His head ached and his body felt heavy.
“I don’t need help, Merlin.”
“I can see that.” Merlin’s responses lacked their usual goading tone, blue eyes revealing how worried he actually was. “It’s a good thing I never listen to you anyway.”
“Clotpole.”
“Prat.”
“Alright, enough. Both of you.” Gaius placed a gentle hand on Arthur’s head, to check for injury and offer comfort. “What do you remember, Sire?”
Arthur swallowed and tried to think. It was like wading through a deep mud, laborious and slow, each attempt further compounding the ache residing in his skull.
“I-uh-we returned. Last night. I-“ Arthur’s voice caught in his throat. The dream. He found he couldn’t look at Merlin for fear of finding those lifeless eyes again. “I remember waking in my chambers. Merlin coming in. And then…I’m not sure.”
Leon and Gwaine shared a concerned look and Gaius frowned.
“I see.” The physician placed the back of his hand to Arthur’s forehead, the way he’d done when Arthur was ill as a boy, making the prince flush with embarrassment. “You have a fever, Sire. Most likely from riding through the storm and remaining in your damp clothes.”
Gaius stood slowly, knees aching from the way he’d knelt on the floor.
“Sir Leon, Gwaine, if you would be so kind.”
The knights moved back to Arthur’s side. They each took an elbow, helping lift the prince to his feet and keep him steady.
Arthur grumbled, but allowed them to help guide him to the edge of his bed. He avoided Merlin’s eyes still. Though Arthur could feel them boring into the side of his head, he couldn’t bring himself to look.
Leon and Gwaine stepped back and Gaius took their place.
“Sire, is anything else troubling you?”
Arthur started, anxiety racing across his features before he could reign it in. Gaius’ frown deepened.
“I only meant to see how you are feeling,” Gaius went on, voice soft. “Pain anywhere?”
“Right.” Arthur cleared his throat and stared at his lap. “My head aches, is all. But I’m perfectly fine.”
Merlin snorted from across the room.
“Fine is not the word I’d use, Arthur.”
Anger flared hot and sharp in Arthur’s chest.
“No one asked you, Merlin.”
“Dollophead-”
“-Prat-”
“-Clotpole-”
“-Alright!” Gaius shouted, silencing both young men immediately. “Sir Gwaine, Sir Leon, I will finish my examination alone. If you would be so kind as to take Merlin with you, the prince requires fresh bedclothes and fresh water.”
Gaius raised an eyebrow at Merlin, who had been about to argue. With a furrowed brow, Merlin trailed behind the knights, casting a worried look over his shoulder.
Arthur didn’t meet his eyes.
Gwaine caught Merlin’s arm as he closed the door to Arthur’s chambers.
“Merlin.” There was an undercurrent to Gwaine’s words, a concern that made Merlin’s brows knit further. “Are you…worried?”
Merlin pulled his lower lip between his teeth. He wanted to shake his head, to lament the idiot who slept in his riding clothes and so caught a fever, but something made him pause.
“Yes,” Merlin replied truthfully. He knew Gwaine could see that fear was painted plainly in his blue eyes.
“Yes. Well. Only…” Gwaine ran a hand through his hair. “Last night. I had this feeling, don’t know what to call it…I couldn’t sleep and I felt like I needed to come here, to Arthur’s chambers. To-to…I don’t know. I’m not sure. But I did, and when I got here, he-”
Gwaine bit his tongue, uncertain.
“Can’t believe I’m worried about a royal,” he huffed out after a moment. The smile on Gwaine’s face was forced, memories of Arthur’s screams from the night before echoing in his mind.
Merlin looked back over his shoulder at the closed door. It was just a fever, wasn’t it? One Gaius could treat and then Arthur would be…Arthur again. But the knots twisting in Merlin’s gut told him otherwise. Because he’d also awoken out of a dead sleep last night, with Arthur’s name on his lips, a dream of the prince lifeless and pale still seared against his eyelids. He’d debated going to check on the prince, and had made it to the door of his room, before Merlin hesitated. It was just a dream. Nothing more.
So he took his boots back off and fell into a restless sleep.
“Gauis will make sure he’s alright,” Gwaine said eventually, as much to comfort himself as Merlin. He placed a kind hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll help bring what Gaius needs.”
Merlin nodded, grateful. He fell into step next to Gwaine, entirely preoccupied with the worry sinking in his bones and submerging his thoughts.
It was just a fever. Right?
Gaius and Arthur were alone now in the prince’s chambers. The closing of the heavy wooden door was loud in the ensuing silence.
Arthur wrung his hands in his lap, teeth clenched as his head pounded and his body ached. He desperately wanted to curl into a ball, burrow into his bed, and sleep for several days; but the memory of Merlin’s eyes, icy blue and empty, kept him from doing so. Even in the light of day, it hadn’t felt like a dream so easy to dismiss.
“Sire?”
Arthur was startled out of his thoughts. He looked up at Gaius, who was studying him closely. A pang of something echoed in Arthur’s chest at Gaius’ tone; Gaius had always addressed him as Arthur first, then a prince, seeing him as more than just his title. Had Uther ever done the same?
“Arthur?”
Grimacing at the gentle tone Gaius adopted, Arthur replied, “I just need something to get me on my feet, Gaius.”
That did not seem to be the answer Gaius had been looking for.
“What you need, sire, is rest-”
“No!” Arthur snapped. He huffed out a breath, shoulders slumping. “No. I don’t want to…I can’t…I will rest, later. I just need to change my clothes and get on, Gaius.”
The court physician bore a deep frown, sympathy and concern lapping gently on the blue shores of his eyes.
“Sire, there are certainly draughts I can give you for your fever, to help your pain, but if you do not rest, you may only get worse. And I am not certain what it is that ails you yet. It may not be wise.”
“I’m fine, Gaius.” Arthur was surprised at the anger in his tone. So, it seemed, was Gaius.
A grey eyebrow arched upwards.
“Yes, Sire. Of course.” Gaius bowed his head slightly. “I’ll retrieve my things and return shortly.”
Arthur clenched his hands into fists.
“Gaius, I-” He swallowed as Gaius turned to meet his gaze. “I’m…I’m sorry, I…”
Arthur was tempted then to tell the physician of his nightmare, of the ill-feeling he’d harbored since returning from that village yesterday. But he shook his head, ridding himself of those thoughts. He was acting like a child.
Sitting up a bit straighter, Arthur fixed Gaius with a determined gaze.
“Thank you, Gaius. I just need a draught and I’ll be fine.”
Gaius did not reply, expression stormy, as he bowed once more and left the prince’s chambers.
As the physician shut the door, he heaved a heavy sigh. It wasn’t unusual for the prince to take ill, just as it wasn’t unusual for him to push through whatever it was that ailed him. And yet. Gaius had a habit of trusting his instincts, they so rarely had led him astray. At the moment, they were telling him there is more than meets the eye with Arthur’s troubles. For why had the prince looked so fearful when he’d asked if anything was troubling him? Fevers did not frighten the prince this way. There was something more…but what?
Mind troubled, Gaius made his way to his chambers to collect the ingredients he’d need.
Arthur lay back on his bed, arms flung out and legs dangling off the side. He was entirely spent, and he had no cause to be; no long sparring session, no days journey on foot, no battle just fought. But it was as if every limb was stone, his mind muddy and head aching.
Rest would be welcomed.
But he was…afraid.
With a groan, Arthur sat back up, eyes blinking sluggishly. He ran a hand through his hair. Foolish. He was being foolish. Slowly, he unclasped his belt, and shed his tunic and vest.
It was a pity his dresser was across his chambers.
Rising a bit unsteadily, Arthur trudged to retrieve new clothes. The stone floor was cold against the soles of his feet. Arthur shivered. He grabbed a tunic and trousers from his drawers and stumbled back towards his bed.
And then he paused.
His belt lay atop the coverture where he had unclasped it. But in his haste or neglect, the pouch along its side had tumbled open and the stone the woman had given him the day before lay exposed. Arthur dropped his clothing at the foot of the bed and stared hard at the stone.
If possible, it was even more transfixing than the day before. It still was dark as night with rivulets of amber through it, but now Arthur also spied tiny bursts of red. Like berries in spring, or blood drops staining a white tunic. He hadn’t noticed them yesterday.
Arthur shivered again, shaking his head to force his gaze away from the stone. He sat wearily on the side of his bed and grabbed his clothes. It took him far longer to dress than he wanted, much to his frustration, and he was breathing heavily by the end. He wasn’t certain how he was going to survive adding armor. But he’d manage, he’d done it a hundred times before.
Jaw set stubbornly, Arthur rose and jammed his feet into his boots. There were new knights to train, and he’d never allowed a small fever to keep him from his duties before. He’d be fine.
Arthur moved to leave and then stopped.
His eyes shifted to the coverture and the glistening stone sat upon it. Instinctively, Arthur pushed the stone into the pouch, closed it tightly, and fastened the belt atop his tunic. Why he wanted to bring it, he could not say.
But he didn’t want to part with it.