I am so late with this chapter! But school was awful and then there were finals, and I've been watching this season of Merlin. GAH the finale! Anyways. I am truly grateful for all the reviews and alerts I've been getting. You guys are amazing! And so the story continues…

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. If I did, there would be another season after this one.

It felt good, Gwaine decided. It felt good to be in action, to be doing something. They were close, very close to Camelot now, he noted as he shifted in his saddle. He could see the grey stonewalls looming above the treetops, the little men in armor pacing the battlements. His back was starting to hurt from the prolonged journey, but he didn't care. It was nothing, nothing compared to what his current passenger was feeling.

Gwaine rode slowly, often trailing behind the others, who would then rally together and gather with him again. While time was of the essence, he realized when he first started a hard gallop that he would have to lower his speed greatly. Every jolt, every bump and he could feel Merlin's body stiffen in response.

The others had offered to take the boy on their own horses, but while Gwaine gave the excuse that he didn't want to wake Merlin, he secretly found himself doubting their ability to take as much care with the boy as he did.

He kept to himself, alternating his eyes to the path ahead of them and Merlin's lolling head resting on his shoulder. The other knights were very subdued, speaking in low voices and flinching at every sound that resonated through the forest, their nerves on edge from the tangible tension in the air.

Arthur was silent for most of the journey. He drifted along on his horse, ahead of all the others, and it was clear from the expression on his face that his thoughts were elsewhere. Gwaine didn't mind the quiet. It gave him a chance to sort out his own thoughts.

Poor Merlin. Poor loyal, kind, Merlin. What had he done to deserve this? Gwaine asked to no one in particular. And of course there was no answer. Bad things happen to good people, he pondered. He had seen this first hand in his lifetime, and several of those examples came from a certain manservant sitting in front of him.

After a few minutes, he would pull off one of his gloves with his teeth, and his fingers would search for a pulse, proof of a beating heart throbbing beneath Merlin's battered and bruised chest. When satisfied with the response, he pulled his hand away from Merlin's wrist and resumed his steel grip on the horse's reins. If the others noticed this recurrence, they made no comment. Yet he felt their sidelong glances following his movements.

He breathed in deeply. There was a closeness in the air, and the uncomfortable nature of the forest made Gwaine's skin crawl and the collar of his tunic constrict around his throat. But they were that much closer to Camelot. And for that, Gwaine was grateful.

It was a solemn trek through the lower town. People darted in and out of doorways, peered up at the company in veiled curiosity through closed curtains. Their eyes took in the king's grave face, the unconscious passenger with a pale face. Arthur's hand was curled around the pommel of his sword, and had remained that way for the majority of the journey. They rode quickly, decisively, as quickly as they could through the narrow cobblestone streets. The knights made no stops, and no one was foolish enough to step forward in the street while the horses trotted past. No one wanted to get in the way of the king when it was apparent what mood he was in.

Guinevere sat ramrod straight on the throne, her brow creased with worry. Gaius sat next to her, a similar expression on his face. The throne room was quiet, save for the murmurings of council members lurking in the corners. It was a tense atmosphere, as they were all anxious about their king.

The heavy door was pulled back suddenly, and in swept the king, his scarlet cloak curling around him in the doorway.

"Arthur!" Gwen cried. She rushed forward, and Arthur wrapped his arms around her. They stood in the middle of the room, her face buried in his shoulder. She drew back to look at his face. "Thank God! You were gone for so long, and I was so worried... We sent out patrols to search for you, but they found nothing. Is all well?"

Before Arthur could answer, the doors to the throne room were pushed open, and the other knights rushed in. Gwen registered the limp figure in Gwaine's arms, and she turned to look back at Arthur, question in her eyes.

Gaius raised himself out of his seat beside the throne, his puzzled expression having morphed into one of immediate concern and fear. He went directly to Merlin, and rested his hand on the boy's cold forehead.

"Bring him to my chambers, quickly," Gaius said grimly. Percival went with them as they left the throne room. Gwen turned to follow them, but Arthur caught her wrist, stopping her. He drew her back to him, his hands gently circling her wrists.

"Let them be, Guinevere," he said quietly. She opened her mouth to protest. She had to see if Merlin was all right, if there was anything she could do. But the grief in Arthur's eyes stopped her. She nodded once, realizing for the first time that his hands were shaking and causing her own to shake.

"I should..." Arthur trailed off, indicating the dirt and grim covering him from head to toe. Without waiting for an answer, he released Gwen and trudged out of the throne room.

Gwaine carefully laid Merlin back onto the bed. Gaius was behind him, shuffling around his many potions and digging through his drawers for objects only he could identify. But Gwaine wasn't paying much attention to the bustling physician.

Gaius was clearly in his element as he moved skillfully around Merlin's prone body. And Gwaine, he was standing there, doing nothing. Just watching. If this had been a brawl in a tavern, or perhaps a patrol of the borders with his fellow knights, Gwaine might have felt useful. Like he was helping out, doing what he does best.

But here, in the stuffy room, he felt suffocated. He felt trapped, cornered off. Because there was nothing he could do. Useless, useless. Gwaine shook his head.

Percival had drifted to the corner, a similar look of conflict on his usually pensive face. Gwaine took a seat near the bed, but far enough away that he would not be in Gaius' way. He clasped his hands together and settled back, a shiver going up his spine.

"His injuries are extensive," Gaius said quietly after a long period of stillness, save for the shuffling of the old man's feet. He took a small pause in tending to Merlin, moving over to Gwaine. The knight stood up quickly; too quickly, as his head spun. "I fear it may be a long time until he is fully recovered. Can you… tell me how he received these injuries, Gwaine?"

The knight looked around, almost desperately, for anyone else to answer this question. Percival had gone some time ago, retreating with his thoughts to the comfort of his own chambers. Gwaine looked back to the aging physician.

"Gwaine," Gaius said gently. "Perhaps this can wait. When was the last time you slept, or ate?" Gwaine ran a hand through his long hair, and then pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Ah… A while ago I suppose," Gwaine said. Gaius smiled kindly as he placed a hand on the knight's shoulder.

"Rest, Gwaine. Merlin will be here in the morning. He will not be waking any time soon," Gaius said. Gwaine nodded and took one last glance at Merlin before turning to the door. He paused with his fist curled around the handle.

"Gaius, I'm sorry," Gwaine said, turning slightly, his face bearing all the sorrow in the world to the physician. Before Gaius could answer, though he knew not what to say, the knight slipped out the door and closed it gently with a click.

There would be no tavern visits tonight, Gwaine thought to himself as he made the trek to his rooms. It was his usual treat after a long border patrol, but not tonight. Tonight, he was going back to his chambers, to seek his own bed for what was sure to be a fitful sleep.

Arthur struggled to remove his chain mail. It was not as though he had never done it before. No, he knew how to take off what was essentially a heavy tunic. But his hands were shaking and numb from the cold, and halfway through completing this task, he had turned around with Merlin's name on his lips. Because it was usually Merlin helping him with his clothes, with his meals, with everything.

But now Merlin wasn't here. He was on the other side of the castle, being tended to by Gaius. If he was still alive, the unbidden thought flitted through his mind. No, he responded firmly. If something had happened, someone would have come to his chambers to tell him. Because he was Merlin's best friend.

Then shouldn't you be by his side right now? That snide voice spoke up once more. Arthur clenched his fists. Merlin needs space, and so does Gaius, he repeated over and over in his mind. The physician's chambers are probably crowded already. No need to add another body that would just get in everyone's way.

Arthur left the chainmail, his cloak, and his sword in a heap on the ground. He would pick it all up tomorrow, he told himself. He settled back down on his bed, ignoring the smarting pain in his legs from the heavy riding they had done today. He didn't bother pulling the blankets up around him, though he was already shivering with cold.

Arthur had a troubled sleep. When he closed his eyes, he dreamt of fire, the bright tongues of red spreading rapidly, and a lone figure standing amidst the flame.

Arthur woke in a cold sweat, his body trembling and his heart racing. He lay in his bed for a while; eyes wide open as he stared into the darkness of his room.

An eerie silence descended, smothering him as Arthur waited in dread for the morning.