Chapter Text
Everybody in Camelot knew something had changed, but nobody could figure out what. It quickly became apparent that the King of Camelot didn’t know, nor did Guinevere, and the Knights had retained no memories of the event. That left the manservant to the King, the very person that Camelot had come to adore, despite his quirky tendencies and his habit of half-truths. If the King didn’t have anything to say about his manservant sneaking out of the city, then it was clear Merlin was loyal.
Something had happened. Ever since the manservant was sent with the Knights and Gwen to the outer villages to check for an illness, something had gone wrong. It was bad enough that the King went after them when Guinevere arrived on her horse, clattering over the cobbles and shouting about a woman enchanting the Knights.
Merlin wasn’t the same Merlin that came back. He was quiet, kept away from the Knights that were usually his closest friends. All those in Camelot had to watch, waited for the King or his men to point out that the man had changed, but it didn’t happen.
Whatever the enchantress had done, Camelot hoped it was fixed.
**
Merlin knew that Arthur was curious. That Guinevere wanted answers, that the Knights had found holes in the report Merlin had given of the events that happened. He wondered if it had been the right choice, to send Gwen away from the Lamia and back to Camelot, in the hopes that she could get to Arthur. The Lamia was strong, a gift of the Old Religion and the High Priestesses that used to create them. Whoever this one had been made by, whichever High Priestess had dared to challenge him, he could understand why they had done it.
He’d faced Dragons, Griffins, Sorcerers and Serkets, countless creatures that should strike terror into the hearts of men. He’d been afraid, sure, but never as much as he had when the Knights had turned against him. One creature, one Lamia, had turned all of Merlin’s friendships into doubts, and now the Warlock had to try and repair the damage.
It wasn’t just the physical injuries. His mind kept playing tricks, skipped over the fact that the Knights had been enchanted and focused on what they had done. It was why they couldn’t tell Arthur what happened, it was why he wouldn’t allow Gaius to treat him. They didn’t deserve the guilt, just because Merlin was not strong enough to beat the Lamia.
He made sure that he was alone, checked the treeline before heading to the shore of the lake. Once settled, he reached for his satchel and brought out his healing supplies. It was painful to strip his shirt over his head, studying the make-shift bandages that he’d wrapped around his chest.
‘Why don’t you let me heal you, Merlin?’ Freya questioned, kneeling in the shallow waters and watching as he revealed his marked skin.
‘I deserve these wounds.’ He’d sent Gwen away, by herself. It had been foolish, she could have been captured, or worse. It didn’t matter that he was trying to negotiate a peace with Morgana, it didn’t matter that Freya was looking out for the Once and Future Queen. Merlin could have gotten her killed, just because the Lamia enchanted those that he had sworn to protect.
‘Why not tell your King the truth?’ He dabbed at the blood leaking from the cut made by Sir Leon’s sword, stared at the boot-print just below it that belonged to Gwaine. His closest friends, or he thought they were friends, didn’t remember what they had done.
Merlin wasn’t going to tell them. Not now, not ever. He couldn’t do that to them, he couldn’t hurt them.
The Lamia was dead, killed by Arthur after Merlin’s Magic was too weak to attack. They’d travelled back to Camelot, and Merlin had promised Arthur a full-report. It was read to the Council, to the Knights, and everybody heard what had happened.
The story Merlin had given was secure. They had travelled to the Village, to find that the people could not be cured. While trying to return to Camelot, they found a woman that had been captured, attempted to help her. The Lamia began to seduce them, and found the Knights worthy of her attention. Merlin, being just a servant, wasn’t needed.
Merlin sent Guinevere to Camelot, fearing that the Knights might hurt her.
‘And did they make any attempt to do so?’ One of the nobles had asked, to which Merlin looked at Gwen.
‘No. The Knights weren’t aggressive towards Guinevere.’ He continued his tale, finishing with the kisses that rendered the Knights unconscious, how Merlin had dragged them to a corner of the Castle and then hidden from the Lamia.
‘You’re just a servant, Merlin. Nothing more than a thorn in our side.’
If he ignored the memories, pretended that it never happened, then maybe it would go away. Gaius wasn’t bothering him anymore, Gwen was staring at him like he had grown a second head, and the Knights…
They were trying to give him space. Arthur was giving him space.
It was useful. The longer they waited, the more the bruises healed. Only a couple would permanently scar, and with a little Magic, he could dim them down to nothing more than silver marks on his skin.
‘Maybe we’ll let Lamia have the honour of finishing you off, boy.’
‘There.’ Merlin mumbled, tucking in the last bandage and shoving away the thoughts. It itched against his skin slightly, the shirt sticking at odd points and sucking in at others, but it would be fine. Nobody paid much attention to him anyway.
**
The Knights always had training in the mornings. There were very few days that Arthur didn’t make them come to the grounds, even if it was just for an early morning run. Merlin attended, to polish Arthur’s armour and keep an eye on the group of them, occasionally cheering up the newer recruits when they were terrified of the King.
This was a similar morning. Gwaine was seated on one of the barrels, snacking on the King’s supply of fruit. Sir Leon was sparring against Arthur, the two equally skilled at this moment. Elyan and Percival were mostly joking around, playing with different weapons. It should have been amusing, Merlin almost always laughed during these sessions, but today…
Carrying Arthur’s armour hadn't been easy. His stitches that he’d done himself were torn, or at least he believed they were, and his chest ached. Every time he twisted to keep an eye on the people training, the band around his chest tightened.
If he could just keep his head low, focus on his chores and…
A hand touched his shoulder, fingertips gripping the shirt and pushing down onto the bruised collarbone; warmth that Merlin hadn't anticipated. He reacted on instinct, shoving himself away from whoever had touched him, dropping the armour and gasping as his heart leapt.
Gwaine snatched his hand back like it had caught fire, staring at Merlin with wide eyes that showed Merlin’s reflection. He didn’t need to be able to see himself to know he looked terrified, that he was still trying to calm his automatic reaction.
‘Sorry mate, guess sneaking up on you isn’t a good idea.’ He was trying to deflect, Gwaine’s perfect coping method that hid his secrets deep down. Merlin tried for a laugh, hated how his voice shook.
‘It’s perfectly alright, Sir Gwaine, I just wasn’t expecting you to come across.’ He realised his mistake after he’d said it, using Gwaine’s title was… foolish. A rookie error, and one that the Knight picked up on immediately. The cocky grin was replaced with a frown, and the hand stretched out again.
This time, Merlin couldn’t hide the flinch as surprise. He recoiled based on instinct, on his mind screaming at him to hide, to curl away where nobody could find him.
Merlin lived in the shadows, it was what protected him while he was trying to look after Arthur. When he needed to be upfront, it was a position with laughter and jokes and sarcasm.
The Knights of the Round Table were watching him, as was Arthur. Watching as he shied away from his best friend, the person that was closest to him now that he lost Lancelot.
Lance would know what to do in this situation, would be able to reassure his nerves and keep him from panicking.
‘I guess I’m not fully rested from the… trip.’ It tasted like a lie, bitter and regretful on his tongue, and everyone close to him could tell. Gwaine tried for a smile, sadness and concern wrapped up in a look that Merlin couldn’t begin to decipher, mostly because he didn’t dare look the Knight in the eye.
‘You thought we could ever care for you?’
‘I’ll finish these off in the armoury.’ Merlin jumped off from his perch, collected up the things left to polish and tried to stop his body from trembling when he turned his back on the Knights of Camelot.
The Lamia had been right, things weren’t ever going to be the same again.
**
The Council sat at the Round Table, Knights and advisors alike. The King sat with Leon to his right, Guinevere to his left, nobody debating their positions. The other Round Table Knights had taken their positions, while Merlin hovered in the background like usual. Not quite earning himself a place, but Arthur had suggested that he come up to the table rather than hiding.
There was even a seat for him. He could see it, by Gwen’s side, and he did genuinely debate taking it. Stepping to the King’s council, becoming an advisor to the Once and Future King like he was supposed to be.
‘Some people are meant to serve. You’re not even good at that.’
Merlin ducked away from the Council room, abandoning the King in favour of completing the tasks set for the day. If he could get them done with time to spare, then there was a chance of having time to go to the Lake, to speak to Freya and see how she was getting on with Morgana.
Eventually, he’d have to go himself. It was one thing, teaching the High Priestess through Freya’s help and the Druids guidance. She was still wary of Emrys helping her, even though he’d offered out his hatchling as proof of his trust.
It was a short walk to the Physician’s Quarters, and knowing Gaius was at the Round Table, it meant that Merlin could raid his supplies for healing equipment. Bandages were the main necessity, along with a new stock of healing salves and some herbs that he knew Gaius had just re-stocked on. Nothing that the man would miss, the last thing he needed was for his Uncle to worry.
**
‘You’re going to Ealdor? Is your Mother alright?’ Arthur stopped chewing on his dinner, and Merlin could feel the gaze boring into the back of his neck. The King was at dinner with his Knights, and Gwen, the group that gathered in Arthur’s Chambers for the evening.
‘She’s fine, just needs some help with the harvest.’ Merlin lied smoothly, knowing that the King wouldn’t have time to check that fact. He felt awful, betraying Arthur’s trust like this, but it was for the King’s own good. He couldn’t tell him that he was going to see Morgana, that Freya had summoned him.
He also couldn’t tell the King that his bruises weren’t healing as quickly as he’d hoped, or that his ribs were cracked.
‘No more than three days. Are you sure you don’t need a Knight to…’
‘No!’ Fear drove his answer, terror of the Knights that were supposed to be his friends, and Merlin heard the table fall silent. He didn’t dare turn to face them, not when his eyes would betray him.
‘It’s alright. A simple journey.’
**
Merlin made it out of Camelot earlier than Arthur thought, so there was less chance of the King following him. A couple of misleading tracks, before he demanded speed from his horse, Elara, so that he could make good time. It wasn’t a long trek, probably a good thing, because by the time the sun rose Merlin felt ready to pass out from the constant pressure on his injuries.
The clearing looked much the same as it had the last time he was here, dismounting and tying his horse. Outside, a water trough provided a tethering spot for Freya, who appeared out of the murky depths.
‘Is she…’
‘It’s a fever. I can’t heal her.’ Freya explained quickly, Merlin grabbing his satchel and pushing the door to the hut open.
A chirping sound greeted him, his hatchling appearing from the corner of the room, a worried look on his face. Merlin could understand why, the room smelt of death itself, and in front of the fireplace lay the Witch.
She was unconscious, his Magic told him that much, and it took little effort to light a fire and clean the room without using words to do so. As the dust began to vanish, and the windows opened to provide some much-needed light, Merlin settled down by his once-friend.
Morgana’s forehead was beaded with sweat, face tense like she was in pain. That was all he needed to know to begin his work, soaking bandages in clean water and dabbing away the fever. Herbs that he’d stolen for himself, ground up and crushed into a cup so she could drink down the offering, a murmured sound coming from her lips.
‘Shh, rest easy, Morgana.’ They were supposed to be enemies, Destiny had told him that.
He spent the day in the hut. When he wasn’t tending to the unconscious lady, he was cooking a broth or cleaning out her home. It would help lower her risk of another fever, hopefully. Aithusa proved to be a loyal guardian to his new Mistress, staying by her side while Merlin pottered about.
It was at dawn the next day when Merlin was pleased to note that her fever had broken. He left a spare water container and some food over the hearth, along with some medical supplies and a book he had brought to pass the time, taking one last look around the room before he left. It looked cleaner, friendlier, and he hoped that Morgana would be back up on her feet in a couple of days.
‘She’ll ask who did such a thing.’ Freya remarked, her silent judgement over the past day enough to worry Merlin. It was possibly from the lack of regard for his own injuries, or his determination to at least fix one of them.
‘Then tell her the truth. Emrys did.’
**
‘You’re back early.’ Arthur remarked, Merlin not faltering in his step as he strode towards the King. The Round Table Knights paused in their training, lowered their weapons to greet him with smiles that haunted Merlin’s dreams.
‘I told you, it wouldn’t take long.’ Merlin kept a distance between them, something that he would not have usually bothered with. He was a tactile person, he wanted affection and comfort, but not from the people that had made the injuries in the first place. Not when he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t breathe, if he thought about what had happened with the Lamia.
‘If you weren’t so pretty, we wouldn’t have kept you here at all.’
‘And your Mother was well?’ Arthur asked it nonchalantly, turning back to his fight against Sir Elyan like he didn’t care for the answer. But Merlin could hear the tone, knew that the King wasn’t actually sure if he’d visited his Mum.
He wanted to. But Hunith couldn’t see him like this, not when riding burned his muscles, when he struggled to sleep for more than a few moments and his stomach would not settle.
Not when his best friends didn’t know what they’d done to him.
It wasn’t the bandages that made his skin itch, he realised, it was him. His skin. He wanted it off, wanted to scratch away all the memories that came with his marked body.
‘A little tired, but otherwise fine.’ Arthur grunted in acknowledgement, Merlin turning his back and beginning the trek towards the armoury, only for the King to call after him.
‘Oh, I thought you should know that Gaius suspects someone might have been stealing supplies from his Quarters.’ It was a good thing his back was turned, for it gave him the time to correct his expression into something that wouldn’t scream guilty.
‘I’ll have a look into it, you don’t suppose it was the same as last time?’ Merlin remembered a young peasant-woman snatching supplies to sell for some coin, and was thankful in this moment that she had done so.
Arthur regarded him for a moment too long for comfort, before shrugging.
‘Could be anybody.’
**
‘I was wondering if I could have a word.’ Gwen’s statement wasn’t actually an offer, her hand was already closing around his wrist and tugging him towards the linen-room. It was a place they used to come when the work would get too much, or they just wanted to spend some time together. Not a place the Future Queen of Camelot should be hanging around in, especially not with him.
The door clicked shut, Gwen turning with concern in her expressive eyes and lips drawn into a small smile.
‘How are you? I haven’t had the chance to speak to you since the Lamia…’
‘It’s a good thing you sent Guinevere away, because otherwise I’d have had to choose.’
‘I was meaning to ask you about that,’ Merlin began, putting on his best smile, ‘How have you been coping? It can’t have been easy, with your brother…’ It worked, for now. Gwen was distracted, eyes watering up slightly before she blinked them away in favour of a stern expression.
He called it her “Queen-look”, and it honestly scared him a little. Gwen was not a woman to disappoint.
‘Elyan’s been really apologetic, worried that he said something to me. It was hard… but I found that talking to the Knights, and Arthur, was a great help.’ She was hinting for him to open up, to admit to whatever happened once she had left, but Merlin didn’t need to.
Because he couldn’t burden Gwen with such a thing. Besides, the Knights weren’t themselves, there was nothing to gain from telling the truth.
‘You can always confide in me, Gwen.’ He assured, taking one hand and squeezing it.
His stomach turned at the words, bile rising at his deception.
One day, it would all be worth the effort.
**
‘Arthur tells me you suspect someone’s selling the supplies.’ Merlin looked up from the stew he was playing with to his mentor, the Physician waiting for the truth.
Merlin was prepared for this.
‘I was with Morgana.’ Honesty was the only way to speak to Gaius, because he could see straight through a lie. Like when he told him about Aithusa.
‘You were what?’ It didn’t take long for Merlin to tell his tale, emphasising that he had kept his identity hidden and that the Witch was none the wiser. Gaius listened with interest, scattering questions about the type of illness as he told the story.
When he reached the end, the frown that indicated Gaius’ worry vanished, a smile replacing it.
‘I’m just glad you aren’t hurt, my boy.’ A hand clapped onto his bruised (probably cracked) collarbone, and Merlin promptly forgot to breathe.
Luckily, Gaius was climbing out from the bench, didn’t notice Merlin bending over to gag away the pain. A quick flash of gold to empty the bowl of stew, and the Warlock rose up steadily, careful not to stretch his skin in fear of what little he’d eaten making a reappearance.
‘Arthur wants me working late tonight, I won’t wake you when I come back in.’ He slipped out from the room, needing some fresh air from the half-truths he’d had to tell to the man he called a Father.
**
‘Do I have to come?’ He felt bad the moment he said the words, winced when Arthur turned to look at him incredulously.
‘You don’t want to come? You always rattle on about it!’ It was a Hunt. Merlin complained about Hunts, sure, but he always went. It was part of the job of protecting Arthur, it meant staying by his side.
He didn’t want to go.
With Morgana a neutral force at the moment, and Aithusa cared for, there was very little that Arthur couldn’t handle. Plus, Merlin didn’t think he could stay on the horse for an entire day, nor could he sleep on the solid floor with his back cut open in different directions.
‘I just thought…’ Merlin paused, noted the way the Knights were waiting for an answer. His horse was already tacked up, patiently waiting for him to mount.
Trust Arthur to spring a Hunt on him with no warning.
‘Never mind. Someone’s got to keep you in check.’ He teased, Arthur’s face lighting up in a brilliant smile that he so rarely saw.
Only once he’d mounted Elara did he remember that he’d not tried to make fun of Arthur since the King had saved him from the Lamia.
The ride out of Camelot was familiar, Merlin staying close to the red capes of Camelot while Elara tried her best to soften her canter for him. It was useful that he could communicate with animals, especially the mare that was responsible for carrying his weight around.
Talk quickly picked up, Gwaine telling them of his latest trip to the Tavern. It was almost normal, a cheerful setting that Merlin could relax into.
‘Relax into this, Merlin.’
He sat up straighter, a jolt running down his spine as he tried to compensate for the movement. Elara nickered softly, apologising for her faltered step, while Merlin patted her neck to assure her that it was his fault entirely.
When he sat up, he found Sir Leon watching him with a curious expression.
**
‘So, Merls, want to tell us about the animals we’ll be hunting?’ Gwaine’s joke made the Knights laugh, even Arthur cracked a smile, so Merlin forced his own in place.
‘Don’t think your brain’s big enough to understand, Gwaine.’ It worked, the ruckus that his sentence caused was a familiar territory to all of them. Merlin was glad he’d managed to make them smile, but he couldn’t help but notice the look of relief that crossed all their faces.
It was almost like they knew something he didn’t.
As the day progressed, it became harder to stay in the saddle. Even when Arthur called for them to dismount, Merlin’s body protested at the movements.
‘Someone collect firewood, Leon your with me on scouting the area.’ Merlin did as told, knowing the other Knights would instinctively go to sort out their bedrolls.
Which was why he was surprised to find Percival following him out to the trees, collecting wood by his side. They didn’t speak, Percival occasionally smiling across while Merlin kept trying to convince himself he wasn’t going to pass out.
With the fire lit (by hand, his Magic was feeling weaker than normal), Merlin could get started on cooking. It was a relatively easy job, didn’t require a lot of movement considering the Knights brought the food to him, and Merlin prepared it.
They stayed in his eyeline, never walking behind his back or staying quiet as they approached, almost like they were trying to soothe a spooked animal. Clearly, he hadn't been as good at hiding his fears as he thought.
He had portioned up the dinner by the time Arthur and Leon returned, carried the bowls across to each Knight. It was a thing he had done countless times, even on the trip to the Lamia, so Merlin shouldn’t have been surprised when Elyan’s hand accidentally brushed his.
It was completely fine. It happened, plus Merlin quite liked that they were friendly towards him, more affectionate.
Until now, that was. Until the Lamia had torn Merlin’s mind apart with insecurities, and Elyan’s touch had him dropping the bowl like it burned. He vaguely heard someone call his name, but the blood was thumping in his head and it was getting difficult to breathe, the cord around his chest yanked tight as his heart decided that it was time to forget how to work.
‘Sorry, sorry, I’ll grab the spare bowl.’ He managed to get his feet to move away from the Knight, but not directly back into the fire, practically rushing to his own bowl of food rather than dare pick the one up he’d dropped by the Knight.
Elyan was on his feet, as was Sir Leon, the others looking equally startled.
‘Here, I’ll go wash this out.’ Merlin placed the food bowl into Elyan’s hands, careful to track the movement, then bent to snatch up the bowl.
**
The small stream provided a comfortable place to cry. He scrubbed at the bowl furiously, until he was carving away at the wood and his fingers ached at the rough treatment. It didn’t stop Merlin from biting down on a sob that threatened to rise, gasping as he scrambled over to his knees and tried to remember why he thought this was a good idea.
‘Why do we even keep him around?’
‘It would be easier to leave him for the wolves.’
When his breathing finally calmed back to a normal rate, Merlin risked prodding at his bruises. They were still an angry shade of purple, indicating the damage was a lot worse than he’d first presumed. Still, it was a manageable pain, and it helped to ground him in this moment.
Once he’d sorted himself out, splashed his face with the water and checked his reflection, he returned to the fire.
Each of the Knights waited for him to speak, but there weren’t any words that Merlin could think of to explain what just happened. He settled for sitting down by his cooking station, staring at the remaining food and wondering if he could keep it down.
He decided against it.
**
‘…erlin, are you even listening?’ He snapped back into focus, the steady rhythm of Elara’s plodding lulling him in and out of his daydreams. The King was leading the hunting party, the Knights in their usual formation, with Merlin in the middle.
‘Honestly, your words get rather boring.’ He cheeked, while trying to figure out why he couldn’t feel his toes.
Was it the lack of sleep?
Last night had been bad, he had to admit that. It was uncomfortable, lying on the ground when no part of his body had remained unscathed by the Lamia’s work.
‘You’re one to talk, always babbling on like an idiot.’ Merlin tried for a smile, failed miserably and went back to processing each of his body parts. His arms were beginning to feel heavy, his stomach rather empty, and a dull ringing picked up inside his head as he continued their trek.
‘Speaking of, you’re rather quiet today.’ Sir Leon’s words came from somewhere to the right of him, but Merlin didn’t know if he had the energy to turn his head.
It would be rude not to, some part of his mind told him, Leon was a Knight of Camelot that could not be denied.
‘I am a Knight, boy. You’re nothing more than a tool, to be used as we see fit.’
Merlin forced the smile to grow wider, looked in what he hoped was Leon’s direction.
‘Giving you all the chance to catch up.’ He managed to get out, felt proud when the words sounded clear.
Another step taken by Elara, while Merlin wondered when the back of the King’s head had grown fuzzy.
‘You look rather pale.’ Percival added, breaking his usual silence.
‘Not all of us tan easily.’ The King’s entire body was now blurry, the ringing in his head replaced with a thumping, and Merlin realised that this time his words hadn't been very strong at all.
He just about managed to make out Arthur turning to look at him, before he slid sideways from the saddle.