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Blood red wine spilled over the side of Lancelot’s goblet as he clinked it against Percival’s.
To the King! the room had toasted after Arthur’s speech, the pensive mood of Samhain raised by his inspiring words. It was Lancelot’s first Samhain with the knights and he was looking forward to honouring the occasion with them.
He was glad to have Merlin there too, even if the poor boy was going to be spending the night on his feet and working instead of enjoying the delicious meal that was laid out in front of them. The cook had outdone herself, judging by the succulent smell of it. His gaze drifted over to his friend on the opposite side of the hall, goblet at the ready to raise in another friendly toast in Merlin’s direction, when he felt his heart sink into his stomach.
The jug clattered to the floor first, slipping from Merlin’s grip and causing a few heads to look around curiously. But next came Merlin himself, legs buckling and eyes rolling back as he too went tumbling to the ground without warning. Even from across the room, Lancelot had heard the awful sound his friend’s head made as it hit the stone and, without thinking, he dropped his goblet to the table and rushed over to help.
An uncomfortable silence fell across the room, hushed murmurs rising up as multiple pairs of gawking eyes tried to get a glimpse at what had happened. Lancelot felt every single one of them on him as he crouched down beside Merlin’s prone body, but he paid them no heed.
Gaius joined him on Merlin’s other side, the older man taking a moment longer to lower himself down onto his knees but wasting no time in trying to find out what was wrong. He patted Merlin’s cheek, softly calling his name in an attempt to rouse him. Then checked his pulse and his temperature and tried once more to wake him, to no avail.
“Can you help get him back to my chambers?” He asked, as if Lancelot would ever say no.
As Lancelot stood, he caught Gwaine’s concerned frown from across the room. His fellow knight was boxed into his seat but looked ready to vault over the table at a moment’s notice should another pair of hands be needed. Next, he locked eyes with Arthur at the head of the hall. The prince was watching on carefully yet clearly unable to get involved, merely offering a subtle nod in Lancelot’s direction.
“Please, let’s enjoy this fine feast.” Arthur gestured to the food and made a show of taking his seat, encouraging his guests to follow his lead and thankfully taking the attention away from Lancelot as he lifted Merlin over his shoulder and carried him out of the room.
The boy was all deadweight as he made his way to Gaius’ chambers, his lifeless arm tapping gently against Lancelot’s back with each step. Not to mention the intense cold that was radiating off him. What on earth was going on? Was Merlin sick? He’d seemed fine when they had spoken this morning.
With Gaius’ assistance, he carefully lowered Merlin onto his bed, shifting the boy’s legs so they laid comfortably atop the blanket and moving his arm from where it draped towards the floor to rest across his stomach. It was rather worrisome that all the jostling had failed to wake him.
“What happened?” He asked, watching as Gaius rested a palm against Merlin’s forehead once again.
“I don’t know. I’ve never felt anyone so cold before.”
“Will he be alright?”
Gaius answered immediately, knowing exactly what was required. “I’ll need hawthorn to improve the blood flow. And blankets. Lots of blankets!”
Lancelot was out the door before he had even finished speaking.
Gaius’ tables were packed with vials and jars of all kinds of remedies and tonics. Some were filled with coloured liquids while others had full sprigs of herbs inside, and most were adorned with tiny labels detailing its contents, thankfully. His eyes scanned the bottles.
Hollyhock, no. Feverfew, no. Dropwort, yarrow, hawthorn, hawthorn, where is the— Ah!
He grabbed the vial of red berries and a bowl to crush them in and rushed back to the bedroom, only pausing on the steps as he remembered Gaius’ second request. The blankets were easier to locate, and he pulled the small stack from the corner of the room into his arms.
Merlin hadn’t moved. And more importantly, hadn’t awoken despite Gaius’ fussing, eyes still closed and teeth chattering from the full body shivers that plagued him.
“Here.” Lancelot handed the vial and bowl over, not liking how worried the physician looked as he took a seat at Merlin’s desk and got to work creating a tincture.
Grabbing the first blanket from the top of the pile, Lancelot shook it out before draping it over his friend, taking extra care to tuck it in tight around his legs and across his shoulders. He could practically feel the iciness of his skin through the material; Merlin was so cold, unnaturally so. And if Gaius was this concerned, then maybe it really was serious.
“Was this magic?” He asked, mind jumping to all the worst possible conclusions. Merlin may not have the skills of a knight, but he was a hard man to take down. And this illness had come on so suddenly that maybe it was intentional, like someone knew how to hit him hard.
Gaius sighed to himself, hand pausing its grinding motion as he looked back to the boy in the bed. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
And well, didn’t that just make a chill run up Lancelot’s spine.
He continued laying out the rest of the blankets before checking Merlin’s temperature for himself, frowning as the extra layers had yet to make any difference. Then, when Gaius was ready with the tincture, he helped the physician as they encouraged the boy to drink it despite his unconscious state.
Then, all that was left to do was wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And the longer Lancelot sat there perched on the side of the bed, and the longer Merlin remained stubbornly asleep with no sign of warming up, the bigger the pit in his stomach was growing.
Gaius was feeling it too, if the regular checks of Merlin’s pulse were anything to go by. It must be a horrible feeling, Lancelot thought as he watched the latest examination, knowing how to cure all manner of injuries and illnesses but not having the first clue of how to help the one person that mattered the most.
“There’s little else we can do but wait for him to wake up.” Gaius conceded eventually with a subtle dismissal of Lancelot’s services. It was getting late and he had a duty to show his face again at the banquet and loathe as he was to leave whilst Merlin was still in this condition, Gaius was right. It wasn’t like he was making himself useful by sitting there.
Giving his friend a final once-over, he reluctantly left the room on a promise that Gaius would send for him if he needed any help, only pausing in his departure when an unexpected face greeted him at the door.
Of all people, it had to be his servant that showed him up at the end of such an inspiring speech, falling to the floor like a fragile maiden. But as the evening went on, Arthur soon found his initial embarrassment turn to concern when neither Merlin nor Lancelot returned to the banquet.
The food was cleared away; the people were mingling; a servant he didn’t know the name of kept filling his cup; and it all just felt off. So as soon as he found the chance, he slipped quietly out of the door. He wouldn’t be long, just a quick check and then straight back to the banquet to bid everyone goodnight.
He made it to Gaius’ chambers in good time.
Fist at the ready to announce his presence, he blinked in surprise as the door opened before he could knock.
“Arthur.” Lancelot stopped suddenly in the doorway, straightening his back and wiping the frown from his brow as he looked at Arthur expectantly.
“Lancelot. I was just—, I just wanted to—” he fumbled in some odd attempt at trying to hide his real reason for being there. There was no point, they both clearly knew the truth. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, Sire.” Lancelot hesitated for a moment too long before plastering on a placating smile and moving to the side to allow him entry. “He was probably just overtired.”
Arthur wandered slowly over to the centre of the room, noting that Merlin’s door was closed and there was no sign of the physician. If it wasn’t a sickness, then was it possible that he had overworked his servant? Despite being under his employ, Merlin was barely around long enough to do any work, but maybe Arthur had missed something earlier, a sign that something had been wrong.
“Is that what he said? That he was tired?”
The knight’s smile dropped slightly, and he hesitated again in a way that made Arthur feel uneasy. There was something Lancelot wasn’t saying.
“No, he um— Sorry Arthur, he hasn’t said anything. He hasn’t woken up yet.”
Arthur felt his blood run cold as he swallowed hard, glancing back at Merlin’s chambers. It must have been at least hour since his servant had collapsed, surely he should have woken by now.
Honestly, Arthur had come here ready to tease him for fainting like a girl, maybe even some light reprimanding for choosing to do it right in the middle of the feast. It hadn’t actually crossed his mind that it could be something worse than a little light-headedness.
Before he could question Lancelot again on whether this overtiredness could really be the cause, the door to Merlin’s chambers opened. Arthur’s hopes lifted in an instant, only to plummet just as quickly as he watched Gaius creep quietly out of the room, the door closing behind him before Arthur could catch a glimpse of his servant.
“Arthur.” Gaius greeted him with that same pacifying smile that was beginning to make him feel like a child being coddled. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why the pair were being so guarded and he bristled at the thought that they were keeping something from him.
What did they expect? That he was about to drag Merlin out of bed and demand he get back to work? Or maybe there was something more serious going on.
He had seen it as a good sign, meeting Lancelot on his way out; crisis averted and nothing to worry about it. But if there was a chance that wasn’t the case, he needed to know.
He shuddered at the idea of a plague hitting Camelot, if that’s what this was. The last one had wiped out an unthinkable amount of the lower town as well as leaving a considerable portion of the castle bedridden. And he knew all too well that the first unlucky victims to display symptoms never held on long enough for an antidote.
Could that be what this was?
“How’s Merlin?” He asked before the overthinking could begin.
“He’s sleeping, Sire. Probably overexerted himself is all.” Gaius replied, backing up Lancelot’s suggestion in a seemingly unconcerned tone. But Arthur wasn’t fully convinced.
“You’re sure it’s nothing serious?”
Gaius had kept things from him in the past. But he also couldn’t imagine the physician acting so calm if Merlin was currently dying on the other side of the door.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine by the morning.” The physician nodded in response, subtly shepherding him back towards Lancelot – and the exit. “It’s best to let him rest.”
He wasn’t about to argue in front of one of his knights, and he did say he would make this a quick visit. One last reluctant glance at the closed door on the other side of the room and Arthur took a breath, electing to believe the physician. So his servant was just a fragile little maiden then, trying to cause a scene.
He accompanied Lancelot back to the Great Hall in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Lancelot returned to the huddle of his fellow knights, reiterating the story he had told Arthur and placating each of their concerns, while Arthur returned to his uncle and to Guinevere and to the latest servant in charge of his jug of wine.
And come morning, if his curtains weren’t ripped open with an unwarranted ferocity and an unnecessarily cheery greeting, he would be marching straight back to Gaius to demand the truth.