da_ya_ri | [fic] The Ivy Crown, 7a/9

Part 7
Hide and Seek

A few days later, staring up at the stars winking down at him from the night sky, Gwaine couldn't sleep.

True, his navigational skills weren't nearly as advanced as Arthur and Leon's, but even Gwaine had realized some nights ago that something was wrong. As clear as the nights were these days, the stars never looked the same. They seemed to move around at random, hiding behind the daylight to huddle close to each other in startling bursts of brightness, or accumulate into pinpoints.

It had taken an evening of Arthur and Leon scowling down at a map and up at the ever-darkening sky for Gwaine to understand that they were well and truly lost. Nobody could explain it, but the near-certain knowledge of magic hung thick in the air between them that evening, as frowns etched deeper and deeper into their brows.

It wasn't just the stars, though. The moon, which Gwaine had thought was waning before, had looked almost full the next night, and just now he couldn't see it at all. There was no way to navigate by the night sky as both Arthur and Leon had learned to do. They only knew that they were still vaguely headed east, judging from each morning's sunrise; but what with how the rest of the celestial bodies seemed to be acting up, none of them wanted to rely just on that.

Still, they didn't have much of a choice, and although they couldn't have been in the forest for longer than a week, it felt like it had been forever to Gwaine. There was no real sense of time like this, with the moon just eclipsing itself whenever it wanted and the green of the forest steady and bright around them, refusing to blend into the darker hues of summer.

He could tell that it wore all of them down, the general confusion of being lost coupled with the knowledge that Percival, Elyan and the two inexperienced squires were trudging around somewhere in the forest as well. They hadn't seen a trace of the others yet, but nor had they encountered any of those evil sorcerers that the innkeeper had mentioned.

Personally, though, Gwaine wouldn't have minded a bit of excitement, especially since they had all begun to notice that someone—or something—was following them.

It was done surreptitiously enough, and sometimes he thought his mind was just playing tricks on him. But there was simply no way to ignore the noises they heard at night, of the undergrowth rustling around them despite the stillness of the air and the tree trunks groaning in protest as though stirred by an invisible breeze. It felt like the very forest was keeping its attention fixed on their group, and Gwaine would have to have been a fool not to notice the animals that watched them sometimes. Birds would perch in the lower branches of trees to track their daily journeys, flocks of deer regarded them with their glittering dark eyes when they rode past. And one time Gwaine had seen pairs of golden eyes peeking out at him from behind a tree, watching him with the unhurried attention of predators stalking their prey.

Still, the wildlife watching their every step didn't explain the prickly, uncomfortable feeling that all of them noticed and that no one could explain away. Sometimes they thought they heard voices and footsteps nearby, the familiar rustle and clang of armor that heralded soldiers coming their way. But every time, their path seemed to readjust itself ever-so-slightly, directing them safely away from the barely-there noises.

Gwaine frowned to himself, folding his arms behind his head in an attempt to get more comfortable. Their nightly fire was crackling on his left, and if he craned his neck, he could barely make out Arthur's shadowy shape, sitting on a tree stump and keeping a watchful eye on the small clearing as the others slept. The stump seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, because Gwaine certainly hadn't noticed it when they'd first set up camp.

The thought of the forest not only watching, but looking out for them was somewhat unsettling, to say the least. If he was honest with himself, though, Gwaine wasn't nearly as frightened or even wary as he probably should be, faced with a type of sorcery he'd never encountered before. But other than redirecting trails and rearranging its clearings, the forest wasn't doing anything to them, and until it did, he was willing to give it the benefit of the doubt.

Not for the first time, Gwaine thought that the whole thing made more sense in the light of what Merlin had told them a few nights ago. They'd sat around the fire sharing surprisingly ripe apples that they'd found in an orchard, and Merlin had said, tiredly, that there was something they ought to know.

As tired as he'd been at the time, Gwaine hadn't missed the sharp warning look Arthur had given Merlin, or the way Lancelot had choked on the water he'd been drinking. Merlin didn't notice, though, and launched into a long, rambling summary of what he said was a song he'd heard once upon a time. If Merlin hadn't looked so exhausted, Gwaine would have tried to get him to sing it to them, if only to lighten the mood.

Gwaine shook his head, and propped himself up on his elbows to get a better view of the clearing. He still didn't quite know if he believed any of it—that the tale that the innkeeper had told them of the battle for the forest was true, and that the Green Knight, of all people, was the man who'd valiantly defended his home. But somehow, the thought of him buried deep in the forest by grateful animals rang true, in a way that Gwaine couldn't explain rationally.

The whole forest spirit thing was fitting as well, but even as Gwaine had found himself absently nodding along to Merlin's words, Leon and Lancelot had exchanged a baffled glance. Still, neither of them interrupted Merlin—out of sheer courtesy, Gwaine thought, because Merlin really had looked like he might keel over any moment. And he seemed so determined to let them know about the whole thing that none of them had had the heart to interrupt.

So they were stuck in a magical forest, which was somehow owned by the Green Knight, and if they ever happened to stumble across that mysterious Green Chapel, Gwaine would get his head lobbed off (another of those things that he didn't dare think about for too long, because he had the sneaking suspicion that his eagerness at the challenge was wearing off). And to top it off, their last wineskin was gone, courtesy of Leon, who had returned to their camp in desperate need of a drink a few days ago.

Gwaine sighed, rolling over and out of his bedroll. Sleep was eluding him, and the next watch was his anyway, so he might as well get up already and keep Arthur company. He stood and stretched, his spine realigning itself with a series of satisfying pops that were swallowed by the crackle of the fire. The night air felt clearer up here, and he sucked it in in deep lungfuls, chasing the last vestiges of drowsiness from his mind. It wasn't as chilly as it had been out of the forest, and so Gwaine saw no need to wrestle his coat out of the lumps of his luggage.

None of the others so much as stirred when he carefully stepped over Lancelot's legs and picked his way around Leon's bedroll. Gwaine had been surprised when Arthur had dragged his bedroll next to Merlin's when he'd thought no one was watching, but with how odd Merlin had been acting as of late, it made sense. Now, Merlin was sleeping, his face turned towards the fire, features slack for once instead of oddly scrunched up, like he was holding something back.

Sometimes Merlin slept restlessly, and on other nights he barely moved for the depth of his unconsciousness. Gwaine had long since lost count of all the times he'd tried to find out what was wrong (or overheard someone else asking the same questions, at that), and the unending chain of "I'm fine"s that Merlin was supplying them with was sure to last them a lifetime. He was clearly not fine, but no matter how disoriented and almost ill he seemed, he was clearly still lucid enough not to want anyone to worry about him.

Gwaine made sure to let twigs snap under his feet as he approached Arthur; he didn't much fancy being mistaken for a random bandit. The prince just gave him a brief glance at Gwaine's hushed greeting, though, eyes dark and haunted in the firelight, and Gwaine resigned himself to sitting down cross-legged on the ground and not saying anything for a long while.

All things considered, it was understandable how cross everyone was becoming, especially with how often Arthur's gaze strayed to Merlin's sleeping form. They were never far apart these days, if Gwaine stopped to think about it, and it made for an interesting change, considering the way things had been between them at the start of their journey. Back then it had been Merlin who stuck to Arthur's side, and now it was Arthur who barely let his manservant out of his sight anymore, although he was being much more subtle about it.

There was no mistaking the deeply troubled look on his face now, though, not even beneath the cover of darkness. Lines of worry etched tiny grooves in the smooth skin of Arthur's forehead whenever Merlin shifted in his sleep, only to smooth out again when he stilled once more. Gwaine watched him for a while, thoughtful, and let the silence stretch.

"We're quite lost by now, aren't we?" he ventured at last, pretending not to notice the way Arthur flinched and jerked his gaze away from Merlin at the sudden sound of his voice.

For just a moment, Arthur blinked at him as though he hadn't even really seen Gwaine until now. Then he sighed, looking down with a small shrug; for the first time, Gwaine saw that he'd taken off his belt and spread it across his lap, all of his daggers within easy reach.

"If we're lost, I wonder where Percival and Elyan are," Arthur replied, his voice scratchy with disuse. He sent a dark look at the forest around them, up into the swaying treetops and the mysteriously rearranged stars. "Since they were abducted by sorcerers and all."

Gwaine winced, not having thought of that. "Point," he conceded, shifted a little to get more comfortable on the ground, and went back to watching the fire.

They were silent for another long while. At night, the flames were bright enough to leave afterimages in Gwaine's eyes, but he still kept his gaze fixed on their incessant dance, knowing that if he glanced to the side, he had to watch Arthur looking at Merlin again. The sight was oddly hopeless, since Merlin was lying still and unresponsive in his bedroll, unaware of the close vigil that was kept over him.

"I'm sure it'll all work out," Gwaine said, a bit lamely, because this whole cheering up thing wasn't exactly his forte. It was usually Leon who attempted to bolster people's spirits like that, or even Merlin himself, but as neither of them were awake, the task fell to him.

Arthur let out a slow breath, his eyes dark and troubled, apparently not surprised when Gwaine's attempt at a charming smile fell flat. "There's no way to get him to a physician here," he replied, with uncharacteristic hesitance, like this was the first time he so much as dared to voice that thought.

As if in reply, Merlin shifted suddenly, huddling a little deeper into his nest of blankets. The words were innocent enough, born of a concern that had been nagging at Gwaine as well, but there was something else hovering just out of reach, a kind of resigned knowledge that made him pause. He leaned forward, but Arthur evaded his gaze, staring down at his daggers instead like he already regretted his words.

"You know," Gwaine stated bluntly, not even all that astonished. A muscle twitched in Arthur's jaw, but it was enough of a slip to confirm his suspicion. "You know what's happening to him."

For a moment, Gwaine thought Arthur would get up and walk away, or punch him in the face, or both. For the first time since he'd joined him, Arthur was looking at him, truly seeing Gwaine, the haze of his preoccupied thoughts having been ripped away. Even by the firelight his gaze was steely, unforgiving, an unspoken promise of swift retribution if Gwaine's realization inadvertently ended up harming Merlin in any way.

Which was ridiculous, really, because he was Merlin's friend and would never do anything to him, but then Arthur sighed, most of the fight draining out of his shoulders. "I can't tell you," he said, the words wooden and practiced, like he'd spent a long time turning them over in his head during sleepless nights.

Gwaine stared, thinking that he'd misheard, but Arthur didn't take the words back. There was no stopping the sharp, bitter laugh that escaped him, and so Gwaine didn't even try, and even welcomed the unexpected surge of anger that went through him.

"That's what Lancelot said," he pointed out, not surprised when Arthur gave him a wary look and shifted a little on his tree stump. He spread his hands, trying for a grin although he'd rather have jumped up and shaken Arthur back and forth until a more satisfying answer tumbled out of his mouth. "No one tells me anything anymore these days. I wonder why."

Arthur didn't reply, but his expression made it fairly obvious that the answer was evident to him. All things considered, Gwaine was rather surprised at just how much that stung, the blatant admission of lingering mistrust in Arthur's carefully guarded features. It didn't occur to him to wonder if Lancelot had indeed been wrong in his assessment of him—right now, he just beat the feeling into submission and tried to calm the dangerous, angry heat that was simmering in his bones.

He shook his head, briefly glancing at Merlin who was still sleeping, oblivious, but now with a tiny frown etched between his eyebrows. "I may not be the prime example of a chivalric knight," he began, trying to sound calm and rational, but something about his tone must have set Arthur off instead, because all of a sudden his eyes were blazing and he was leaning forward.

"No, you're just a reckless fool who doesn't know when to step down," Arthur said, refusing to raise his voice, but his scathing tone more than made up for the lack of volume. "You've proven as much when you agreed to get your head chopped off for a bit of fun."

Gwaine didn't realize that he'd stood until he was suddenly towering over Arthur, staring down at him with his fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms so hard that it hurt. There was a strange rushing noise filling his ears, drowning out the hissing fire, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than for Arthur to get up as well, just so they could engage in a short scuffle.

"Listen, you stuck-up, self-important—," Gwaine snarled, relishing in the clean wave of anger that swept through him, cutting out the uncomfortable twinge at the thought of the Green Knight's challenge. He felt unhinged, like he was dangerously close to blurting it all out, shouting that he didn't need Arthur's opinion on the whole matter as well, that it was bad enough to have Merlin's concerned words coming back to him during the long hours of the night.

Finally, though, he just raked a frustrated hand through his hair, and forced down the simmer in his blood. It wouldn't do to get into a full-blown shouting match with Arthur, least of all because it was not actually the prince's fault that Gwaine was having second thoughts about the affair. He pushed it to the back of his mind, taking a deep, calming breath before he looked at Arthur again.

"I care about Merlin too," he snapped, more quietly now, though no less angrily. Arthur was watching him, his expression wary, but he didn't look like he was close to letting his temper get the better of him yet. "He's my friend, and I care about him, which is more than you can say for yourself."

That got a rise out of Arthur all right. His features closed off, like a door slamming shut in Gwaine's face, although Gwaine had no qualms about wrenching it open once more with brute force. Arthur opened his mouth, clear defiance in his eyes, but Gwaine interrupted him with a barked-out laugh before he could speak.

"Don't tell me you have no idea what I'm talking about," he said, helpless to stop a note of bitterness from creeping into his voice. "And don't think I haven't seen it, how you treated Merlin like dirt—he's done nothing to deserve that, least of all from you."

There was a dangerous flash in Arthur's eyes, and he was on his feet and crowding into Gwaine's personal space before he could so much as blink. His hand was fisted around one of his daggers, not drawing it yet, but close, if the snarl on his face was anything to go by. Arthur was so close that Gwaine could feel the heat rolling off of him in waves, every muscle locked tight and trembling with suppressed rage.

"Do not presume to know anything about what Merlin has done," Arthur snapped, sounding menacing and absolutely at the end of his tether—but there was the slightest waver in his tone, as though even Arthur wasn't sure what Merlin had or hadn't done anymore.

Gwaine was all too glad for the chance to twist the knife a little deeper. He leaned forward, close enough to feel Arthur's breath on his face. "You know what I think?" he hissed, dropping his voice to a near whisper. "I think the only thing Merlin has ever done," he paused, the word dripping with scorn, "was to be loyal to you. And you have done nothing to deserve him."

For just a moment, Gwaine thought that this was it, that he'd pushed Arthur far enough to break. His features twisted, and Gwaine was suddenly yanked forward when Arthur gripped him by the front of his shirt. He dug his fingers into Arthur's shoulders to steady himself, but strangely, he found that he didn't feel like punching him anymore, not now that he'd discovered that words seemed to be a better weapon. Up close, the prince's eyes looked nearly black, but to his surprise, Gwaine could see the anger warring with helplessness in his gaze.

With a kind of malicious delight, he plowed on. He'd always liked teasing Arthur, but this was something else, something just short of a fist fight—but it just felt so good to unleash all of his frustration on the prince at last, to use his righteous anger on Merlin's behalf against him.

"Do you think Merlin is just going to— bounce back from all of this, or what?" he asked, not even trying to disguise his scorn. Arthur stilled, his jaw clenched to hold on to some semblance of control, but Gwaine saw the flicker in his eyes all the same. "Do you honestly believe he'll just take it and take it until even you run out of things you can do to him?"

Arthur's throat worked as he swallowed, and Gwaine felt his grip loosen in the front of his shirt. He looked like he was desperately trying to hold on to his fury, to remind himself why Gwaine was wrong, but found himself failing. There wasn't anything to stop the slide of his mind into doubt, and Gwaine relished in the grim spark of gratification that fed the residual tight ball of anger in his chest.

"No?" Gwaine pressed, and allowed himself a brief, feral grin when Arthur didn't reply. "Yeah, I didn't think so. One of these days he's going to break and run far away from you, like anyone else would have done ages ago."

That seemed to breathe some life back into Arthur's stubborn streak, because his eyes flashed and he opened his mouth. But Gwaine had gone too far to back down and actually let Arthur get a word in edgeways now, and interrupted him before he could speak.

"Oh, you have been rather civil to him these past few days," he stated, grimly, and found himself shaking Arthur a little, though the prince made no move to shake off his hold. "But don't think you can fool me. As soon as he's well again, you'll be back to ignoring him, treating him like he's worth less than the mud stuck to the soles of your boots."

"He's not," Arthur suddenly said, his voice coming out rough and gravelly like he'd been screaming. His hands had loosened completely, resting against Gwaine's chest in limp fists. The anger wasn't gone, but it was muted somehow, hidden beneath a shroud of surprising emotion in Arthur's eyes. "He's— you have no idea what he's worth."

"And you do?" Gwaine volleyed back, to cover up his mild shock at the raw honesty in the words—he hadn't really bargained for this. "Because you sure as hell act like you don't."

Arthur didn't reply, probably because he knew it was true, and by now Gwaine felt it was safe to let go of his shoulders. He thought Arthur looked dazed, like he'd just woken up from a long, confusing dream, and Gwaine pretended not to see the defeat wrought into the drooping line of his shoulders when he stepped back.

They were silent for a long while, as the fire crackled merrily and Leon shifted in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible before rolling over in his bedroll. At some point Merlin had turned around as well, because he was now facing away from them, his head turned so he would look into the forest if he opened his eyes. Still, no one seemed to have heard anything, and Gwaine told himself to be grateful for small favors.

"Whatever," Gwaine said at last, more flippantly than he'd intended, to cover up the prickle of discomfort that crawled up his spine. It was not like he regretted anything he'd said, but all things considered, he hadn't been prepared for his words to have that kind of impact. "Just think about it. And it's time for my watch anyway."

Arthur just stared at him for a moment before the words registered with him, but then he visibly shook himself, rubbing a tired hand across his forehead like he wanted to wipe away the thoughts that had been stagnating there for far too long. He bent down to retrieve his knives and brushed past Gwaine without another word, rounding the fire until he got to his bedroll, with steps that looked uncertain even in the meager light of the fire.

Gwaine turned away to give Arthur some privacy, staring sightlessly into the dark forest instead. He felt strangely tired, wrung out, now that the tide of his anger had washed out the words he'd been keeping inside ever since Arthur had started ignoring Merlin all those weeks ago. Still, he told himself sternly that there was no reason to feel guilty for shouting at Arthur like that—it wasn't like anyone else would have done it, and as far as Gwaine was concerned, it had been about time.

The look in Arthur's eyes still bothered him, though, the sheer unexpectedness of the helplessness that hadn't been nearly enough to cover up the pain beneath. All this time, Gwaine had never really thought about Arthur's end of the deal, about the toll that the whole situation must have been taking on the prince all along. It was still Arthur's own fault, of course, but that didn't mean that he didn't deserve to be cut some slack.

Sighing deeply, Gwaine moved to sit down on the tree stump that Arthur had vacated earlier, and wiped a tired hand across his face, unconsciously mirroring Arthur's gesture. Between his watch and the myriad of thoughts that were now swirling through his head, it looked like it would be a long night.

Strangely enough, Arthur woke up the next morning feeling as refreshed as he hadn't in weeks, having slept like a log all through the night.

Thinking back to his argument with Gwaine, it reminded him of a summer storm, raging across the sky and clearing the air with claps of thunder. He wasn't going to tell him that, of course, and so they spent the next few days treating each other with a polite sort of distance that only slowly melted back into the semblance of companionship they'd shared before.

No one seemed to notice, though. Leon still pored over their map whenever possible, trying to find hills or other landmarks they could use to mark their progress, to no avail. Lancelot seemed more concerned about Percival, Elyan, and the two inexperienced squires than about the fact that they were still lost, and Merlin—

Merlin worried him. It wasn't anything Arthur could just shake off and scoff at, not anymore, and he didn't bother telling himself that he wasn't trying to look out for him, his senses attuned to his manservant as they hadn't been in weeks. Every glance at the way Merlin slumped in his saddle, at the haziness in his expression and the gold that kept flickering through his eyes, just made Arthur feel more helpless. It was magic, Merlin had told him as much; but Merlin had also said it was going to get easier, and now that it apparently wasn't, Arthur had no idea what to do.

It wasn't like he could just grab Merlin, shake him back and forth and demand him to snap out of it. For one, he could see that Merlin was trying, was desperately struggling not to succumb to the pull of whatever strange power had wormed its way under his skin. And besides, Merlin's muscles tended to go loose and pliant whenever Arthur touched him, as though he wanted to wrap himself around the solidness of his touch, so he probably wouldn't respond all that well to being grabbed by the shoulders.

The strange half-asleep trance seemed to come and go in waves. Sometimes Merlin barely responded when he was spoken to, gazing up at the canopy of leaves with a completely vacant expression, and took to stumbling around beneath the trees with a dreamlike slowness, brushing his fingers over their ancient bark. But sometimes he went hours without drifting off too much, eyes alert to his surroundings and mercifully blue; unfortunately, those were also the times when he assured everyone that he was completely fine and had no idea why they were worried about him.

It occurred to Arthur that whatever was happening to Merlin, he did seem fully aware of it, no matter how dazed he appeared to be sometimes. Just a few days ago, he had put one of those lucid periods to good use by following Arthur to a small, secluded pond, leaving Leon, Gwaine, and Lancelot to their frowning contemplation of the map.

It had been quite a warm day, and Arthur had just been toweling his hair dry after a quick jump into the cool water, his clothes sticking to the residual dampness of his skin. Merlin had stepped out from beneath the trees and slowly walked over to where Arthur was sitting on a sun-warmed outcropping of rock, giving him a wan smile in greeting.

"I need to talk to you," he'd said, without any preamble at all, and sat down on the rock as well. "Because I—"

He paused, and sunk his teeth into his lower lip to regain his hard-won focus. Arthur's gaze had been inexplicably drawn to the bob of Merlin's throat as he swallowed, and for a moment, the urge to reach out had been nearly unbearable. He could almost see it, the way his palm would fit neatly into the valley between Merlin's shoulder blades, weighing him down with the kind of anchoring touch that would steady him.

"I don't know what's going to happen," Merlin continued, softly, and this time Arthur heard the small waver in his voice. Suddenly, their gazes met, and although Arthur had seen how tired Merlin looked lately, the worn-out, desperate exhaustion on Merlin's features startled him. "And I don't want more secrets."

There'd been a suspicious shine to Merlin's eyes, like it had taken all of his waning strength to say that, and right then, Arthur hadn't thought of anything but the sudden need to reassure him. He reached over to cover Merlin's hand with his own, ignoring both the flinch and the hissed, in-drawn breath, and squeezed the clammy fingers under his, trying to infuse them with some of his warmth.

"Tell me," he said, gently, trying to pitch his voice low as though he was talking to a skittish horse. A part of him rather wanted to assure Merlin that whatever it was could wait, and that Merlin should use these hours of lucidity to get some true sleep, because Arthur had seen how much he tossed and turned during an average night, like the magic didn't leave him alone even then.

But Merlin's composure seemed threadbare and worn enough as it was, and so Arthur hadn't protested when he took a deep, shuddering breath, and poured out a long, off-kilter explanation of all the other things the dragon had told him and that he'd just not gotten the chance to pass on to Arthur just yet.

Arthur had listened in silence, occasionally biting down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from interrupting. Merlin's hand slipped out from under his, gesturing, and Arthur had learned why his father had seemed to know the Green Knight, and why the man had come to Camelot's court in the first place. He was sure that Merlin would have gloated if he hadn't had to concentrate so hard on keeping his thoughts together, because he'd been right about the Green Knight all along.

For some reason, it didn't even surprise Arthur all that much to find out that the man himself was not really the culprit behind the murders. After having spent nearly a week in his strange forest, with its paths guiding them away from anything that even remotely sounded like Mercian patrols, it was hard to hold on to the idea of supposed evilness. And although he wondered at it later, Arthur hadn't been able to feel anything beyond dull, bitter astonishment when Merlin had told him in a wavering voice that the true conspirator was Morgana.

Between his fear for Merlin's sanity and the nagging suspicion that they would never find Percival and Elyan in these woods, there simply wasn't any more room in Arthur's head. He couldn't think about it just then—he couldn't take himself away to a quiet corner and analyze this new betrayal, turn the shard of it over and over in his mind until it made sense.

Arthur hadn't forgotten the golden glint of the crown on Morgana's head, or the deep-seated, uncompromising hatred in her eyes when she'd looked down at his— their father, after all. There was no reason to assume that she had come to her senses in the meantime, that she'd ever show up at Camelot's gates, dressed in rags and desperately repentant, although he was sure that Uther hoped for it, during the long nights when even the sleeping potions couldn't grant him peace.

He'd tucked it away, shoving it to the back of his mind to be dealt with later, and just listened and nodded and reassured his manservant as best as he could when Merlin seemed to lose his train of thought and launched into a rambling apology for not having seen that coming. With the state Merlin was in, Arthur would be damned if he let him see the scraping sting that this revelation had caused, like a rusty blade twisting lazily in his stomach.

Merlin had willingly followed him back to the others, and overall, Arthur still didn't know what to do with the knowledge that Morgana was apparently not done wreaking havoc in Camelot yet. He had no idea what Merlin expected him to do about it, or if he even expected anything at all. But what was even more worrying was the fact that even Merlin didn't know whether to just keep going where the forest seemed to be leading them, or turn around and attempt to find their way out again.

If what Merlin had suggested was indeed true, if the Green Knight had been picking out their journey for them all along, if he truly needed Merlin's help to break free of Morgana's enchantment... Arthur felt doubtful about the whole thing, to say the least. There was no telling whether Merlin would even be capable of helping, with the state he was in. And if it had been part of Morgana's plan to lure them into Mercia and straight to Bayard's patrols, they were well and truly done for. Another disagreement with Mercia was the last thing they needed.

They stopped for the night when dark clouds started to creep across the previously blue sky, heralding rain, and Arthur couldn't hold back a sigh of relief as he dismounted. All the riding they'd been doing felt oddly futile here, because none of them could tell if they were actually getting anywhere. The stars were useless, most likely hidden behind a cleverly-wrought illusion that must have turned many a traveler around even before Leon had first looked up at the night sky with a frown. At any rate, it was better to set up camp than to follow arbitrary winding paths that led them nowhere.

With the others hanging up thick folds of cloth between low-hanging branches to prepare for the torrential downpour that would surely hit them soon, Arthur went on a much-needed hunt with Leon. No matter how thick the undergrowth always looked, it wasn't actually that hard to trudge through the forest even without the guidance of a path. And Arthur had found that he liked plowing his way through the thicket like this in search of their dinner.

They stalked a large deer to the edge of a rocky slope, but even as he watched it go down under his and Leon's combined shots, Arthur couldn't enjoy the hunt like he normally would have. It stuck to his mind like glue, the memory of the desperate fatigue in Merlin's eyes when he'd followed him to the pond and told him everything that he thought Arthur needed to know. It was like Merlin was trying to make sure that they'd have all the knowledge they needed, just in case he ended up— delirious with magic, or wherever he was headed.

The thought sat uncomfortably behind Arthur's ribs as he helped Leon butcher the deer, his movements stiff and automatic. Not even Merlin seemed to know what was going to happen to him if this assault of wild magic didn't let up, and as much as he hated to admit it, Arthur was helpless. This wasn't anything he could kill, he couldn't threaten it with his sword and force it to back off and leave his manservant alone. Well, maybe threatening the Green Knight would be more useful, if they ever found him in this thicket, but somehow, Arthur doubted it.

With the numerous noises of the forest echoing around them, from rustling leaves to faraway bird songs, Arthur nearly missed the sounds of footsteps and clanking armor. But when they finally reached his ears, he and Leon stopped almost as one, and Arthur made a swift mental note to compliment Leon on his finely-honed reflexes later.

They froze, staring out into the woods, two knights standing stock still under the trees and holding up a skinned deer between them, but Arthur only spared a brief thought to what a strange sight they presented. A slow, insistent rush of energy crested through his veins, sharpening his senses with split-second precision until he could hear even the muted crunch of leaves under his feet.

The sounds occurred again, this time distinctly from their left, an unintelligible murmur of conversation and the metallic clink of chainmail. Arthur turned to exchange a glance with Leon, but the older knight wasn't looking at him—he stared at the forest instead, with an expression Arthur didn't think he'd ever quite seen on his face, a kind of baffled awe.

He followed Leon's gaze to the trees, just in time to catch a glimpse of impossible movement in the bushes, a faint groaning protest of bark as it was— moved, Arthur thought, and felt his mouth fall open at the sight.

An ancient oak shook off a shower of leaves and tiny twigs as it stirred and bent to the side, without even the faintest breeze to spur it into movement. Two tall beeches bowed away in a similar manner, their trunks twisting, and when Arthur looked down, the grass and bushes were being sucked back into the earth, swallowed up by the mossy ground to reveal a winding path leading to the freshly formed gap between the trees.

The oak shuddered one last time before stilling, and then a breeze started up, an insistent gust of wind that pushed Arthur squarely between the shoulders as though to urge him on. He closed his mouth with some difficulty, wishing he didn't have his hands full of deer, although he knew fairly well that his sharpest dagger wouldn't be of any help against this—if it even was something he needed to defend himself against.

This time, Leon met his gaze, looking shell-shocked but determined. They exchanged a quick nod, and stepped carefully as they ducked into the gap between the trees, the ground spongy and soft under the soles of their boots.

Neither of them spoke as they followed the path away from the sounds of the soldiers. There wasn't anything to be said, after all, because while they'd known about the forest's strange tendency to rearrange itself around them, it was another thing entirely to see it happen.

And as winding as the trail was, it was leading them away from what had most likely been a group of Mercian soldiers on patrol. As crazy as it seemed to even voice the thought to himself, but right then and there, Arthur felt more inclined than ever to believe that something—or someone—in the forest was indeed watching out for them.

By an unspoken agreement, they didn't mention the incident when they reached their camp; it wouldn't do to alarm the others with this newest almost-encounter with Mercian forces. Arthur left the dead deer to Lancelot and Gwaine's capable hands, satisfied to see that they'd already gotten a fairly decent fire going.

With a bit of luck, the rain wouldn't start until they'd each had a bowl of stewed venison. The others had built an array of makeshift shelters beneath the trees, not as big or even as waterproof as tents would have been, but with only one packhorse, it was all they had. Arthur watched for a while as Leon went over to check on their horses and make sure they were all hobbled, but the restless energy he'd felt on the hunt was still thrumming through his bones, and eventually he went off in search of Merlin.

Half hoping that he wouldn't find him curled up and completely lost to the forest's magic, Arthur treated carefully once he reached the treeline. But even a short glance around revealed that he needn't have been that cautious—Merlin was sitting beneath one of their makeshift tents, spreading an oilcloth on the soft, springy grass.

For a long moment, Arthur just watched him, the deliberate carefulness in his movements that looked like he had to think very hard about each one. No matter how often Merlin insisted that he was fine, even with his back turned to Arthur, it was glaringly obvious that he was slowly but steadily being worn down. He knew that the others had noticed it too—hell, it was hard not to realize that something was off, and if only the numerous concerned glances that Merlin had drawn to himself during the past few days were enough to refuel his energy, he would really have been fine by now.

Merlin dragged their bedrolls under the little tent, but had to steady himself with a hand on the ground as he overbalanced. Arthur didn't realize he'd taken a step forward until a twig snapped under his boot, but Merlin didn't even twitch, to preoccupied with regaining his equilibrium. Arthur let out a slow breath and forced himself to relax again, safe in the knowledge that Merlin wouldn't see him, no matter how long he let his gaze linger on the soft spot of exposed skin at his collarbone where his collar had slipped.

Once he'd dug his fingers in there, he suddenly remembered, back when he'd felt raw and furious, forced into the defensive when Merlin had told him that Lancelot knew of his magic. He'd pressed his knuckles into the yielding muscle there, not at all surprised when he'd found it soft as Merlin refused to even shake him off. As easily as he bruised, Merlin must have felt it for days afterwards, a dull, residual sting where Arthur had hurled everything at him, his fury and his helplessness, and the sense of having lost a battle before it had even begun.

Arthur didn't know how long he stood under the trees as the sky grew darker, the clouds looming overhead, heavy with rain. He had thought they'd been making some real progress, but Gwaine's words had knocked over everything in his head again, the neat stack of little acts of loyalty that he'd been ready to weigh against Merlin's betrayal.

His heart was hammering in his chest, in his palms and temples, but for once Arthur didn't care, didn't swallow the shivery feeling down again. Merlin was slipping away, his control eroded away by the patient, endless magical pull of the forest, and he needed something to hold him there. He might simply disappear, just like Arthur had thought he would when he'd first touched the Green Knight's ivy. He would shake off his bothersome mortal shell and take to the skies in a flash of golden light, and Arthur wanted to, had to give him something to hold on to.

Arthur didn't realize he'd moved until he was standing next to Merlin, looking down at his bowed head and his clumsy fingers as he spread an extra blanket on his bedroll. Something scratchy was lodged in his throat, and Arthur took a deep breath to get rid of it, watching Merlin's head turn to him as if in slow motion.

"Merlin," he said, more quietly than he'd intended. But Merlin didn't look up, perhaps fearing he'd end up flat on his back if he tilted his head back, and Arthur reached out without thinking, cupping Merlin's shoulder with a careful palm. Merlin swayed into the touch, eyes closed and features drawn, like he was in pain, or like he'd been before and Arthur's hand was the only thing keeping it at bay now.

The silence stretched, and the moment passed, leaving Arthur suddenly self-conscious. He snatched his hand back and cleared his throat, glancing away to the clearing for a second, just to give himself something else to look at than the barely-there edge of gold in Merlin's eyes. The deer was roasting over the fire, Gwaine was trying to check on Gryngolet's horseshoes and kept getting toppled over for his efforts, and Leon was talking to Lancelot over the fire. As if by some unspoken agreement, no one was so much as looking at them.

He had his hands on his belt before he could second-guess himself, his thoughts devoid even of a plan. His fingers felt clumsy and stiff, but he finally yanked it off, the knives' pommels clinking, and dropped it unceremoniously in Merlin's lap.

"Get them clean," he ordered gruffly, his voice rough with some emotion he couldn't name, and Merlin just stared down at the weapons like he'd never seen them before.

He looked completely baffled, not even close to complaining about the extra chore like he might have done in any other situation. As Arthur watched, Merlin touched the largest dagger with a trembling hand like he feared it might disappear, and this time he did look up, his expression caught between shock and hope.

Merlin's eyes were wide and very bright, but so blessedly blue that Arthur almost found himself smiling, until they suddenly looked rather wet and Merlin ducked his head to hide his expression, eyebrows pulling together in a trembling frown.

He sniffed once, briefly turning his face into his shoulder to wipe at his eyes, almost angrily, like he was berating himself for his loss of control. But he opened the pouch on Arthur's belt, pulling out the rough cloth and the little bottle of oil that he normally used to polish Arthur's weapons, his movements steady although his hands were shaking.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, utterly shocked by the display of emotion that his careless gesture had triggered. It was just a chore, one that Merlin had performed hundreds of times before, surely he wouldn't lose his composure like that over something that he'd complained about often enough in the past, muttering that if Arthur had to clean his own damned knives, he might not feel the need to get them dirty so often—

Oh, Arthur thought, rather blankly, when he remembered that it had been a rather long time since he'd heard Merlin say that. After Merlin had told him about his magic, Arthur had felt a fool for ever having trusted him with his weapons, his armor, the only things he could rely on to stand between him and death in battle.

Assigning their care to the armorer had been almost an afterthought, and he'd assumed that Merlin had understood, since he'd never asked after them. It must have stung, though, another heaviness added to the weight of guilt on Merlin's shoulders, a proof of everything he'd lost, of the trust that Arthur did not think him worthy of anymore.

Merlin took a deep, shuddering breath, visibly clenching his teeth against the tremble in his jaw, blinking slowly down at the streaks of dried blood on the blades. Arthur had no idea what to do or say, or if he even should say anything, staring down at Merlin's shaking shoulders. In the end he remained silent, because maybe Merlin expected to be teased for being a girl, and Arthur didn't feel like doing that right now.

Words stuck uselessly in his throat, a fluttery warmth unfolding slowly in his stomach as though it had lain in wait for this very moment. His fingers itched to close around Merlin's shoulder again, but he still remembered the way Merlin had swayed into the touch earlier, and Arthur didn't want to disarm him even further.

"I'll go and— help the others," he said, too quickly, and almost stumbled over a bedroll in his haste to retreat. Stupid, he cursed himself, because he'd just wanted to give Merlin something to do, not remind him of the time when they'd barely spoken to each other.

Merlin didn't seem to hold it against him, though. He looked up and gave Arthur a wavering smile, his eyes full of tears but still blue, and for some reason Arthur's gaze drifted down to his bottom lip, plump and red where he must have been biting down on it. A strange, insistent hum started in his ears at the sight, dizzying him, but then Arthur clenched his hands at his sides to keep himself from reaching out, turned on his heel and walked back to the clearing.

Arthur was glad that the Leon and Lancelot were too busy with the fire to look at him when he approached them. Merlin had looked so relieved, so achingly eager that Arthur knew his daggers would be given the most thorough cleaning they had ever gotten. Merlin would probably sharpen them too, and nick his fingers numerous times in the process, and as dazed and disoriented as he was, it would take him ages.

But he'd present the knives to Arthur the next morning, with that easy grin that Arthur had gotten so used to, and a teasing glint in his eyes that seemed to say, "go on, get them dirty again, now that I've cleaned them so thoroughly."

Subconsciously, Arthur suspected that he'd known it all along, although he'd refused to listen to the tiny voice at the back of his mind before. Still, an unexpected surge of helpless affection gripped him when he realized that in spite of everything that had happened between them, Merlin was still Merlin—clumsy, stubborn Merlin, who wore his heart on his sleeve and who cried over an unexpected show of trust.

Leon gave him a quizzical look when Arthur joined him at the fire, but to his credit, he didn't say anything. Lancelot was approaching them, carrying an armful of fresh firewood, and Gwaine was coming back as well, seeming to have given up on Gryngolet. Arthur pretended to be engrossed in the sight of meat turning slowly on a spit over the fire, allowing himself a much-needed moment to compose himself.

It must have worked, since no one said anything, and Arthur found himself grateful that Merlin was alone for now, far from prying eyes and worried questions. He straightened up, determined to stop anyone from going to check up on Merlin until their dinner was ready, and moved to help Lancelot with the firewood.