A Different Destiny / Merthur

Time

"It's probably not very good for you," he continued, ignoring the fresh spring of tears that stained his cheeks, "but it's the best I can do." He eased the chainmail over his head and tossed it aside. "There, that's a bit better." He checked Merlin's pulse. Nothing. He checked again. Nothing. "Come on, Merlin. Please. Please. I can't leave you like this.  I can't—"

There was a low creaking as the chamber door opened. 

Arthur barely noticed.  He picked up the towel from the floor, soaked it, and then wrapped it around Merlin's back, hugging it against him in an attempt to chase the fever from his body.  "You can't leave me like this," he whispered, nuzzling Merlin's neck.  "You can't."  He checked the warlock's pulse again, pressing his fingers firmly into his wrist, and gave a cry of surprise when he felt something.

Merlin had a pulse. It was faint, but it was there.

"How is he?"

Arthur jumped as Morgana appeared beside him.

"And what's all this nonsense about you leaving him, where are you—"

"Did you see the spell?"

"What? I mean, yes, I—"

"Gaius!" Arthur yelled, searching for the old man amongst the rubble of discarded books and torn parchment. "Morgana saw it!"

"Quickly then!"  The reply had come from somewhere near the cabinet.

"It was dark purple," she breathed, "and it moved like it was broken.  It was all jagged and twisted and not quite right.  Maybe it was cast incorrectly."

The room fell silent.  And then, very distantly, Morgana heard the old man muttering to himself.  He sounded like he was searching for something.  She turned her eyes back to Arthur; the Prince was still knelt on the floor, half-soaked, and clutching Merlin to his chest.  Morgana had never seen him so helpless.

"Pass me another towel, please."

There were none left.  Instead, Morgana strode over to the bed, stripped the pillow of its case, and handed it to him.  "Will that do?"

He plunged it into the water. 

"I thought—"

"It's for the fever," he explained, wringing it out and placing it on Merlin's forehead.  And then, after a few moment of silence, he finally asked.  "Morgana?"

"Yes?"

"What happened out there.  How did—?"  He couldn't bring himself to say it.  There was something surreal about the act of asking the question.  It was as if he was watching himself through an old memory.  As if he already knew the answer, but was being forced to ask anyway.  To play out a part.  To become a hollow puppet.

"The woman.  She— she said her name was Morgause." 

"She did this to him?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't think she meant to.  Arthur, she was aiming for you.  And Merlin just— he jumped in the way.  I couldn't stop him.  I'm so sorry."

The Prince froze.

"Arthur?"

"Why would he do that?"  His voice was dangerously quiet.

"He was trying to protect you—"

"I don't care."

"You don't mean that."

"I do.  He should've just let it hit me.  He should have— I mean what the hell was he thinking!"

"Arthur, you could have died."