Red, sticky crimson stained his hands, marring the skin of his palms like paint on a canvas. His eyes stared at his open hands blankly, fingers trembling, pupils dilated as he watched the liquid dry and crack like dirt. He felt numb, his mind somewhere undisclosed, far, far away from his body.

He felt as though he was standing in the eye of a storm, his calmness betraying none of the turmoil and chaos he felt brewing within his chest, deep into the crevices of his heart. The trembling of his limbs seemed to worsen as his mind unwittingly recalled everything that had happened while he was under the influence of the Lamia.

His body shuddered at the thought. The madness, the hatred that had controlled him was gone now, evaporated along with any magic that might have been controlling them all. However, the blood remained. Merlin's blood, which he could see seep under his fingernails.

He could still feel his sword's hilt, warm and comfortable against his palm as he stabbed it into his friend's side. Into Merlin's soft flesh.

Bile rose in his throat and he fought to keep it down. To stifle the need to bang his head against the wall, if only to rid himself of the memory.

A hand suddenly entered his field of vision, resting on his own, uncaring of the filth plaguing his skin. "It's alright." Guinevere, sweet, gentle Guinevere, was speaking to him. Her voice was as soft as a feather caressing his skin. He suddenly felt the need to distance himself, lest he hurt another one of the people he cared about. As if reading his mind, she continued. "It's okay, he's going to be okay." Pulling a damp cloth from the folds of her skirt, the fabric ripped and just as dirty as his own, she began cleaning his hands. Did he deserve her kindness? "Gaius isn't letting anyone into the tent but he assured us that everything was going to be alright. Merlin will be fine." Any reassuring that was beginning to form dropped into his gut, making way for new-found dread as reality settled like a weight, bearing into his chest, making it hard to breathe.

If Gaius wasn't letting anyone in there, it meant that he either was attempting to heal Merlin with magic or-

...or Lancelot had killed Merlin and the physician was doing his utmost to keep everyone away while the warlock revived himself.

He couldn't hold back the bile rising to his throat, barely having time to rush into the bushes before he emptied his stomach. His knees hit the ground hard as he heaved. His breath came out in gasps, his eyes wide, swimming in barely concealed guilt and horror.

He could hear Gwen calling out for him, asking if he was okay, yet her voice sounded muffled and distant. As if blocked by an invisible veil, keeping her away from himself.

He was almost grateful for it, as he tried desperately to pull himself together. Feeling the sudden need for clarity he felt himself get to his feet, movements unsteady as he trudged his way to Gaius's tent, disregarding Guinevere's worried exclamations as he went.

He could see the knights huddled around a fire, all of them wearing distant, guilty expressions on their faces. Gwaine was sat the furthest away, his usually confident form, huddled in on himself, as if to make his figure as small as possible. His hands buried deeply within his hair, pulling at his dark locks carelessly.

Lancelot would have stopped to check on him if he were in any better of a condition. He wasn't and so he didn't.

He spotted the tent immediately, despite not having seen it before. Arthur's figure, pacing the length of it, back and forth was his first clue.

The closer he got, the more he could distinguish the soft muttering that was dropping from the king's throat as he moved. His hands clenched tightly at his sides, as if ready to hit anything that crossed his path.

He stopped at Lancelot's approach, body tensing as he regarded his knight with narrowed eyes.

"My lord." Lancelot felt his voice waver, tone rough despite his efforts at sounding normal.

"Lancelot." Feeling a sudden overwhelming urge to do so, Lancelot kneeled in front of his kind, head hanging low as he spoke. Apologies spilled out of him in a torrent of words, all of them as sincere as the guilt that festered and gnawed at his guts.

"I would understand if you wished to banish me, your highness. I don't deserve to be a knight when I have hurt my own comrades in this manner." The words felt cold to admit, his lungs constricting at the mere thought.

Arthur was silent for a long moment, the quiet was torture. "Get up, Sir Lancelot." His voice was firm, tone harsh and unwavering. "It is my understanding that the Lamia had taken control of you all, are you implying that my information is incorrect?"

"No, Sire, but-"

"So I should banish all my knights, is that what you meant to say?" He barreled on, gaze hard and serious. "Because Guinevere told me what kind of things that monster made you do in her name." He continued. "Should I be punishing Gwaine too for all the things he did while under her influence?"

"Gwaine didn't kill anyone." The words burst out of him before he could hold himself back. He regretted the instance they formed in the air between them.

"Neither did you, Lancelot." Arthur's voice was softer now, gone was the mighty king, and in his place stood a tired friend, one that was just as worried as Lancelot. Dark circles were prominent around his eyes as he gazed at his knight not unkindly. "Merlin is alright, and if I have anything to say about it, that idiot will never kick the bucket." The irony of his words wasn't unnoticed.

"C-can I go inside?" Lancelot found himself asking, gaze drifting to the dirt at their feet. "I need to see him." And as an afterthought, but just as sincere. "Please."

"Go ahead, tell Gaius I sent you." With that, he sidestepped out of the way, leaving the entrance open for Lancelot to pass through.

Gathering his courage, he lifted a hand and pulled the fabric wide enough for him to slip through.

He was accosted instantly with the strong scent of herbs and medicine. Familiar to him from the hours spent in the company of physicians.

His gaze caught onto Gaius's hunched-over form immediately. The old man was huddled over a figure lying on a cot in the middle of the tent.

Merlin's skin was pale in the dim light, sweat and grim marred his skin, making him look frail. He was avoiding looking at his chest, afraid of what he might find there once he did.

Slowly gathering his wits, he let his eyes trail up, catching onto the bloody bandages wrapped around the man's stomach and torso, winding around him multiple times. But sure enough, to both his shock and disbelief, Merlin's chest was rising and falling.

He was breathing. However, his most pressing question was if he had been doing so for this entire time or- or had Lancelot truly brought another death onto his friend.

"He's in an unfortunate state but he will be fine, my boy." Gaius addressed him, finally noticing his entrance. Noting the intensity of his gaze, he continued. "He's okay, Lancelot. We made it to him in time."

"H-he didn't-"

"No, he did not."

The relief, hard and overwhelming hit him with enough force he couldn't stay on his feet. Dropping onto a nearby bench, he bent his body forward. Tears of something indescribable formed in his eyes as he settled his hands against his head, finally feeling as though he could breathe again.

"Th-thank goodness." He whispered brokenly, swallowing down a sob as he lifted his head to meet Gaius's worried gaze. "Oh, Gaius, I'm so glad."

Silently, the older man rested his hand against his shoulder, his quiet support making the rest of the dread evaporate from his insides. He hoped Merlin would wake up soon, if only so he could hear his voice once more.

There were so many things he wished to say, to express. He was just happy that he would have the chance to.

___________________________

Gwaine felt, in the most poetic sense of the word, like utter shit. His head ached like he'd been clobbered multiple times with a stick, or maybe, depending on his hazy recollection, a monster's tentacle.

However, the pain had absolutely nothing to do with how he was feeling like now. His headache was the last thing on his mind.

Merlin's eyes, looking at him like he was a stranger, a shade of the person who called himself a friend.

The words that had come out of his mouth had been drawn out of the darkest parts of his chest, things that he hadn't even dared to formulate into thoughts.

And despite his cruel words, despite the venom that had dripped from his mouth, and the violence he had expressed, Merlin hadn't once sought to hurt him back. He'd taken the disrespect, the anger, and the abuse as quietly as he had taken on everything else in his life.

If the conversation he had overheard between that Alator sorcerer and Merlin was to be believed, then Merlin had more than enough power inside him to kill them all if he wanted to.

Guilt and sorrow warred inside of him as he thought about his friend. Did he even deserve to call him that? After treating him like this, after doubting his loyalty and his kindness.

Could he go back to acting unaware and unbothered? What was he supposed to do?

Raking a hand through his tangled hair, he sighed heavily, head falling back against the warm log he had been resting against.

"I hope Merlin is doing okay," Percival spoke up softly, his eyes trained on the fire burning away in between them.

Elyan, who was still groggy after being treated by Gaius, sat up slowly, his gaze regarding them with curious worry. "What did happen after I went down?"

"Let's just say, we owe Merlin and Gwen a big apology," Leon responded in their stead when it seemed that neither of them was ready to speak up. "Merlin Especially."

They all nodded in agreement, determination bubbling in their eyes along with the flames reflected there.