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He barely waits for an answer, advancing forwards like he's storming into battle.

“Did it work? Was it enough? Is he—”

Arthur stops. Jerks, to a halt. The rest of the words yank in his throat with a sharp, pained noise. 

He’s staring at Merlin, who lies too still. Pale on the bed, head lolled a bit to the side, hair damp at his temples, deep bruises under his eyes. Slack. Unresponsive. 

Arthur says nothing. He stares at Merlin like if he does it for long enough he will see Merlin breathe.

“He's dead,” Guinevere says, as the tears crawl up her throat.

A chink of a reaction cracks through Arthur’s shock. His sword-hand spasms. Arthur’s face goes grey. He reels back a bit. 

“He can't be,” Gaius says, disbelieving. He stands, withdrawing from Merlin. "He can't be.”

Guinevere can’t look at Arthur’s expression. It’s too much. The red-raw of his eyes, the tight way he’s holding his jaw, clamping down on the tremor of emotion, the bright-burning anguish.

She turns into Gaius instead, who pulls her close, holds her as she begins to sob. 

“It’s my fault.”

Gaius shushes her. “No, Gwen. No, the fault is mine, I…”

“This was my doing.” Arthur cuts them both off. It’s the first thing he’s said since seeing Merlin, and the emptiness in his voice makes Guinevere flinch. “The poison was intended for me. I allowed him to drink it. I…” His voice runs out.

Guinevere looks up through her tears to see Arthur has gravitated nearer, one hand on the pallet just shy of Merlin’s head, as though he wants to touch but can't allow himself.

“I failed,” Arthur finishes, and Guinevere sees the exact moment he breaks. Something in him crumbles. His shoulders curl in. “I. I failed.”

“Prince Arthur!” A voice yells distantly from outside. “Prince Arthur! You are to return to the cells immediately! By order of the King!”

For some reason, this makes Guinevere cry harder. Deep, wracking sobs that rise from somewhere unknown and terrifying. Gaius holds her as she cries. His head bows and she feels his tears in her hair. Arthur doesn’t move. The muscles in his shoulders bunch and convulse. His fists clench against the wood of the bed-frame. He is utterly silent and yet Guinevere can see him screaming.

“Prince Arthur!” 

There’s a thunder of footsteps. The door bangs open again. Gaius makes a small, wounded noise as the guards pour in around where Merlin still lies.

Arthur raises his head at the intrusion. His eyes are black with grief, glistening with an awful wet sheen. He looks at the guards, and they stop dead.

“Prince… Prince Arthur,” a guard at the front tries, hesitantly. “The King has ordered you remain in the cells. You must come back with us.”

Arthur dismisses them with the flick of his eyes. He turns from them, back to Merlin. “I will not,” he says.

“Prince Arthur…”

“I will not leave,” Arthur snaps. “Any man who tries to make me will be met with force. I welcome you to try.”

Arthur is unarmed. His words still make some of the guards hesitate. A few of the others who don’t know better draw their swords.

“Arthur,” Gaius says, very gently. “There’s nothing more we can do.”

“He died because I was in those cells.” Arthur says, head whipping sideways to stare at Gaius ferociously. “Because I went quietly when my father demanded it.”

Fresh tears fill Guinevere’s eyes. She’s hurting with him, but she tries, too, because she knows, “Merlin wouldn’t want—”

“Merlin is DEAD!” Arthur breaks out.

“Ah, well. That’s inconvenient,” says Merlin.

Guinevere feels faint. Gaius sits down heavily with a little moan. The guards startle backwards.

Guinevere turns around, disbelieving.

Merlin’s eyes are open. His head is raised a bit, and he’s breathing, and he’s staring at all of them with bemusement.

“Merlin,” Gaius manages, breathless, “you’re alive.”

“No, I’m a ghost come back to haunt you,” Merlin returns, lips curling up.

The laugh that gasps out of Guinevere hurts — sharp and lovely, like good things hurt.

Merlin's eyes are gentle as they find her. Then they shift sideways to Arthur, and Merlin's eyes widen.

"Arth—"

There’s a blur of movement. 

Arthur kisses him. Out of nowhere, dropping down and cradling Merlin’s jaw to turn his head, kissing him deeply with something feverish and bright, a desperate outpouring of relief.

It’s over as quickly as it began.

“Arthur, what…?” Merlin murmurs the moment they part, turning into Arthur like it's the most natural thing in the world. Merlin looks — dazed. Astonished. He looks at Arthur like Arthur had been looking at him earlier, like there’s no air to breathe if they are not sharing it. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says immediately. His hand is still cupping the nape of Merlin's neck, thumb framing the curve of Merlin's jaw seemingly without realising. “I just. Thought you were dead.”

Everyone is staring at them. Neither of them notice.

Arthur is flushing a bit. He’s gone stiff again, drawing back and straightening up, rubbing at his neck, looking anywhere but Merlin.

Guinevere bites down hard on her smile.

“It’s fine.” Merlin says automatically. Then he appears to grasp the situation, and amends, with a smile that’s small-part cheek, small-part uncertainty, but altogether emanates joy, “It’s more than fine.”

Arthur’s eyes meet Merlin's again. Neither of them look away. 

The guard coughs, looking a bit like he's wishing for the sweet release of death. “Um. Prince Arthur?”

Arthur jumps almost guiltily. He glances round, apparently just remembering their audience. There's an awkward beat of silence.

“Ah, yes,” Arthur says, as though this had been the intention all along. “Cells. I’m coming.”

Merlin looks confused all over again. “...Why are you in the cells?”

“For saving your life,” Arthur shrugs off as the guards surround him, still appearing marginally terrified that Arthur might kill them if they touch him.

“Right,” says Merlin, sounding more confused. “Why are you not in the cells right now?”

“Broke out to confirm that I saved your life,” Arthur says. "After my father crushed the miracle flower and I smuggled it in bread, I wasn't sure it would work."

“Right. Hang on. What?”

“Gaius will explain,” Arthur dismisses as they start to escort him away. "If my father should lock me in the dungeons indefinitely, I expect you to wear my favour and remember me fondly."

“I will not," says Merlin, indignant. "I would come and get you out, you prat.”

“That’s preferable,” Arthur admits. 

None of the guards look like they know what to make of any of this. Gaius is sighing the deep sigh of a man who has experienced the trials of a decade in the space of a few minutes. Guinevere is still desperately trying to suppress her mirth behind her hand.

“Arthur,” Merlin calls in different tone, just before Arthur reaches the door.

Ignoring the guards entirely, Arthur stops and turns. His and Merlin's eyes meet again. Guinevere sees worlds in the look they share.

“Thank you,” Merlin says.

Arthur’s expression goes a little slack, almost vulnerable. There’s a warmth there, too, though, a tender sort of sincerity that feels too intimate to witness.

“You too,” Arthur says, gentle in a way Guinevere hasn’t heard from him before. “Get some rest.”

Then he’s gone, strolling off down the stairs whilst the guards scramble in his wake to follow.

Merlin turns back to the two of them. Gaius raises one, highly dubious eyebrow. Guinevere isn’t sure what her face is doing, but Merlin takes one look at her and cracks up, slumping back onto the pallet with his hands over his face.

“Okay. What happened? The last thing I remember is drinking the wine, then the next thing I know…”

“Arthur’s kissing you?” Guinevere finishes dryly, sitting down on the pallet next to his hip.

Merlin makes a small, muffled sound into his hands. Just beneath, Guinevere can see his skin flushing deep red. She grins.

“It wasn’t that dissimilar to how you woke up, come to think of it,” she says thoughtfully. “You collapsed, everyone else started pointing swords at each other and yelling, but Arthur ran to your side, took your face in his hands…”

“Gwen!”

Gaius starts laughing. Merlin tugs the pillow over his face in a weak attempt to smother himself. Guinevere pokes him in the side and steals the pillow away, and then Merlin is laughing too, when barely a minute earlier Guinevere thought she might never hear him laugh again.

The pillow falls to the floor and Guinevere pulls Merlin into a fierce hug. She presses her face into his chest and she breathes him in. Merlin makes a small sound of surprise but his arms come up around her without pause, gathering her closer, turning to press a quick kiss to her forehead. She doesn’t have any words. There are no words for relief like this. She just breathes, listening to his heartbeat.

“It’s alright,” Merlin murmurs. “It’s all alright.”