Chapter Text
Arthur would be the first one to say, in the end, that the sight of Merlin lying, face down, on the woodland floor, was the worst thing he had seen in his entire life.
The fight faded behind him, screaming and hysterics blending into nothing, as the man he loved, let out a harsh, body-shuddering breath.
Even years later, he would never quite know how he'd made it out of that clearing. Only that at some point, he'd grabbed Merlin - unconscious, limp, but not dead (never dead). The flesh under his fingers seemed to boil, blood leaking down the front of his armour from Merlin's shoulder, which wept red.
The other knights had perhaps known his desperation, covering him enough to make an escape on foot. Sword bashing against his legs, as breath broke out of his lungs, lips cracked and sore.
He had left the battle behind.
And Merlin was still limp.
He ran so long the earth beneath his feet seemed to shake with every rattling step.
His legs gave up before his mind could. The pair crashed to the floor, and only some distant part of Arthur remembered to cover Merlin's head. Another knock on what could already be damage?
Arthur didn't cry.
Instead, he pulled Merlin against his chest and realised that it was already dark around them. The root that had felled Arthur in the end stuck on prominently, and he could feel the twinge even through the adrenaline that poured through him.
Arthur cut the root with his sword.
He couldn't move much, with Merlin placed so very precariously on his chest, but somehow, he managed. His hands dizzily reached for sticks, anything for fire.
Because he needed fire. He needed light. They would die without it.
He almost did cry when he reached down, and realised the flint was still with the horses.
"Merlin?"
He shook his lover's shoulder so hard his head began to shake. Arthur stopped immediately. Going to hurt him worse. He can't be hurt.
Merlin groaned from his place on top of him.
“Can you light the fire?” Arthur whispered urgently, too tired to care. “I need it to look at your wound.” Even his voice - the best put together part of him from his father's training - was broken. The night had hunted them. And the cold was going to win.
“'ired,” Merlin managed out, without opening his eyes.
“I know. I know. I promise you can go to sleep right after.” He shouldn't have made that promise, he knew he shouldn't from the moment it crossed his lips. But he couldn't deny Merlin anything right now.
At least they would have a fire.
Arthur could only watch as Merlin's fingers twitched, unable to move them as he needed. Arthur shot out his own arm, physically pointing Merlin's hand in the direction of the little pile of wood he had managed to set up.
If Merlin said a spell out loud, Arthur's heartbeat was loud enough in his ears to miss it.
The flame crackled, building slowly, and filling the clearing with a soft, flickering light.
Arthur immediately lowered Merlin's arm, giving him a hurried kiss on the forehead. The skin under was burning hot. It couldn't be an infection. It was too soon.
Merlin couldn't be infected.
Merlin had to be okay.
Arthur waited until the light crept across Merlin's face before he braved himself to check the wound. It was going to be bad. And Merlin was the medic between the two of them. If only he was awake...
Arthur knew he had to look quickly. Not for him, but for Merlin.
The tunic peeled off slowly, like the rind of a fruit, making a horrible sound as it came loose. Arthur's hands were shaky as blood once more filled his vision. Merlin's blood. Merlin's wound.
There was nothing to clean it with.
Arthur felt panic crawling at his insides. He should of thought of that first. What if the wound had been compressed with the tunic. He'd just removed it.
Merlin was going to bleed out.
Arthur covered the wound again, patting it down, and almost jumping out of his skin at the horrific groan that crawled out of Merlin's lips.
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” he muttered, lying Merlin down on the ground. There was no energy left in his limbs, and he found himself crawling forward on his hands. His armour had never felt so heavy. It clinging to his limbs, pulling his body down towards the earth. It felt like hours on his hands and knees, hand patting out for something that seemed so hopeless.
Then, they were in luck.
Arthur's hand was suddenly shocked at a cold splash of water. He could have collapsed with the relief. As a hunter, he knew he should check further up the stream, in case an animal had died in it, thus contaminating the water. But he couldn't see even an inch in front of his face. At some point he had lost his waterskin. Arthur fumbled about on his belt, not knowing how long he had been gone, but also knowing that every moment could be killing Merlin.
His fingers found his scabbard. His sword fell to the floor, and he only just had the sense to tuck it back into his belt before he continued.
He filled the leather scabbard up with water. Even in the darkness, he could see something leaking of his hands, in the water. Blood. Merlin's blood.
It was, by far, the worst thing he had ever seen.
When the leather felt heavy enough, Arthur took it out, already splashing some down his front. But he couldn't find it in himself to care. Not then.
Merlin was waiting for him.
Merlin needed him.
Arthur would help Merlin.
Through the dust in his vision, Arthur followed the little light of the fire back to Merlin's resting point. The light was a relief, if a small one at that. It was so dark.
And Merlin looked so very pale.
Arthur peeled the fabric back away from Merlin's wound. There was no groan. Not then.
The water tumbled out of the scabbard all over Merlin's wound, only just visible in the firelight. The wound was horrendous. Massive puncture wounds graced Merlin's entire shoulder, going so deep that Arthur had to fight the urge to gag.
He looked over at Merlin's face, only to see two blue eyes looking back at him. Slitted, but open. Open and alive.
“I've seen worse. I've definitely seen worse.”
Arthur reached down to tear some of his own shirt, under the armour. One side was covered in grease, but the other would be clean enough.
“On a dead man.”
Merlin's lips were so cracked; Arthur was surprised he was able to talk at all. He clumsily reached down to where he'd propped up his scabbard and poured the little drops of water into his lips.
It wasn't much. It wasn't nearly enough for Merlin.
But it was the best they had.
“You're not going to die Merlin.”
Arthur really, truly, tried his best to mean that.
***
The morning came earlier than normal. Or so it seemed.
A branch snapped in the distance, and Arthur was awake.
They had found them. It was only a matter of time.
The fire in front of them had blackened and gone dead at some point.
When he reached out to grab hold of Merlin, his skin felt icy cold. Surely, better than burning up. Surely.
But he wasn't sure. And that was the worst part, by far.
“Leave me,” Merlin tired voice croaked out from Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur almost dropped him.
“Now's not the time for jokes,” he tried to tease back, even as he felt sick to his stomach.
“Please leave me,” Merlin pleaded again.
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
The only thing Arthur could find in himself to feel bad about was the new horrific sound Merlin made when he was being carried. But there was nothing he could possibly do about that. Merlin was better in pain than dead.
“I love you,” Arthur found himself saying, reflecting on their conversation the night before, after the pain had woken Merlin just enough for more conversation. Not at all cowardly.
He needed to tell Merlin that he cared more. That he was braver than he ever knew. That he was the strongest man that Arthur had ever met, and that was the reason Arthur had fallen in love with him.
When the bandit rounded the corner, Arthur could have cried, having to almost throw Merlin to the ground in those gods-damned ruins. Merlin head had hit the floor.
But he couldn't focus on that.
Even as the swords struck, the sound shocked him. The blade was in his hand. He was fighting. Merlin was bleeding behind him. And Arthur could do absolutely nothing about any of it.
The first bandit went down, and Arthur spun around to grab Merlin, but it was too late. Other bandits were already flooding down Merlin's side, ready to trample him closer to death than he already was.
Arthur would have to fight them all on his own. There was nothing else-
The first rock fell.
For just a split second, Arthur wondered if it was just the force of the men trampling down the old ruins. But then another fell, and another. Sand filled Arthur's lungs, as he screamed.
The rocks had completely covered the entrance. Merlin was alone with them.
And Arthur's last sight of the man he loved was him sagging to the ground.
Arthur had failed him. Just in the way he always feared that he would.
For the first frantic moment, Arthur tried to barrel the stones down, rip them out. But they were packed tightly together, and he couldn't begin to get a grip in his tired hands.
By the time he realised that he could go round, he was exhausted. He hadn't eaten in the last day, and Merlin had been the only one to have even a small amount of water. His throat burned as he tried to run around the edge.
But the sides seemed to go on for years, with no end in sight.
He made his way back around the ruins, feeling completely an utterly lost.
When he made it back to the entrance, the place was deserted. He wasted too much time. He had failed Merlin again.
He always did.
The only thing left was a little splash of blood, where Merlin had been lying. Showing that Merlin's wound had started bleeding again. Arthur collapsed to his knees, a raw cough worming it's way out of his throat. It burned worse than he could have possibly imagined.
But Merlin must have been hurting so much worse. Arthur couldn't do it on his own anymore.
And it was with that thought that Arthur started to make his way back to Camelot.
He'd been in the woods hundreds of times. But, with his vision so blurred, he hardly noticed the direction he was going. No idea where he was. No idea how to get out.
He wasn't even sure he had breathed fully until he was deflecting Leon's sword with his own.
***
The knights had found the horses.
The hooves under him beat, and Arthur wasn't sure how he stayed on. He did know that at some point the other knights had gathered to ride around him. Like they were worried he would just come tumbling off the side and need help.
The sight of Merlin's horse being led along by Gwaine was almost enough to do it for him. Especially when he saw Merlin's bag on the back. If only he'd had that last night. He could have used bandages. And poltjuices.
The despair was set to destroy him if it went on much longer. His cloak had been returned to him, Percival slinging it over his arm to keep him warm. It was a heavy weight around Arthur's aching shoulders, and whenever he caught sight of it, all he could see was blood. Merlin's blood. His beloved bleeding out. Dying.
He first noticed they had arrived back at Camelot when cobblestones sounded under his horses hooves, rather than the crack of dry leaves and forest twigs that fell in the way. Arthur only knew to stop when a stableboy suddenly appeared in front, arm outstretched before he got run over.
And Arthur hadn't even seen him.
He managed to grunt something that vaguely resembled an apology. But even the little noise felt heavy on his tongue. Like he was choking on his own mouth, and allowing it to consume him completely and utterly.
Leon's hand came to his shoulder, as soon as he was on the ground. And the other knights surrounded him, shielding them from the eyes of the people, who would surely be worried about where their wayward Royal Consort had disappeared too, and why the King seemed so upset about the whole thing.
“Nothing to see here!” He heard Gwaine shout, pushing through the small crowds that had started to form. “Out the way!” His tone was jolly, but the people moved. Quickly.
Arthur could already hear people whispering. He couldn't blame them. He would want to know as well.
He did want to know. Anything to get Merlin back.
Anything at all.
The hands guided Arthur up, up a set of stairs, up to his own room. It was empty. Cold. Despite being the consort now - and due to marry Arthur later that year - he had still insisted on keeping large parts of his job. (Not the socks, certainly not the socks.) But Merlin would always go up and warm the room for him. Making sure they would both feel safe and comfortable for the night ahead.
But now he had no Merlin.
And the room was cold.
“He's alive. Last I saw him he was alive,” He spoke to the room at large, staring towards his open window, hatch flapping slowly closed and open again in the breeze.
“I'm glad to hear that, sire.” Arthur jumped out of his skin, spinning around and realising that Gaius had been standing behind him, inevitably wanting some sort of update on how Merlin was doing. Arthur couldn't blame him.
But he did know that Gaius would have said something before, when he entered. He always did. And Arthur had missed it completely.
He turned around, clasping a hand on Gaius's shoulder, feeling the frail, older man beneath his fingertips. Merlin in that moment was just as frail. And Arthur could do nothing about it. But Merlin would kill him if he thought Gaius had been let down.
“We'll find him Gaius. I swear it,” and with that, Arthur turned to his troops, facing the ones that remained awkwardly outside his door, with with the harshest expression that he could, in that moment. Even though the day was sunny, it could have been the darkest night. The one in the woodland, that he still could not escape from. But Merlin had, and was now far, far beyond where Arthur would be able to reach him. “Dispatch troops at first light. Scour every inch of that forest in search of your future King Consort.”
The knights gave a low bow, and departed to prepare. Gaius gave him a low nod, and walked out as well.
Arthur waited until they had all left, before walking over and shutting the door, closing himself off from the rest of the world. It was there he collapsed, head smacking hard into the wood, as he let out a pained groan. Some days the world felt against him, and that just happened to be one of them.
Merlin had magic. Merlin would be fine.
Arthur cursed himself.
Merlin didn't know Arthur knew he had magic. Or at least he didn't know, not until last night.
But Merlin had been almost completely out-cold.
Merlin would use magic to escape.
Merlin would wake up and heal himself with magic.
Merlin would....he would....he could.
A single tear ran down Arthur's face. Then another. And another. Until sobs where choking his throat, squeezing it like they were trying to suffocate him in his grief. His longing. His loss. The knights would find Merlin. And, if they didn't, Arthur would find him. And Merlin would be alive. He would be okay.
And Arthur would shower him in so much love that Merlin would be able to forget anything bad that had happened to him during that time. Completely.
***
“The patrols found no sign of him.”
Those had been all the words Arthur needed, clutching the little piece of blooded jacket Merlin had, somehow, left behind in his struggle to...what? Protect himself? Leave something for Arthur to track? Protect his wound?
Arthur didn't know.
But it hadn't worked, either way. It didn't even seem like Merlin had managed to leave anything else for them to track. The wound had obviously bled a lot in the time they were apart, so either way...Arthur could hardly stomach the thought, less it consume him completely. That, of all things, might have been his undoing.
Even so, he still cursed at Gwaine when he turned up next to him in the courtyard. Some point of him wanted to be alone, just as Merlin had been alone - to bear the cross that Arthur had left him with. Arthur needed to be the one to fix what he had broken.
And yet instead, he was destined to a day of mindless chatter. Unescapable, with Gwaine by his side. And yet the voice helped fill the darkness that surrounded him. Just a little. Not truly enough to let in any light, not in the way Merlin would - never in the way Merlin would - but just enough that Arthur didn't risk falling from his steed. Just enough that Arthur could feel his own legs under him.
And just enough that Arthur didn't feeling the need to give up completely.
And maybe that would get him through.
And perhaps it was Arthur's mind distancing himself from Gwaine's babbling about Merlin that - in the end - he heard it.
From just behind them, bushes rustled, a little sound. But, decidedly human.
“Declare yourself!”
A man stumbled out of the bushes, out of a nearby bog. Covered from head to toe in mud, laughter spilling out of his throat. At the sight of the kind eyes, hidden under all the mess, Arthur could have cried.
“Merlin!”
Arthur stabbed his sword into the soil, rushing forward to clasp the man he loved into his arms. “I thought we lost you!”
Merlin held him back, only just. Like his arms were out of his control. It took a horrible moment of idiocy, before Arthur realised they probably were.
“We need to find a stream!” Arthur said, quickly. He moved to grab Merlin to pick him up, before Merlin took a step back. “With that amount of mud, there's no chance of your wound not being infected. We have bandages with us, but I need to see how bad the wound is.”
Arthur nodded at Gwaine, who hopped off his own horse to go and look for a nearby stream.
“What are you talking about?” Merlin asked, teeth in a fixed white smile underneath all the mud. “I'm fine.”
And too Arthur's horror, Merlin lifted his arm up, and harshly patted his shoulder. Arthur grabbed his arm and moved it back to his side.
“You idiot, Merlin, I can't believe-”
But Merlin just laughed again.
“Look, if you're too much of an idiot to believe me!” Arthur took a sudden step back when Merlin spoke. The words were familiar, but there was an underlying harshness that Arthur had never heard from Merlin before. He's been through a lot. It was that thought that Arthur relied on.
Even more so when Merlin forcibly shrugged off the muddied tunic, bearing his shoulder. The skin under was clean, clearly showing that he hadn't been in the bog any more than what was necessary. Was he trying to escape from dogs?
And his shoulder was bare. Not a scratch, not a cut. No blood whatsoever.
Of course.
Arthur could of slapped himself. Merlin was a sorcerer, of course he would just heal himself as soon as he was awake.
And Merlin probably knew that Arthur knew he had magic by now, if he could remember the thing by the campfire. It had never been Arthur's intention to make Merlin show his magic off like that...but he didn't have another choice. He hoped Merlin understood that.
They would have to have a proper conversation about that later.
Arthur was about to move on, suggesting that Merlin should take a wash either way as he wouldn't enjoy riding back to Camelot covered in mud.
When Merlin himself interrupted.
“The bandits had a sorcerer, who healed me.”
Oh. Perhaps it was selfish, but Arthur, deep down, couldn't deny that he had hoped Merlin knew by now, that he didn't have to make up ridiculous stories, to get out of telling Arthur things that he didn't want to.
Surely he would know, by now, that Arthur would never push him harder than Merlin would feel comfortable with. Arthur would never want to do that. Another reason that he needed to spend more time with Merlin, then.
Maybe Arthur wasn't as good with the whole consort-thing he thought he was.
He would have to ask Gwen later. She would tell it to him straight. She always did.
Gwaine stormed back into the clearing with all the grace of a stampeding griffon, and Arthur could only thank the Gods that they weren't on a hunt. All the pray would have vacated further than a crow could fly in moments, with Gwaine like that.
“Where's this wound then?” Gwaine tried, and Arthur frantically shook his head.
But it was too late.
Merlin was already turning around, and giving Gwaine the same stiff story that he had given Arthur before. With the same stiff, tone of voice. He's probably just tired, and didn't even want to be thinking of a cover story - let alone using one.
In his place, Arthur would certainly be more than a little exhausted. It was no surprise that Merlin would have a similar reaction.
In his place, Arthur would certainly be more than a little exhausted. It was no surprise that Merlin would have a similar reaction.
There was really no blame to place. And Arthur was overreacting.
“Not that you would care.”
Merlin's harsh words to Gwaine rang through the clearing louder than a warning bell. And, perhaps, in a way it was. Merlin would never snap at Gwaine.
Not like that.
They were such good friends, after all.
“Why don't we ride back to Camelot. I can have a proper, warm bath drawn there. I don't blame you for wanting to bathe somewhere that's not a lake in this weather.”
It was the middle of summer, but neither of them wanted to mention that.
Arthur guided Merlin to his horse, pulling the red cape off his own shoulders, and lying it over Merlin's own. Even with it being so warm, the last thing Arthur wanted was for Merlin to catch a chill now, when they had so narrowly avoided infection and gods could only speculate what else.
Merlin's life was pure luck, and he surprised Arthur every single day with it. And one sharp comment wasn't going to ruin everything - especially when it wasn't even directed at him, and Merlin had been forced through an incredibly trying time.
Arthur gave Gwaine a sympathetic look. The man looked utterly confused, giving a little shrug, but Arthur could tell that - deep down - he was hurt. The pout on his face said that. But, Arthur was sure Merlin would apologize. Or, perhaps, Gwaine would. Everything would go back to being alright with the two of them, soon enough. Thicker than thieves.
The ride back to Camelot was in silence. A very unusual place for Merlin and Arthur to be, and one Arthur was most certainly not sure that he liked. At all. It was...decidedly odd, to say the very least. Not like Merlin at all.
And Arthur could hope this was only temporary, like he first thought.
As soon as they arrived back at the castle, Arthur took charge, when it became clear that Merlin had no intention to do so. Gwaine was sent to inform Gaius, and the rest of the council and knights after, that Merlin had been brought home safe, and did not require medical attention. (He had very diplomatically suggested that second part be left out of the council briefing, so as to allow them some privacy to do...other things.)
A servant was called to urgently prepare the royal bath. She gave a full bow, and a smile looking at the two of them, before rushing off to get it prepared.
Arthur led Merlin back up to their chambers by a hand on the shoulder. Merlin was stiff under his hands, and Arthur wondered dizzily if, perhaps, Merlin would allow him to give a massage. Merlin wouldn't often (or ever) agree to such treatment, and it sounded like such a mutual enjoyable experience. It had only ever been the other way around, Merlin rubbing lotion all over his tense back, soothing words whispered in his ears, doing more to each the aches in his muscles.
Arthur doubted he would be able to do such a good job without any experience, or actual magic, on his side, but he had received enough, and had strong enough hands that he was sure he'd be able to do justice for Merlin.
But Merlin said nothing, and Arthur wasn't quite ready to push the point yet. After the bath, perhaps, when Merlin was all soft, warm and comfortable...It would be beyond delightful, to say the very least. Arthur could think of nothing better.
They moved up slowly, and Arthur could physically see servants rushing about with buckets of warm water. But Merlin walked slowly, different from his usual inclination to rush everywhere like hounds of hell were chasing after him.
But perhaps, Merlin saw that, just for once, he needed to rest his tired mind. Allow himself to calm his racing mind, and allow it to go slow. Perhaps, Merlin was allowing himself to rest. Allowing his mind to breath after everything that happened.
Arthur was right in his impulses.
There bath was done by the time they arrived back in Arthur's rooms. Set in the middle of the designated circle of tiles, and steaming with warmth.
Arthur was half tempted to ask him if he wanted to share, but thought it best to let Merlin decide on that front. The last thing he wanted to do was intrude on the man while he was still licking clean his wounds, feeling too vulnerable for even Arthur at that moment.
“So, are you going to leave or what?” Merlin's harsh words almost made Arthur jump out of his skin.
“What?”
“You wanted me to have a bath. I'm going to have one, so you need to leave.”
Arthur couldn't help but stare at Merlin like he had grown an entire extra head. Merlin had never cared that Arthur was still in the room while he bathed. Arthur had done it in front of Merlin enough times that when the roles finally swapped, it hadn't been that big of a deal - at least, on Arthur's side, it hadn't seemed like it.
Arthur swallowed down the hurt that threatened to consume him with those thoughts.
“I can leave, if you want me to.”
“I do want you to. Otherwise, I wouldn't have said it.”
Merlin's words were hard.
Was there still magic he needed to do? Was he hiding something important? Had something else happened he hadn't told Arthur about?
Or, had Arthur leaving him alone hurt Merlin so much that the trust that always flowed between them had been utterly shattered in that one, terrible moment?
Well, if it was that, Arthur wasn't going to be the one to break it further.
Arthur nodded, and stepped out of his own quarters, shutting the door. He hoped Merlin didn't need help, more than he was letting on.
He couldn't bring himself to walk away from the door. What if Merlin was still injured and fell over while he was trying to bathe? What if he needed Arthur to help him up? What if he was going to do something even more horrifying and cry, and Arthur wouldn't even be there to comfort him.
The thought was horrifying.
And so, Arthur waited outside the door. He knew he probably shouldn't, but there was no way he could possibly help himself. Not when Merlin was like that. Not when Merlin might need him.
From behind him, he could hear the sound of wet clothes hitting the floor, and the splash of water as Merlin climbed into the bath, and relaxed against the tub. On his own, cold and then warm.
He would be hungry. Of course, he would be hungry.
Arthur signalled down a servant and sent an urgent request to the kitchen for a full dinner for two. Of course, Merlin could have the majority of it, if he wanted, but perhaps it would ease his mind if they ate together. Or, more likely, ease Arthur's mind. That seemed much more likely.
Merlin wouldn't need that from him.
Even so, it seemed like years that Arthur waited outside his own rooms, waiting for Merlin to feel ready to come out.
Even so, he was not expecting for the door to suddenly bang open. He hadn't even heard Merlin walk across the room. But, then again, He hadn't even heard Merlin get out the bath.
Merlin was fully dressed, in clothes obviously cleaned by magic. Arthur blinked at him. Maybe he did know that Arthur knew afterall.
Maybe Merlin always knew that Arthur knew. Or, at the very least, had some time to think about it. That would have been nice.
But then again, it made even less sense when Merlin suddenly sprinted off down the corridor.
Arthur called after him, trying to tell him about dinner, but the words got stuck in his throat, only managing something resembling, “Merlin - we have - dinner!”
Before Merlin was long-gone, down the corridor.