Chapter Text
Arthur turned just in time to watch his servant fall to his knees.
The mercenaries had ambushed them out of nowhere, pouncing from behind the trees and charging forward with their swords raised high. Their strategy was clear, even if their reasoning was not; strike without hesitation or remorse, kill any and all of Camelot’s knights who stood in their path.
Two men had banded together to take down the King himself, teaming up as if that would save them from his blade. And his wrath. Hs despatched them with ease, head whipping around in search of his next opponent.
Where had they come from? Who had sent them?
…And who the hell had just attacked his servant?
Arthur felt his feet plant themselves firmly into the ground; frozen in place as his chest tightened in fear, his eyes locked on his servant who was now face down on the grass, unmoving. He hadn’t seen the mercenary responsible, hadn’t even seen what had happened, and he had no idea if his servant was alive or dead.
A shout from nearby pulled his focus and he watched as Leon drove his sword through another man’s stomach, felling him instantly and moving straight onto the next in line. The mercenaries were everywhere, their numbers seeming to grow with every second that passed and although abandoning his knights went against everything Arthur stood for, it wasn’t them he was worried about. They were more than capable of holding their own.
Right now, his servant was out in the open, exposed, vulnerable. He needed to get him somewhere safe.
His feet finally cooperated as he rushed over, pushing down the voice in his head that was screaming out the fact that Merlin still hadn’t moved. With no time to waste, he rolled the boy over, grabbed his arms and pulled him over his shoulder, running into the forest before anyone could spot them amongst the trees.
The battle cries of the mercenaries chased him as he ran, rustling the leaves overhead as a flock of birds were forced to flee their perch in fright. The chink of swords striking in combat echoed through the trees, but soon enough even they were drowned out by the distance Arthur had managed to cover, successfully outrunning all audible threats apart from the relentless pounding in his ears.
He had to keep moving, keep putting one foot in front of the other as the boy on his back stubbornly refused to show any signs of waking. He was alive though, that much Arthur could tell from the pained groans he let out every now and then.
Arthur’s legs were starting to feel the strain of the half-walk-half-jog he was maintaining over the bumpy woodland terrain with a dead-weight slowing him down, so when Merlin finally showed signs of stirring ten minutes into their escape, Arthur felt relief for more than one reason.
“Stop, stop, please.” Merlin whimpered into Arthur’s chainmail, but with his hearing on high alert for the telltale twig snap of an enemy approaching, Arthur almost jumped at the unexpected new noise. He tapped against Merlin’s leg in acknowledgement. Just a little bit further and then they would rest.
Merlin, who had just woken up confused, upside down and in a great deal of pain, clearly disagreed as he weakly writhed and squirmed and pushed against Arthur’s back until the King finally conceded.
“Okay, okay, okay.” The reassurances rushed out as he released Merlin from his hold, bending down until the boy’s feet could touch the ground for themselves.
His servant’s knees buckled instantly, one hand clutching at Arthur’s shoulder, fingers digging into the chainmail as he tried and failed to keep himself upright. His face had turned an alarming shade of white at the change of elevation and Arthur heart leapt into his throat as he helped lower him to sitting.
“Merlin—” He breathed, not expecting a reply as his servant curled forward where he sat, forehead pressing into his knees with a strangled sob. Small tremors plagued his body as he gasped desperately past the pain. The hand not pressing against his chest slipped to the ground as if lacking the strength to do much else.
Arthur kept one hand on Merlin’s shoulder and one eye on his surroundings should he need to draw his sword at a moment’s notice. He really did want to give Merlin a chance to catch his breath, but it was still too dangerous to hang around.
“Merlin, we have to keep going.” Arthur whispered apologetically, squeezing his shoulder as he encouraged him to stand. Merlin unfurled himself and glanced up with watery eyes, and Arthur was pleased to see his complexion had somewhat improved from deathly ashen to mildly queasy.
Wordlessly, he shouldered the boy’s weight and pulled him to his feet, putting his own arm around Merlin’s back to keep him upright as they walked, all ready to catch him again should staying conscious prove too difficult. Merlin kept his teeth clenched as he tried to hold back any sounds of discomfort, but it was obvious that he was struggling even after only a few steps. It made Arthur feel sick.
This was his fault. Constantly taking his servant on patrols with no training, no armour, no protection besides the group of knights that surrounded him. And that was always his justification; Merlin didn’t need to know how to protect himself when they were there to keep him safe. It had worked every other time. Merlin just had to run and hide like he always did until the danger was dealt with.
Arthur should have known that one day their luck would run out, and it would be his fault for insisting that Merlin join them in the first place. His servant had been the only person to voice concerns over their route home as well. Nothing good ever happens in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. He should have listened to him for once.
A rustling nearby had their heads snapping in its direction. Mid-afternoon in the forest and that noise could have come from any manner of animal, yet Arthur’s grip on his sword hilt tightened readily. Merlin’s feet dragged across the ground, stumbling as their pace increased, but Arthur hauled him onwards towards a hidden nook between some trees.
As they nestled themselves into their hiding place, Arthur caught a glimpse of the animals that had made the noise. Two mercenaries crept through the foliage, one wielding an axe, the other a sword, both looking for their prey; for Arthur. Because, let’s be honest, they likely weren’t even aware of his servant’s existence.
No, it was the King of Camelot they wanted.
And if Arthur was alone, he would have jumped out and slain them already. Two brutes like that? Easy peasy. But he couldn’t risk it, not with an injured man in his charge. So, the leaves rustled as they passed by and it was only when the men were finally out of earshot did Merlin speak up.
“They need to work through their anger.” He joked through a grimace, which just left the words falling flat.
Arthur was too angry to humour him. He still hadn’t seen just how bad Merlin’s injury was, but the slowly expanding patch of red that was darkening his tunic was setting his teeth on edge. He’d check it properly once he knew they were out of danger. “They just did. On you.”
Merlin let out a pitiful huff of a chuckle, swallowed quickly by a groan as he tipped his head back to thunk against the base of the tree. He squeezed his eyes shut with a shaky inhale and Arthur allowed him a moment to gather his strength before hefting him to his feet once more.
Arthur pushed them forward for another while longer until finally Merlin’s clumsy gait could cooperate no more. He had been trying to put on a brave face, nodding along to Arthur’s mutterings and holding any tears at bay, but the further they walked, the more of Merlin’s weight Arthur found himself carrying. He was barely managing to stay upright; his fingers losing any grip they had on Arthur’s chainmail and his head dipping down to roll against Arthur’s shoulder every minute or so.
Keeping him on his feet was beginning to be a losing battle. They needed to find a safe place to stop, and soon.
The sun had begun to dip behind the trees, leaving a slight chill in the air and a dimness to their surroundings and they had walked far enough now that Arthur could only hope they were out of danger. Besides, it wasn’t as if they were going to make it all the way back to Camelot on foot tonight.
Merlin’s breath caught in his throat as Arthur lowered him to rest against a moss-covered rock. He felt every muscle in Merlin’s body tense in apprehension until he was safely planted on solid ground and, allowing a final cursory glance of their surroundings, Arthur joined him on the floor.
He pulled at the fingers of his glove to free his hand from the leather and dropped it into his lap. Then, aware of how the material might be sticking to the wound, so he took great care in gently pulling down Merlin’s tunic so that he could finally get a look at the wound and Arthur instantly wished he had stopped to tend to it sooner. It looked awful; red and angry, with jagged edges to each of the grooves carved deep into his servant’s skin. His stomach roiled at the sight of it.
Merlin’s obviously did the same as he promptly turned to the side just in time to expel his lunch with a groan. His shoulders were visibly shaking by the time he leant his weight against the tree once more, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
Arthur had been concerned before but now he was starting to feel completely out of his depth. They were in the middle of nowhere with no supplies and no one to help. And they needed help. He knew exactly what the grooves meant and how serious this was and if he wasn’t so worried about the severity of this injury, he’d be furious that someone had taken a mace to his servant’s chest.
Arthur swiped a thumb across his bottom lip and took a breath. The last thing that Merlin needed was for him to lose his nerve.
Without asking, he leant forward and unravelled the scarf from Merlin’s neck, grateful that the boy didn’t seem to go a day without wearing one. He had briefly considered using his own tunic as a dressing, but with all his armour and chainmail in the way, there was no way to reach enough of the material to make it useful. And ripping Merlin’s clothes apart was out of the question, he was already going to be cold enough tonight.
He folded the scarf into a neat little bundle then lifted Merlin’s hand from his lap and guided it to his chest, directing the boy to put pressure on the wound. The bleeding had slowed, by the looks of things, but if they could avoid him losing any more blood, that would be ideal. It also wouldn’t hurt to give Merlin something to focus on.
“I’ve seen worse. Definitely seen worse.” He couldn’t look Merlin in the eye as he reassured him. He wasn’t lying, exactly; he had seen worse, only it was—
“On a dead man.”
Ouch. That made Arthur’s blood run cold. And despite Merlin’s tired grin, it was obvious that the boy was scared too.
“You’re not going to die, Merlin. Don’t be such a coward.” Arthur retorted with no real energy behind his words.
“If I do die, will you call me a hero?”
“Probably.”
“But whilst I’m still alive, I’m a coward.”
Arthur shifted against the ground while he considered his answer and the corner of his lips titled up into a smile. Because if he was mocking Merlin, then everything was fine, right? “That’s the way these things work, I’m afraid. You get the glory when you’re not around to appreciate it.”
“Unless you’re the King.”
Okay, that was fair.
“Come on, it’s got to have some advantages.”
Merlin smirked as if it could conceal the pain he was in. “You have a very good servant.” His fingers twitched against the scarf. The other hand stayed resting palm-up in his lap.
Arthur watched him for a moment. Watched him try to downplay his pain and put on a brave face and soften the truth of what was happening, despite it being just the two of them there. Why were they still hiding behind their jokes? A small part of Arthur was screaming out at him to just be honest for once because what if this was it? What if these words were amongst the last that Merlin ever heard?
His skin was starting to crawl as his mind refused to let go of the horror that he had just seen etched into Merlin’s chest. It was bad. Worse than Merlin had ever faced, and worse still than Arthur had seen lesser men succumb to.
“You’re right. I do.” He confessed quietly, waiting for Merlin to look at him properly before he continued. “A servant who is extremely brave. And incredibly loyal. And to be honest, not at all cowardly.”
Merlin’s lip parted but he didn’t speak, as if trying to find the right words. He looked weary now, his eyes heavy and his shoulders sagging, and Arthur wished for nothing more than to be back in Camelot already, in the warmth with a proper bed and someone who actually knew what they were doing.
Merlin lifted his free hand from his lap and wiped the exhaustion from his eyes. Hs voice was soft as he spoke. “Thank you for saving my life.”
Arthur looked away as he replied. He may have pulled Merlin from the battlefield, but he hadn’t saved his life. “You’d do the same for me.”
A fierce shiver had Merlin’s shoulders suddenly folding inwards and he groaned at the abrupt movement. It had grown noticeably cooler now and Arthur had considered starting a fire but if any mercenaries were still lurking nearby then the need to keep Merlin warm was heavily outweighed by the risk of being found.
He pushed himself to his feet and brushed away the dirt from his knees that no-one was going to see. Despite a reluctance to leave Merlin alone, there was something he could do to help.
“We need water. Maybe some food too, if I can find anything.” He nodded to himself, swallowing down his hesitation to leave. He’d drag Merlin along with him if he could, but he wanted to find a stream whilst there was still enough light left to see his surroundings. “…Will you be okay? On your own?”
Merlin looked up at him with far more trust than Arthur deserved and managed no more than a small nod to send Arthur on his way.
Arthur was an excellent tracker. Years of training followed by years of experience meant that he could find his way anywhere, blindfolded, in the dark, walking backwards! He found the stream in record time, even found a piece of hollowed out trunk to collect some water in, not to mention the blackberry bush he had snapped a twig from for good measure.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
And he knew exactly where he had left his servant.
So how was it that he had returned to the same trees he had walked away from barely twenty minutes ago, to find the spot empty? He nearly dropped the precious water at the sight of it as his heart sunk to his knees. He was certain this was the right place.
And yes, there on the rock were dark spots of blood, and there just to the side was the puddle that Merlin had left behind, and there amongst the leaves…was a trail to be followed, a clear pattern to trace of someone shuffling across the ground. Arthur’s free hand moved to rest on the hilt of his sword as his eyes scanned as far as he could see in the moonlight.
He just had to hope that there were no mercenaries lurking in the distance. He had to hope that Merlin had moved of his own free will, and wasn’t dragged away before Arthur could stop it from happening.
His chest tightened as he crept through the trees, following the path clearly laid out for him. Leaves crunched underfoot no matter how carefully he stepped and he found himself holding his breath to compensate. This whole thing could be a trap. They could be luring him into a clearing, ready to strike. Or, he could follow this trail all the way to a dead end and be left with no clues of where next to go. Or, he could round this tree and find…
Merlin.
Leaning awkwardly against the twisted roots of a large tree trunk. His head was bowed low, chin against his chest, so that his fringe was hanging down in front of his eyes. His hands were no longer keeping pressure on his wound, instead one was resting on his lap while the other had clearly slipped to the ground, scarf held loosely in his lax grip.
Arthur’s hand slid away from his sword as he rushed over to his servant, dropping to his knees with enough care that he could place the berries and water down without spilling any. He placed a hand on his servant’s shoulder and jostled it lightly, anxious for any kind of response.
“Merlin?” He whispered, the name catching in his throat when his servant didn’t so much as twitch. He had only been gone for a few minutes! Just long enough to get some supplies. He wouldn’t have left if he had known Merlin was going to— .
Merlin’s skin was cold to the touch and his head was heavy, holding no weight of its own, as Arthur cradled his cheeks in his hands. He ducked his own head down slightly as if trying to make eye contact with the boy’s closed lids, desperately willing them to show any sign of life. “Merlin.” He tried again, patting the boy’s cheek with slightly more force than required.
This got a reaction though, finally, and a groan worked its way out from the back of Merlin’s throat as his eyes fluttered open. Arthur released Merlin’s face and pressed a hand to his own stomach as he sighed heavily, the knot in his chest finally loosening. He leant back to sit on his heels, feeling somewhat shaky at the whirlwind of emotions his servant was putting him through.
“Ow.” Merlin muttered weakly as his awareness slowly returned, his hand crawling back up to his chest as he blinked his surroundings into view. Maybe it was the dim light, or maybe it was his blood-loss addled brain, but it took a good few seconds for him to register just how close Arthur was sitting to him.
“Why did you move?” Arthur asked with more irritation than intended.
Merlin flinched at the sudden question before staring at him blankly “What?”
Arthur took a breath and tried again. “You moved from where I left you. Why?”
“Oh.” Merlin blinked slowly, the words tripping over his tongue as he tried to recollect what had happened. “I um— I thought I heard something.”
“So you—” Arthur’s eyes darted to the sky as he cut himself off. He recognised this feeling bubbling inside of him for what it was, fear disguised as anger. And as much as he wanted to let it out, getting frustrated right now was going to solve nothing.
Besides, he wasn’t going to mention to Merlin that his attempt at hiding had been abysmal; that the trail he had managed to leave behind him was as clear as water, even in the low light. No, there was no point in kicking the boy while he was down.
Arthur peered over his shoulder. There was no rustling nearby, no shadows amongst the trees. “Was it the mercenaries?”
Merlin looked seconds away from falling back to sleep. “Was what the mercenaries?”
“The—” Arthur took another breath. “The noise you heard.”
Merlin shook his head languidly. “Oh, I don’t remember.”
How helpful.
“Okay. Hey—” Arthur gave Merlin’s shoulder another shake, grateful to see the boy’s eyes dart open straight away this time. “I didn’t go foraging through this forest for nothing.”
He picked up the makeshift bowl and brought it to Merlin’s lips, taking extra care not to slosh any water over the sides. Merlin’s fingers brushed the back of his hand as he tipped it forward as if trying to help hold it, but Arthur didn’t trust his shaky fingers to manage without spilling it all down himself. He wasn’t exactly planning on leaving again to fetch some more.
Merlin took small sips and drank as much as he could before pushing it away with a shake of his head. The few drops that had worked their way down his chin were wiped away with the back of a heavy hand.
Next, Arthur picked some of the berries free from their branches and dribbled them into Merlin’s hand. “Here.” He motioned for Merlin to eat them as he dropped a single berry into his own mouth. It was a tiny thing and not nearly enough substance to satiate the hunger that was starting to make itself known, but as it popped between his teeth, he was grateful for the small burst of fruitiness it provided.
Merlin looked down at the pile, staring wearily as it took him a moment to work out what he was supposed to be doing with it. He nudged the berries with his thumb, watching as they rolled around in his palm, but made no move to eat them.
“I’m not hungry.”
Arthur wanted to argue with him, to tell him that he needed to keep his strength up or that he didn’t know when they’d next get the chance to eat but instead his eyes softened in understanding. “I know,” he muttered and was pleased when Merlin tried anyway.
Because he knew exactly what Merlin was feeling. He’d faced it before, far, far too many times. Gravely injured, far from home, teetering on the brink of death with only a friend or two at your side to pull you back from the edge.
The fuzzy head that couldn’t differentiate between the lethargy of blood loss and good old fashioned sleep deprivation. The churning stomach that rebelled against the idea of food and made the air itself taste like ash. The tremors, the chills, the heaviness weighing you to the ground.
The fear that you were slipping away and there was nothing you could do to stop it.
Arthur had felt it all. And it scared him every time.
But Merlin— He had never faced something this bad before.
Arthur had never had to watch him face something this bad before. And it frightened him more than any injury he’d ever been dealt.
When Merlin could manage no more berries without gagging pitifully, Arthur helped him lay down so that he could finally rest. And after one more check of their surroundings, Arthur reluctantly followed him into an uneasy sleep, clinging to the hope that they would both awaken come morning.