Wow, okay, guess who's finally publishing on here?
This is my bbcmerlinsecretsanta gift for merlinbbc1 (Beth) on Tumblr! I've been working on this for a while, changed the plot a BUTT TONNE of times and I'm still not happy with it, but since the deadline is the 31st of December I decided that I had to push on to the best of my abilities! Whilst stressful, this has been fun. Beth, I hope that you enjoy it and it wasn't too terrible? My prompt was: Merthur angst is awesome, Freylin fluff. Really, I tried, but because I'm apparently a terrible writer who can't follow prompts, it came out as a more hurt/comfort. I hope you don't mind and that this isn't too bad anyway?
To everyone reading, a very big Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to you all. I hope you all had a wonderful day yesterday (well, yesterday for me, since I'm hiding upstairs at a boxing day party right now) and got everything you wanted! That's all I have to say for now, so enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN MERLIN.
There were times when Arthur, truly, down to the bone, hated his good-for-nothing servant.
He had never wanted Merlin to become his personal manservant in the first place. It was his father's fault – he was the one who insisted that Merlin was rewarded for saving his son's life appointing him what was apparently the best position in the royal household: personal manservant to the prince. Only it wasn't the best position, not really. Arthur had a reputation for emotionally torturing his manservants, even the prince himself was aware of that. They were all useless in his opinion, and Merlin even more so. Sometimes Arthur still cursed himself for not firing the boy upon the first handful of idiotic mistakes he'd made, only to decide to keep him as he did provide some amusement with his clumsiness. Maybe if he had fired Merlin back then, maybe he would have forgotten about him completely and he wouldn't be the annoyingly close figure that he was now in his life.
Before Arthur had known it, Merlin had officially became his longest-standing manservant, surviving in the position for over six months as Gwen had pointed out with amusement one afternoon as he passed her in the corridor. And in that time, those six small but hectic months, Arthur had apparently developed a love-hate sort of feeling towards the boy. He was a terrible servant; a pathetic swordsman, a naïve child, an uncoordinated fool and a downright idiot. Those traits both irritated the life out of Arthur and made him somewhat like him. Arthur wasn't sure how that worked out. Merlin had achieved the impossible feat of creating a likeable personality through all of his flaws. It was ridiculous and Arthur hated it.
And yet he didn't hate it (see how confusing it was?). Merlin was – and Arthur would impale anybody who suggested so besides his own consciousness – almost, slightly, important to Arthur. A poor servant he was, yes, but he was also endearingly stubborn. Occasionally wise beyond his years. He was less than unafraid to give the big-headed prince a whack over the head whenever he went into 'prat-mode', as Merlin had named it. If any other person dared to hit Arthur, the prince would have hit them back, hard. But Merlin got away with it on most occasions, because Arthur almost liked how fearless he was. He was stupid, useless, clumsy and all of that, but they weren't important really. He was brave. The bravest person that Arthur had ever met. And that was really why the prince hated him, because if anyone should be the bravest, it should have been him, the mighty prince of Camelot. Not his flimsy servant who regularly tripped over his own two feet.
So, back to the point that was originally being made: Merlin was important. Not just to Arthur's everyday routine, but to his everyday in general. Arthur didn't enjoy hunting as much when Merlin wasn't accompanying him because he had to help Gaius or whatever, even though when Merlin did go with him he complained about killing innocent animals and scared away prey the entire time. Arthur remembered when Merlin had once contracted an illness from the lower town and was bedridden for an entire week. Oh, it had been a boring week. Just Merlin's lack of presence bugged Arthur, though he wasn't entirely sure why.
Arthur always noticed instantly when Merlin was missing (well, he always noticed that he was missing when he wasn't already busy with something life-threatening, but you get the point). The first tell-tale sign of Merlin's absence would be when he was woken up actually on time, by George.
"Where's Merlin?" the prince asked groggily as he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"He never did arrive at the kitchens last night, sire," George replied, dutifully taking clothes out of the wardrobe and inspecting them, ensuring they were all in good condition and the colours matched. "He mentioned early yesterday that he would be going out for Gaius and that he may not be back until late – thus, when he did not appear last night, cook came to the conclusion that he would not be available to deliver your breakfast this morning and so I have been assigned to yourself, sire, to tend to whatever needs you may have. Do you have any particular plans for today, sire?"
"No…" Arthur said slowly, frowning as he dragged his feet across the floor to the table, where his breakfast was perfectly laid out. "No, I'm free for this morning. I think I might relax. Your help won't be necessary,"
George attempted to protest, but Arthur dismissed him quickly. George was as perfect as a servant could be, miles better than Merlin in every aspect of his job, but Arthur didn't like him. He was too perfect, it was actually almost unnerving. He made no mistakes, ever, which felt very unrealistic, whereas with Merlin – the boy was practically a walking mistake. He was far more entertaining than George and his brass jokes.
Later, Arthur was roaming the halls of the castle, relaxing as he'd said he would to George. This morning was one of his rare days off, no training or meetings or paperwork or people to deal with for the first couple of hours of the day. Arthur didn't have plans for that morning other than to wander, which was exactly what he was doing. His mind, however, played on Merlin's absence. The boy had never mentioned that he was helping Gaius yesterday, and it was a little strange for him to vanish on a job for the physician without at least informing the prince. Somehow, Arthur's train of thought led his feet in a particular direction down familiar halls until he was stood outside of Gaius's chambers.
With a quiet knock, Arthur stepped inside. Gaius, who Arthur had known for the entirety of his life and sometimes considered some sort of uncle to him, sat at the table crushing herbs with a mortar and pestle. The old man's head raised at the sound of someone entering, and smiled when he saw it was the blonde-haired prince.
"Why, Arthur. What brings you here?"
"My idiotic servant, that's what," said Arthur, striding forwards. He eyed the short staircase ahead with a scowl, wondering whether Merlin was using his job for Gaius yesterday as an excuse for sleeping in. He wouldn't be surprised Merlin could be lazy when he wanted. "George delivered my breakfast this morning because he never went to the kitchens last night; apparently he was out working for you yesterday, though neglected to inform me that he possibly wouldn't be in this morning,"
Gaius placed down his herbs, a frown suddenly appearing on his aged face, "He didn't? My apologies, sire, for I did send Merlin to gather me more herbs yesterday afternoon. I assumed that he would have told you, and he should have been back before the evening,"
"You say it as though you're unsure as of when exactly he did get back, Gaius," Arthur said.
"Well, since yesterday noon I have been in the lower town," Gaius said. "An entire family has caught a nasty disease from travellers; I had to stay with them all day. It was around the second hour of this morning when I was finished up, so rather than travelling all the way back to the castle at such a time and straying far from the family when there could have been a possible emergency, I stayed with an old friend who lives next door to the family. I returned here this morning once I had checked over their conditions to ensure they were stable and should be returning again soon. I'd assumed that Merlin had returned yesterday and left again to serve you this morning before I could see him,"
It was Arthur's turn to frown. So, Gaius hadn't seen Merlin since yesterday. Nor had the kitchen staff. That was most certainly strange. Merlin was a hugely charismatic boy - he spoke to everyone, he was friends with everyone. For someone to not have seen him was a negative sign indeed, though Arthur assured himself that was because he hadn't asked around properly yet. "Are you sure that he is not asleep in his room, skiving his duties?"
"I am certain, sire, unless Merlin can suddenly climb out of his window and back in again. I checked his room when I got back," Gaius rubbed his face, expression laced with concern. "Perhaps something may have happened to him? It is unlike Merlin to disappear. I shall search for him-,"
"No," interrupted Arthur, raisin his hands in a stopping gesture before Gaius could stand. "No, Gaius, you have sickly people to tend to. I have most of today free of duties, so I will search for him myself – and punish him for worrying you once I find him. He's Merlin, he can't have gone far,"
Gaius gave him a serious look. "You would be surprised, Arthur. Thank you. Make sure that when you find him he's got my herbs, I still need them,"
"Of course, Gaius. Take care,"
And with that, Arthur left, leaving the physician to prepare the rest of his medicines to take to the ill family in the lower town. Once he'd closed the door behind him, Arthur paused. Now what to do? He had little idea of where Merlin – the stupid boy – had gone. The prince decided that the best course of action would be to trace his servant's footsteps by determining his location at different times. If Arthur was honest, however, Merlin was most likely asleep in an alcove somewhere in the citadel. Maybe one of the other servants had spotted him.
Arthur began walking, again with no particular direction. He stopped occasionally to turn to a servant and ask of them, "Have you seen Merlin any time during yesterday and today?" and each time he received a timid 'no sire'. Arthur had to have asked quite a few servant before he ran into a familiar, glowing face as he headed towards the kitchens.
"Ah, Gwen," he said, a warmth seeping through his chest at the sight of the woman. Stop it, he warned himself, fighting to keep a dopey smile off of his face.
"Prince Arthur," the handmaiden curtsied, her own expression showing timidity. "How are you this morning?"
"I'm alright – save for my missing manservant. Have you seen him?" Arthur asked. "He never came with my breakfast this morning, replaced by George as yesterday he was collecting herbs for Gaius and failed to inform the kitchens when he returned,"
Gwen adjusted the basket in her arms as she thought, "Why yes, I was with him just yesterday in the forest. When he mentioned in passing that he was going to collect herbs I decided to join, to pick flowers for Morgana. Once I was done I returned to the castle, and Merlin remained to keep gathering herbs. You mean to say he never returned?"
"Possibly," said Arthur, and he frowned again at how the thought of that – Merlin going missing in the woods and having been missing for a good couple of hours now – made him squirm uncomfortably. "So far you're the last person to see him,"
"I can help you search for him," offered Gwen, of course looking worried for her friend. "He was collecting herbs in the south of the forest – I can lead you to where I last saw him, maybe pick up some sort of trail?"
Arthur was grateful for her offer to help, but he shook his head. "No. You have work to do. Stay in the castle and look around for him, just to make sure that he hasn't gotten himself locked in a cupboard or something idiotic. I'll go for a stroll in the southern forest and see if I can spot him. I'll return at noon should I not find him. If you do manage to locate him before I do, make sure you smack him for Gaius,"
Gwen giggled, though her face was still strained with concern. "That I shall. Good day, my prince,"
Arthur's stomach fluttered and his gut flipped at the radiant smile she gave him, before turning – her lush hair whipping around her shoulders – and walking away, her simple but pretty gown swaying after her. Arthur stared at her retreating back for perhaps longer than he should have; having to shake himself out of his reverie before he changed his path, making his way instead back down to the main courtyard where he could grab a horse and give the excuse that he fancied a lone ride through the southern woods on this, his morning off.
Trust Merlin to go missing on the one day that I have free to relax, Arthur said, though honestly he didn't mind. 'Relaxing' was one thing that the prince never did, and didn't enjoy. How could he enjoy sitting around, doing nothing, when there were people to spar, animals to hunt, wilderness to explore, and a whole lot of other things that he much preferred spending his time doing. Oh, and manservants to find.
Ten minutes later, the prince of Camelot was trotting through the forest on his favourite white stallion, following the path into the southern section of the forest and trying to recall where, exactly, the prettiest wildflowers were found. If that was where Gwen last saw Merlin, then he had to have left tracks around that area for Arthur to follow and hopefully lead him to his manservant. It concerned Arthur slightly that if Merlin wasn't in the castle, and he was out in the forest, then he'd been there for hours. Since yesterday afternoon, at least. What could have happened to have kept Merlin from being able to return? All sorts of things roamed the forests – not bandits, luckily they'd been driven away in the past couple of weeks, but there were animals and ditches and all sorts of things that weren't meant to be dangerous but probably were to Merlin.
Arthur shook his head and sighed. He was torn between worried and annoyed, though he only showed his annoyance. My one day off, he kept thinking, shaking his head. And he goes missing. The stupid boy.
Eventually, Arthur found what he was confident was Gwen's favourite wildflower patch. As he climbed off his horse, childhood memories that took place in the clearing suddenly returned to him – being dragged out here by Morgana to help her carry as many bouquets home as possible, being forced into wearing daisy chains, hiding in the tree from his old friends during hide and seek. Arthur would have smiled at the memories, had he not been focused on looking around for tracks to follow without ruining the flowers. Maybe I could pick one for Gwen?
He decided not to, since she was a serving girl and a peasant and it would be highly inappropriate, wen suddenly footprints caught his sharpened gaze. Arthur stepped over, kneeling down besides the footprints. They were a day old or so, created when the mud was soft – yesterday morning it had rained, so that made sense. The feet that created the footprints were wearing worn boots by the looks of it, and the person seemed to have little balance and lumbered along judging by the uneven depths of each of the imprints. Arthur concluded that they had to be Merlin's, heading deeper into the forest whilst more delicate footprints nearby went towards the castle (no doubt Gwen's). Grabbing his horse and mounting it once more, Arthur followed Merlin's footprints, hoping that he wasn't going to be led in a silly sort of circle or that he would discover something unpleasant at the end of the trail.
The footprints were easy to follow, with no attempt having been made to hide them. Of course, why would Merlin need a reason to hide his footprints? This part of the forest was safe, with nothing threatening. Arthur often hunted in the neighbouring section of the forest, so he could vouch for the fact that it was safe. Still, his confusion continued to grow with every step he took that bore no sign of Merlin, only that he went this way, as well as no sign of the boy having turned around at some point to return to the castle. Maybe he'd taken another path back? Arthur made sure to keep his senses extended so that every sound, ever inch of movement, caught his attention and he checked that they weren't Merlin before continuing.
After a few minutes of following the tracks, Merlin's footprints suddenly veered off the worn-down path that curved through the forest. Arthur's eyes trailed after the tracks, noting that they led into the thicker section of forest where herbs were probably easier to come by, however the brush was also so thick so as to obscure the forest floor and probably make it difficult to manoeuvre. Thankfully, Merlin was less than graceful and seemed to have carved his own path through the plant life that still remained for Arthur to trail after. However it was in no way a suitable terrain for a horse to make its way through without taking hours. So Arthur dismounted, sighing and grumbling to himself as he tied the reigns to a low-hanging branch before pursuing his idiotic manservant. He was going to be polishing armour for months after this.
On instinct, Arthur made his footsteps silent as he crept after Merlin's day-old tracks. He supposed the benefit of this was improving his tracking skills and stealth? The thick brush barely rustled with every careful, thought-out footstep Arthur took, though he supposed that was because half of the brush had already been trampled by Merlin. Honestly, how could someone leave such a distinctive path through the forest? How could it be that sometimes Merlin was able to literally appear out of nowhere, scaring the pants off of everyone, and then at other times be heard approaching for miles around? The boy confused and stressed Arthur out to no end. He was becoming increasingly convinced as he walked that Merlin had to have gotten himself in trouble, as he seemed to have travelled further than usual out into the forest to collect herbs. That was never a good idea if you were Merlin.
Suddenly, just as Arthur was glancing at the sky to frown at the fact that he'd been out there for an hour (an entire hour of reaping no results or clues as to Merlin's location) a sound caught his attention. The prince froze, listening, his mind working to figure out what the sound was. A few seconds later, he heard it again. It was nearby, but quiet. It almost sounded like a whisper, a groan of some sort. Arthur pushed on, determined to find what it was. Maybe a wounded animal? Maybe…maybe Merlin? Arthur sincerely hoped that it was not Merlin.
Every footstep brought him closer to the source of the sound, Arthur found, and still followed Merlin's trail. The sound got louder and more distinctive. Definitely a whimper. Gut churning, Arthur had to call, to ease his mind, "Merlin?"
He paused as his voice echoed around the forest, awaiting the silent response. He prayed that there would be no response. If the whimper did come from Merlin, then that was a problem. A big problem. Arthur almost punched a tree in frustration when the voice whimpered once more, this time louder. And more desperate. Damn it. Damn it all.
Arthur hurried forwards, deciding to reach the source now quickly before he could drive himself insane in anticipation. He called Merlin's name again, just as he pushed past a tree-branch and almost tripped on a shape lying on the floor. Arthur caught himself on a tree-trunk and looked down at what was on the floor. His heart leapt into his throat when a familiar pale face, red neckerchief, and lanky body met his gaze.
"Merlin!" the prince dropped to his knees besides his manservant, his heart suddenly beating erratically against his ribcage and his breath completely losing him. His hands hovered over Merlin's still form, his train of thought completely skewered at the surprise. Arthur's eyes ran up and down Merlin's body, examining him for injury. Finally, he remembered how to move and dropped his hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Merlin? Can you hear me? Damn it, what are you doing out here you bloody idiot…"
Arthur trailed off as he spotted something. He looked at Merlin's legs; at his left leg in particular. Now he realised why Merlin hadn't returned to the castle – he was caught in a fox trap, dried blood surrounding where the sharp teeth had dug into delicate skin and ankle twisted grossly, appearing awfully mangled and definitely badly injured. The brush must have been too thick for him to notice, and he was too deep in the forest to call for help. He'd been trapped here all night, foot caught in a very painful trap. Arthur felt sickness and anger and concern claw at him.
"Art'ur…" Merlin's voice slurred. Arthur's heart leapt at his voice. "I-Is…you…?"
"Of course it's me, who else would have the patience to trace your useless ass all the way here?" snapped Arthur, moving his gaze away from Merlin's distorted ankle to his face. He was paler than usual, face slack and eyes closed, but cheeks and nose bright red. His eyelids were the only things to move, flickering as he shifted at the sound of Arthur's voice. He was shaking; he was cold. Arthur shrugged off his jacket and draped it over his servant without a thought, hoping that would help. "What have you gotten yourself into, you idiot…"
A flash of blue from Merlin's bright eyes appeared, then vanished again. Merlin groaned and whimpered, "H-H-Hurts…" his voice was croaky.
"I've no doubt," said Arthur, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Merlin, I need you to wake up for me, properly," he ordered. Merlin did nothing. Arthur moved himself and placed his hands either side of Merlin's head, nudging his face and tapping his bright, flushed cheeks with his thumbs. He pretended not to notice the still-damp streaks running down his face from tears. Usually, Arthur would have considered crying a childish thing to do. But Merlin was a child, technically. Just seventeen years old – which Arthur had been mad about when he first found out. You mean I let a child follow me into bloody battles and you never even informed me so? Merlin! You're not getting any less work, though. "If you don't wake up I'll make you muck out the stables for half a year, you know I will,"
That worked, stupidly enough. Merlin groaned, "No, Art'ur…" he whined, eyes scrunching before opening half-lidded. "D-Didn'…mean to…s'rry…" he gave another whimper, of fear and pain.
"You're a special kind of prat," Arthur sighed, shaking his head at Merlin's ridiculous apology. Whilst he sounded calm, inside he was panicking. He was no healer. He didn't know how to deal with an injury such as this. Basic treatment of arrow wounds or stab wounds were the extent of his medical expertise and this fox trap had created more than one stab wound, and in the most awkward place possible whilst possibly snapping his ankle too. Damn it, Merlin, he thought, and not for the first time since he'd known the boy. How could one person be so accident prone?
"Tha's mine…p-pra'…" Merlin said, lifting a hand to weakly bat Arthur's knee. It was more of a tap. He was waking up, Arthur was pleased to see, though he was still shaking and looked unable to keep his eyes open. What relief had crept up on the prince evaporated as Merlin mumbled something inaudible, apparently seeing things that he could not. Arthur sighed and kept tapping Merlin's warm cheeks with his thumbs.
"Are you conscious yet?" he asked, trying not to let his concern show in his voice. "This will be a lot easier if you are,"
Merlin groaned, a huge shiver running through him. Arthur automatically readjusted his coat, worrying at his lip. "Listen, Merlin, whilst I realise that you're cold and you've been out here for a while and your leg probably really, really hurts," he said. "I need you to wake up. For a moment. So you can tell me what the hell I'm meant to do here with you and your leg. You're the physician's apprentice, not me,"
"H-Hurts…" Merlin whimpered, barely audible. "Get…off…"
Since Arthur wasn't sure whether he was referring to getting the trap off or Arthur getting his hands off his face, Arthur went with both. He shifted, moving his hands from Merlin's face so that he could get closer to the trap to see if he could find how it was meant to come off. It led Arthur to wonder why the trap was even here anyway – hunting, as he'd said, was restricted to another section of the forest, and Arthur was fairly certain that they hadn't wandered into said section. Even so, hunters weren't allowed to place down traps like these in the forest, for the reason that this sort of thing could happen. Arthur scowled at the fact that it just had to be Merlin.
"Dare I ask how you managed this or how long you've been here?" Arthur questioned as he looked around Merlin's leg, not touching it yet, hoping that the questioning would render him more conscious so that he could help with the healing process.
"Y-yester'ay…" Merlin told him, voice trained and still very quiet. "Thought…was g-gonna…no…found…" he was trying his hardest to make up full sentences, it was clear, but everything about the way he spoke screamed pain, exhaustion, and fear. Arthur's frown deepened as he replied.
"You're a terrible servant, Merlin, did you really think I was going to not notice your lack of annoying presence? It was very simple to follow you here once Gwen had told me where she last saw you yesterday. However I am annoyed that you chose to get yourself in this sort of situation on my first day off in months," he tried to start a little banter, which Merlin always responded to.
"I l-live…to an-noy…"
Arthur rolled his eyes, almost smiling to himself. It struck him how he'd missed their stupid conversations in just the few short hours where Merlin hadn't been at his side. It was ridiculous how attuned the prince was to having Merlin always with him – he vanished for a few hours without explanation and bam, Arthur suddenly felt fifty-one instead of twenty-one. Just six months after meeting him and Merlin was an irreplaceable part of Arthur's life. Stupid. So stupid. What sort of prince relies on a servant like this?
"So, you're the one who lives with Gaius," Arthur said after a few moments, glancing down at the fox trap again. "How do I get that thing off your leg without depriving you of a limb? Not that it would make you any clumsier than you already are, of course,"
He nudged the trap just slightly, and was surprised by the cry that his manservant let out, back arching slightly and fists flinching into the dirt floor. "That hurts?!" Arthur exclaimed, startled by how the tiny movement had drawn such an agonised response. Maybe the bone in his ankle was damaged more than he realised. Merlin's chest heaved and Arthur was startled at the sight of tears streaking from the boy's squeezed-shut eyes.
"'Fected," grunted Merlin. "M-Maybe...g-get...it o-off,"
Arthur worried at his lip; that made things more complicated. "Damn it, Merlin, okay," He had no idea what to do. Give him a kingdom to run, and Arthur could do just fine – give him an injured manservant, and he was a mess. Typical.
He couldn't leave Merlin here to go find help; the boy had been here long enough on his own, it couldn't be safe and if something happened to Merlin's condition, it would be bad. So Arthur was stuck to figure something out on his own. He really didn't want to touch the trap again after the response he got for touching it the first time, but if Arthur didn't get it off, then neither Merlin nor Arthur were going anywhere. Rubbing a hand over his face, Arthur huffed and decided, "I'm going to have to find a way to get this off before we do anything, Merlin. I apologise in advance if I accidentally rip your foot off,"
Judging by Merlin's pained whimper, he wasn't amused by Arthur's attempts to be light-hearted. Apologising more sincerely internally, Arthur took to looking at the trap again, moving into a crouching position so that he could inch around and look at it from all angles. The trap had clamped itself tight around Merlin's foot, cutting into his flesh and breaking the bone, and it was clear that the boy had already spent some time trying to pry it off. It looked irritated and red and a little yellow and crusty where the teeth had imbedded themselves. There was even a flash oh white that could have been bone. Arthur felt a little nauseous looking at it. Leaning close, he found a small latch on the bottom of the trap – perhaps a pressure release of some sort. He hesitated before trying to press it.
"Merlin," Arthur said, hopefully drawing the boy's attention. "I need to shift the trap a bit, to see if I can get it off this way. Are you ready?"
A weak groan came from Merlin in response.
Arthur decided not to waste time and reached out for the trap, fiddling with the little switch. He winced at Merlin's cries, even as he tried to stifle them by biting his tongue. The switch seemed stuck, perhaps because of rust built up on the trap over time, but Arthur was used to fiddly little things from spending years strapping on armour and repairing small sections of chainmail when necessary and all that. Within a few seconds, the switch moved and the trap released – it would have fallen completely off, had it not been attached to Merlin's flesh, glued by his dried up blood and all of the infected crusty stuff.
"Got it!" Arthur almost gave a cheer, returning to where he'd been sat near Merlin's head. "That's the worst of it over, right? Hey, you still with me?"
He tapped Merlin's cheek again. More tears had leaked from Merlin's eyes; his face was more flushed than before and was scrunched up in pain. He looked younger than his seventeen years; more innocent and almost childish. Arthur didn't know how to react to Merlin's display of fear and weakness – as he'd said, Merlin was the bravest man that Arthur knew. The boy rarely let it show when there was something wrong with him. To see him crying, making little attempt to hide it, just went to show how bad everything hurt. Arthur hated to admit it, but his heart hurt at the sight and he felt an unstoppable urge to comfort him. So he did.
"Hey, hey," Arthur tried to sound soothing. "Hey, it's, uh, it's okay, Merlin. Gaius is back at the citadel waiting for us to return and he'll fix everything that's wrong, alright? You're okay now,"
Merlin's chest heaved for air under Arthur's jacket-turned-blanket. Arthur noticed then that Merlin was sweating and trembling; touching his forehead, he found it was warm, yet Merlin's skin was still somehow ice cold from lying there all night. It was undoubtedly worrying. Arthur knew that he had to get Merlin back to Camelot as soon as possible.
"I'm going to take the trap off, now," Arthur informed the servant boy. He thanked god that he'd brought his water skin with him. "Alright…"
Returning to the trap, Arthur crouched once more and started ripping strips from the bottom of his shirt. Once he had what looked to be like enough strips of cloth laid out besides him, Arthur reached for the trap and as delicately as he could, peeled the teeth away from Merlin's skin. Merlin groaned, clearly trying to mask the sound however he seemed to have bitten into he insides of his cheeks so hard, he'd cut them and drawn blood, painting his cracked lips a dramatic crimson that went sinisterly with his almost lifeless, pale skin. The groan got louder and he trembled more as the teeth got caught on Merlin's flesh, attached by the dried blood and infected crust. Arthur cringed, carefully pulling until the trap fell away. Merlin didn't show any sign of the pain lessening even as the trap was gone, however, so Arthur quickly got started with wetting the strips of cloth with water and cleaning the wounds, wrapping his servant's ankle so keep it from getting any more infected. He dared not wrap them tight, though, since his ankle was broken worse than any other broken bone Arthur had seen. The bone was almost visible.
Merlin started mumbling something under his breath through winces and whimpers and groans. It took Arthur a few seconds to realise that he wasn't mumbling nonsense, and was mumbling a name, over and over. "What on earth are you saying, Merlin?"
"Fre…" Merlin babbled. Arthur's brow furrowed, hoping that Merlin wasn't going loopy or anything. His half-opened eyes were darting around, as though searching for something. Or someone. "Frey…Freya…Fre..ya…"
"I don't know who this Freya is, Merlin," Arthur said, still wrapping Merlin's crippled ankle to the best of his ability. He glanced around through the corner of his eyes, checking that Merlin wasn't actually looking at someone. They were still alone. "But she's not here. When we get back to the castle you can tell me all about her, does that sound alright?" He was surprised himself at how reasonable and patient he sounded.
Merlin's voice jerked, "N-No…no…Freya…" suddenly his lip was wobbling like a child's, and the tears fell faster from his lashes. "Dead…"
Arthur pursed his lips. Dead. Oh. Had Merlin actually known a Freya? When had she died? It couldn't have been whilst Arthur knew Merlin, of course, since he would have known if his servant had lost somebody. Maybe she was a sweetheart from Merlin's village who died before he left for Camelot – and now Merlin was seeing her or something. Arthur reached over to feel Merlin's forehead again and it was hot. Too hot.
"Fever hallucinations," the prince muttered to himself, trying to recall what little he knew about healing. He decided to wet another strip of fabric, and draped that over Merlin's sweating brow. He was still mumbling, repeatedly saying Freya's name.
Arthur decided that they'd spent too long in the forest. Merlin's leg was out of the trap and wrapped as well as it could be for the time. If there was any chance that Merlin was going to be walk on his foot again (Arthur knew that sometimes when people got caught in traps, they actually lost their limbs) then Gaius needed to assess the injury and heal it properly. If Merlin did lose his foot, then there was no way he could keep being Arthur's servant. And Arthur quite liked him being his servant, sometimes.
"You're going to be scrubbing my floors double time for this," Arthur grumbled, pushing himself into a position that would let him pick Merlin up with ease, without aggravating his injury.
"No," Merlin's weak voice protested, batting Arthur's arms as they tried to slot under his back and under his knees. His glazed eyes had found a spot in the air, focusing as though entranced on a single patch of nothing. Arthur waited and almost sighed when Merlin whispered again, "Freya…"
"Freya is not there, Merlin," Arthur told him. He knew that he would be able to pick Merlin up easily, even when he was trying to fight him like he was, but he didn't want to jostle him. Merlin was in a confused and vulnerable state. Half-unconscious, apparently seeing dead people, seemingly unaware of where he was and with no concept of anything other than Arthur's presence. Had it been another person, Arthur probably would have been taunting them about their nonsensical behaviour, but this was Merlin. Arthur didn't mock Merlin unless he truly meant it as a joke (or as a sort of cover-up when he'd been accidentally affectionate towards him).
"Is," insisted Merlin, reaching out a trembling hand, groping at the invisible something he was staring at. "Pretty…so c-close…Frey…a…get 'er, Ar'ur…bring b-back…" his voice broke, again. He dropped his hand.
Arthur sighed. The panic from earlier had died down, but he was still becoming increasingly anxious to get back to Camelot and to find out the story behind this Freya. He moved closer to Merlin's head, once again, and turned the boy's face so his eyes were looking vaguely at him. "Alright, Merlin, listen to me. You're not well. Whoever Freya is, she's not here. When we get home, we'll figure everything out, got it?"
Merlin's eyes blinked blearily, soon finding Arthur's own. The prince worried at the fact that they were milky and shadowed, like Merlin wasn't entirely there. "You…h-hurt 'er…"
"What?" Arthur asked, confused at the sudden statement. "I did? When?" He was probably talking about something else now. Whoever Freya was, Arthur had never seen her in his life.
"Did," Merlin told him, nodding. "Y-You…k-killed…Freya. Was cu'sed…pre-pretty…"
Arthur's brow furrowed. Now Merlin was definitely talking about something else. Arthur was in fact beginning to wonder whether Freya actually existed – because he didn't kill her. He was pretty sure that he would have remembered killing someone as close to Merlin as he seemed to think she was, so she had to be made-up. But then what could have drove Merlin's puzzled mind to believe that Arthur had killed this important imaginary figure? Did Merlin subconsciously think that Arthur was going to one day ruin everything he loved or some other somewhat poetical rubbish?
The prince shook his head, busying himself with readjusting the cloth on Merlin's forehead, and checking his jacket was still keeping his cold body warm (the problem with fevers; you could be too cold whilst also being too hot). "Okay, Merlin. We'll talk about this back at the castle," Arthur had never known himself to be so patient with anyone.
Merlin didn't protest the next time Arthur went to pick him up. He groaned as he was picked up from the hard, cold forest floor, feet hanging limply which only enhanced how unnaturally bent his injured one was. Once Arthur had hold of him, he fixed his jacket so that it wrapped around Merlin's torso as a blanket, and with no hands to spare Arthur nudged the wet cloth back into position on Merlin's brow with his chin. It was only because their faces were then so close that Arthur heard Merlin's mutters, "S'okay…f-forgive you…Art'ur…you didn'…kno'…'til end o' my d-days…"
"You make no sense, Merlin," Arthur stated with a shake of his head, starting on back towards where he'd left the path. Once he reached his horse, getting back to Camelot would be quick and easy – so long as Merlin's condition didn't deteriorate during what would be a jolting ride, and they didn't encounter any sort of problems such as bandits or such.
Arthur told himself that when they returned to Camelot, and Merlin was more lucid and out of immediate danger, he would ask about Freya. His curiosity was baited. Who was Freya? How did Merlin know her? How did she die? When did she die? Why had Arthur never heard her name mentioned until today? And probably most importantly: why did Merlin think Arthur had killed her? Was he mixing her up with someone else? Arthur was confident that was the case, it had to be. Yet there was still a lingering doubtin his stomach; a crude voice whispering in his ear, you really don't know anything, do you? Arthur silenced the voice with a shake of his head and a glance down at Merlin's pasty pale face, mouth still forming indistinguishable words to himself.
'I forgive you' Merlin had said, still referring to the death of Freya. Arthur wasn't sure what he meant. Once again, it could have just been his mind, loopy from fever and infection and cold. He could have been talking about Arthur not finding him until now, maybe? The prince didn't know, but it bothered him, he realised. Merlin was far too forgiving, in his opinion. Too damn good. He didn't like hunting, purely for the fact that he thought all animals were innocent and didn't deserve death; he frowned all throughout council meetings when wealthy nobles were barking on about how peasants were able to barely scrape a living because of high taxes and weren't being taxed more to support their already lavish estates (albeit Arthur frowned too); part of the reason that he was terrible at combat was probably because he hated it. He hated hurting people, and he hated any sort of violence.
Now, he found, Merlin was too good to even be able to hold a grudge against Arthur for apparently killing someone apparently close to him. It was baffling. Sometimes, Arthur considered (to himself, of course) Merlin to be a being who was too good for this cruel world. Sometimes, even, Arthur thought that Merlin would probably be a better prince than he. Were he not a hopeless idiot, of course.
He'd been reminded, unnecessarily so, of how important Merlin was. He was a light in a pool of darkness. Arthur had been hopelessly lost without him form the second he woke up – straight away, heading off to find him. He'd found him alone, cold, confused and injured and he'd felt almost the same as he (tried to) take care of him. That made Arthur realise, suddenly: someone had planted those fox traps. Anger bubbled in the prince's gut. He'd find who put them down without his approval and they'd be spending quite some time in the stocks and dungeons. Of course, Arthur couldn't beat them to pulp for indirectly hurting his closest friend, but he could punish them for jeopardising the prince's manservant and the physician's apprentice's capabilities to work, and for putting other people at risk. Then, Arthur would kindly ask his knights to teach them a lesson. It made up a good plan.
Glancing down at Merlin's face again, Arthur was somewhat assured. Whilst putting whoever had laid the traps in the dungeons didn't do anything but enforce rules, it was still reassuring for the prince to know that the people who'd led to Merlin being hurt and having to suffer wouldn't be doing it again. Merlin was, as he'd said, too good. Too good to be in such pain. Arthur swore to himself there that he was going to keep Merlin out of as much trouble as he possibly could – because if he couldn't at least protect Merlin's 'goodness' then how on earth was he meant to protect Camelot as king?
So, Arthur had to admit that some sort of positivity came from Merlin's whole 'get-lost-get-trapped' accident – the prince now realised a few things about his manservant and had made promises to himself that would benefit. Sure, there was the off-chance that Merlin could lose his foot if they didn't get to Gaius fast enough, but still; Arthur probably wouldn't have realised a lot of what he did had he not had to go searching for his lost friend. Such as the fact that Arthur didn't mind looking for Merlin.
If Merlin wasn't there, then Arthur would find him. So far, that was what he had always done. Servant or not, Merlin was his friend. His brother. He would be one of the knights, if only he was a noble and could actually hold a sword. Arthur would always be there for him.
Not that he would ever admit it, though.
Ah, okay, I have so much I want to say only now that I'm writing I have no idea what to put or where to start.
First of all, I hope this was good? I spent a lot of time on it but I don't know, the plot was just :/ For anyone who's followed any of my other stories you'll probably know that I beat myself up over everything I publish, which I know I shouldn't do but I can't help it. I'm trying to convince myself that I did a good job since hey, I did 7500+ words, but you guys are the ultimate judges. If you liked it a review would be appreciated.
When the prompt said 'Merthur' I was unsure whether it implied romance or just the sort of bromance. I tried to imply that sort of fluffiness (though I doubt you can see it) but I don't know, I don't really ship Merthur romantically. This was more of the brotherly side of their relationship, through Arthur's mind. Once again, I failed at adding angst, but it's actually really hard? Like, setting the mood and getting the dialogue and body language all correct. All I can say is that I'm attempting it but can't reattempt because of the deadline, so I'm sorry DX
Since actually did enjoy doing this, despite my complaints and moments of panic, if any of you have a prompt that you'd like me to attempt (though I can't promise I'll do it, I suck at being consistent) then I'd be happy to try it out? I'm not Merthur shipper however I'm a sucker for the bromance, as I am with every sort of thing like this. My tumblr is hedgehodgy so you can ask me on there if you would like. That is just about it, I believe.
Thank you for reading if you could actually be bothered reading it all XD Hope that everyone has a wonderful New Year and Beth, I hope that this was a sufficient present. Thank you!