A/N: This oneshot is kind of all over the place. I started out with a plot, I swear… And then this happened. Regardless, hope you enjoy!
The battle shouldn't have been a very large affair. Mercia, for all its military strength and downright stubbornness, wasn't especially bright when it came to magic, and in the short decade or so since Camelot had come to embrace magic, she'd grown a sizable population of sorcerers. There was even a Magician's Guild, which operated to train and educate those with magic and minister to the community in a variety of ways. One division of the Guild in particular, The Watch, were trained use their magic not only for things like healing or helping around the house, but also for fighting; Emrys himself was their leader. They were a small but capable group, one that should have been able take care of the battle by themselves, let alone with Camelot's finest knights at their side.
In short, the battle should have been over. Only it wasn't.
Somehow, the Mercian cavalry had managed to flank Camelot unsuspecting, and by an equally dubious stroke of chance, there hadn't been any Watchers in the area to aid the Camelot infantry, which was brought down in minutes. Even the strongest of sorcerers couldn't avoid surprise, it appeared.
"Gwaine! To the front right! Percival, Leon, I want that phalanx broken in two, now! And Emrys-" Arthur spun around, looking. He growled. "Where the bloody hell is that man?" As the words left his mouth, Elyan rode up beside him.
"Arthur, quick, there's more."
"More? More what?"
"Cavalry."
"What?"Had they pulled ever stallion, mare and gelding from Mercia? Where were they all coming from?
"They look like mercs," Elyan said, and Arthur wanted to roll his eyes.
"Of course they have mercenaries. Come on. And where the hell are all my Watchers?"
As if by magic (it may have actually been magic, for all Arthur knew) a blue-cloaked young woman materialized beside them. She had a bow in her hand and a quiver strapped to her back.
"Ilenna Stocket reporting, Sire." Arthur couldn't help but jump when she appeared. He glanced at her.
"It's about time. Tell me, do you know any spells that might be used as a horse repellent?"
By the time they got to the carnage, Arthur was able to spot several other blue cloaks flitting alongside the red of his knights. It appeared The Watch had gotten his message without him having to relay it – they were rather uncanny that way.
"Good lord," Elyan said, "Where do they all come from?"
"Doesn't matter," Ilenna said, "What does matter is that they are here."
"And they need to be elsewhere," Arthur said. "Elyan, you're with me. Ilenna, you wouldn't happen to know where your idiot commander is, would you?"
"Lord Emrys?" Ilenna was too much of a stickler to read into Arthur's sarcasm, "Yes, he's right down there." She pointed, and now that he was looking, Arthur could make out Merlin's distinctive black hair, even from a distance.
"Right. Tell him to send some of his Watchers down to the left flank to help Gwaine, and if it's not too much trouble, find me when he has the chance. I need to talk with him."
"Right away, Sire." Ilenna jogged off, and Arthur swung Excalibur at his side.
"Right, then, Elyan. Let's see if we can't carve out a chunk for ourselves and not die in the process."
"An admirable goal, Arthur."
Arthur sighed. "As always."
They were actually doing a fairly good job at it, considering they were foot-bound knights fighting a cavalry of mercenaries, some of which, Arthur was chagrinned to find out, were archers. Nevertheless, they wouldn't last long. When the two knights were separated, the odds began a quick downward spiral. Arthur looked up just in time to see an arrow headed straight for his upper leg. Oh, brilliant,was all he could think before it was on him. But then, it wasn't.
"Fancy seeing you here!" A cheery voice said off to his left. A Mercian rider, for whatever reason, fell out of his saddle and hid the ground a peculiarly long way away. The horse turned and ran.
"It's about bloody time, you idiot," Arthur growled, taking a swing at a rogue swordsman, "Where the hell have you been?"
"Oh, you know how you keep me busy," Merlin flicked his hand and two charging horses suddenly changed course. "Very inconsiderate of you."
"I don't keep you that busy." Arthur stabbed and shoved. He could sense Merlin move so that the two were back-to-back. "What have you been doing this whole time?"
"I'm sorry, but as I was heading over I got caught up with Halbard and William." Merlin narrowly ducked under an axe blade.
"And what, did they serve you tea?"
"Yeah, and muffins."
"Muffins?" They were being surrounded.
"Blueberry. They had enough for you, but you weren't there." Merlin glanced around at the Mercian fighters closing in.
"That's because I," Arthur paused and swung his blade around in a complete circle, taking out the Mercian warriors. Adept at fighting alongside his king, Merlin had ducked just in time to avoid friendly fire. When he stood back up, he was standing face-to-face with Arthur. "was fighting for my life."
Merlin smiled. "Ah, nothing new, then."
Arthur sighed. "I need Watchers down with Gwaine, Percival, and Leon. You and I are going to go after the commanders. There's no way we're splitting up this cavalry unless we start picking them off from the top down."
"Neat and tidy, then," Merlin said. A Mercian knight was knocked from his horse and fell face-first into the mud. "Sounds lovely."
"Good, because you're going first, Emrys."
"Prat."
"King."
"Fine," Merlin sighed and started up a slope. "Come on then, Your Royal Pratness, we've got ground to cover!"
After the first handful of officers went down, the retreat started. Small clumps of Mercians turned and galloped away, hightailing for their encampment or their homeland; whichever it happened to be, Arthur honestly didn't care. The battle was dying down, except for a stubborn company down by the treeline that just wouldn't budge. When Arthur looked closely, he realized why. Not only was their commander still alive, but he happened to be Mercia's steward; a reputedly violent man, but with an incredibly ability to lead.
Merlin seemed to read Arthur's mind. "I'll take care of this," He said.
"Not alone, you won't," Arthur said, and followed him.
By that time, plenty of other knights and Watchers had joined them in the last stretch of the battle. It was the last remnant of the Mercian army. They had only to eliminate the commander and his unit, and it would all be over.
If only it had been that easy.
Arthur and his knights were occupied with the ground force whilst Merlin and the Watch closed in on the commander and what was left of his cavalry forward. They'd taken down nearly all of them, and Arthur turned to see where Elyan and Percival were fighting an axeman.
That's when he heard it.
Looking back on it later, Arthur would come to the realization that before that exact moment in time, in all fourteen years of their friendship, he had never before heard Merlin scream. He'd heard him yell, of course - usually at him. He complained loudly, he raised his voice when he was angry, and the voice he used to command dragons certainly wasn't quiet. But scream was never something that Arthur had ever had to connect with Merlin's voice.
Until now.
"Arthur!" It was Gwaine, who called from the same direction that the scream came from. Arthur saw Gwaine, but not Merlin. He could hear him, though. Arthur felt cold. He was a military man; he'd heard men moan in pain, scream with their dying breaths. He'd seen more blood that he cared to think about, heard more pain and anguish than most, but never before had it been from Merlin.
"What's happened?" He dashed over to Gwaine, who looked frantic.
"Merlin, he… The steward, his horse, it charged… Ilenna shot it – it fell on Merlin."
"What?"
Gwaine didn't answer, but grabbed Arthur's arm and dragged him over to the scene. Ilenna was bent over Merlin, who was, accurate to Gwaine's report, half covered by a massive black equine carcass.
"Oh, gods," Ilenna was nearly to tears, "Merlin, I'm so sorry, I –oh gods," She may have been a stickler for rules and titles, but as it happened, she was one of Merlin's old apprentices. They were something of an uncle/niece pair.
For his part, Merlin couldn't even talk, much less recognize Ilenna or anyone else. His face was pure pain, and it seemed he couldn't open his mouth without screaming or moaning. Arthur came up beside him.
"Merlin? Merlin, can you hear me?"
He couldn't, apparently, because he didn't even look Arthur's way. "Ilenna, move this beast off him, quickly." He heard her mutter a spell, and the giant horse body rolled away. The shift made Merlin cry out again.
"Oh, lord…" Gwaine breathed. He was standing next to Merlin, and looking down from above, could see the unnatural angle of the warlock's leg. Arthur peered over and swallowed thickly. "Get a stretcher." When no one moved in the seconds that followed, Arthur snapped, "Now!" People scattered. Arthur crouched by Merlin's head.
"Listen to me, idiot, I already know you're the clumsiest, cheekiest, most irritatingly stupid moron in all of Albion, so you don't have to go breaking yourself to pieces to prove it." Merlin's hair stuck to his brow with sweat. Arthur smoothed it back so he could see the man's eyes more clearly. "Are you listening, Merlin?"
This time, the grunt that came out of his mouth could, possibly, be translated as 'yes'.
"Good. We're getting help, alright? Hang in there." Unfortunately, the last bit Merlin didn't hear, because he'd fallen unconscious. Arthur sighed and wished the others would hurry it up. Percival and Elyan were still fending off the last stragglers, and Arthur couldn't help but feel restless. This wasn't supposed to happen. Merlin might have been clumsy, Merlin might have been injury prone, Merlin might be absolutely helpless in a fight, but in battle, his Court Sorcerer wasn't Merlin. He was Emrys. He was invincible. But now the invincible Emrys was lying in his arms, unconscious with a leg broken in two. It was all so wrong.
By the time they got him away on the stretcher, the battle had been won, and no one seemed to care.
"He's femur has been snapped in half," Gaius sounded slightly more alarmed than he normally would have. At his age, he usually left most of the work to his apprentice and his assistants, but when the warlock who was like his own son came into his healer's tent out cold on a stretcher, he'd gone to work right away.
"We'll need to lance it to drain blood immediately. If the bone's hit any arteries, he's done for. Tristan, prepare a splint, and fetch me some feverfew!" The apprentice darted off to another tent. Gaius took a knife and began cutting Merlin's clothes away so he could get at the break. When he saw it, Arthur couldn't help but feel sick. He was never queasy. But this was Merlin.
The bruise was already massive and blotchy, swelling around a sharp bump in his thigh where the break was. For all the carnage, Gaius actually looked relieved. "Minimal internal bleeding," He said with a small sigh of relief, "At least he's spared us that. Regardless, my boy, you're in for a very long recovery." He turned to the king. "Arthur, I'm going to have to perform surgery to set the bone correctly. I don't think you'll want to see this."
Arthur nodded, unable to speak, and left.
In the first stages of his recovery, Merlin was given nothing but sympathy, courtesy, and the sappiest, most smothering display of mother-henning from every female he was even remotely close to. Ilenna in particular checked on him regularly, no doubt feeling guilty for having shot the horse. Merlin didn't blame her, but she insisted.
"Ah, haven't moved an inch from this morning, I see," Arthur teased one morning upon seeing Merlin, in bed, with his leg propped up by a mound of pillows. "how do you feel?"
"Like I've a leg that's in half."
Arthur's eyebrows rose. "Remarkably perceptive. I should have you made Court Sorcerer. It's funny, actually - I had a chap tell me the exact same thing yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. And the-"
"Oh, shut up, Arthur."
"Come on, it has to be nice, all this toadying to."
"What, you mean being put under house arrest for a month? You mean never getting time to yourself for all the medic staff coming and poking you this way and that? You mean the not being able to sleep at night? You mean the stupid, bloody itchy cast? How, exactly, is that nice?"
Arthur frowned. "Hmm. Point taken."
"I hate horses."
Arthur snorted. "Especially big black ones, I take it."
Merlin glared.
"Alright, alright. Grumpy warlock, I get it. I'm going."
For a time, this routine worked. Merlin could take out his frustration on the King, and Arthur could leave when he liked. It was when Gaius gave Merlin a pair of crutches and let him begin to walk that things got bad. All of a sudden, Merlin was much more keen to play the 'invalid' card when convenient.
"Get out of my way, Prat."
"What? I'm not in your way."
"Are too. I've one foot that works and a pair of sticks to replace the one that doesn't. Move."
"Your sticks have got plenty of breathing room, why don't you- ow! MERLIN!"
"I asked nicely, and you didn't listen."
"You hit me with a crutch."
"I might have done. It was quite satisfying. Now move."
The day Merlin was finally allowed out of his cast and splint was a giant sigh of relief for the castle – particularly Arthur. No longer bedridden or bound to his crutches, things went back to normal. The battle was all but forgotten, and the Court Sorcerer regularly joked about his injury with Ilenna, who was still slightly guilt-ridden about the whole affair. Eventually, the whole event faded from the common memory. Camelot was Camelot as usual.
It was actually two whole years before the matter came up again, at a small council meeting at the Round Table. After the knights had been dismissed, Arthur watched Merlin quietly. The man didn't stand, and when he tried for a moment, he winced and stopped, reaching down to massage his thigh some ten inches above his knee, right where the old break had been. Arthur turned to him.
"Merlin, it has to stop."
"What?"
"Your leg."
"What about my leg?" Merlin looked defensive.
"It's been bothering you, hasn't it?"
Merlin looked like he might try to protest, but eventually, he sighed and said, "And if it has been, what am I supposed to do about it? It'll fade." He stood up, although most of his weight, Arthur noticed, was supported by his good leg and his thin arms that pushed up on the table.
"Merlin, it's been getting worse every day," Arthur said, and when Merlin looked at him, shocked, the King shrugged it aside. "Don't look at me like that. Every day, I see you limping and rubbing at it, wincing when you stand… it can't go on, Merlin. I won't let it."
Merlin crossed his arms and pressed his lips into a hard line. "And what are you going to do to stop it, Sire?"
Arthur shrugged, thought, and said carefully, "You could always take up a cane."
Merlin sputtered. "A cane? No. No, no, no, and no."
"Why ever not?"
"Arthur, I am not voluntarily making myself the only thirty year old in existence to need a cane."
"You're thirty-five!"
"I don't care!"
"Neither do I, Merlin! You're in pain. You're hurting yourself further by not getting some kind of aid, and I won't allow it. You got yourself broken once, you don't have to do it again for sake of your own pride."
They had a glaring competition. A moment or two in, Merlin growled,
"I'm not getting a cane, Pendragon."
"And I'm not letting you hurt yourself, Emrys."
More glaring.
"Alright, fine. How about a staff instead?" Arthur proposed.
Merlin continued to glare as he thought. "Fine. But it had better be a good staff – no, scratch that, it had better be the most amazing, ruddy brilliant staff to have ever existed."
Arthur nodded. "Right, then, I'll just get the carpenter to-"
"Meaning I am the one who's going to make it."
"Okay, that's – wait, what?"
"Why elder?" Arthur felt he had to ask as Merlin ran a hand down the long shaft of wood.
"Not just any elder tree, Arthur, it grows on top of the Crystal Cave." Apparently, that was supposed to explain everything. Arthur only looked at Merlin with slightly more confusion.
"Right. Well, at any rate, why do you need some special wood from some special tree?"
"Like I said, if I'm going to submit myself to the humiliation of a walking stick for the tes of my foreseeable future, it'd better be a damn good one. Elder wood is known for its propensity to conduct and magnify currents of magic."
"You mean you're making a magic staff?"
"Multitasking is a talent of mine; walking stick and weapon of mass destruction in one. Very efficient."
Arthur nodded and watched while Merlin worked. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, but if it was magic, it wasn't so involved that Merlin couldn't hold a conversation.
"Where's the magic core?" Arthur asked after a while. Merlin looked at him.
"Magic core?"
"Yeah, you know, a core for magical… stuff. All the staffs I've seen sorcerers use have like… a gem or a unicorn hair or something."
"I don't need a core." Merlin said simply.
Arthur was still confused. "But…the sidhe staff you have, it has a big crystal at the top. Or, what about the Court Sorcerer of Idenhall, he had a staff with a dragon horn at the top, until it broke off. He can't use his staff anymore."
"Well," Merlin said uncertainly, "he may need a staff with a core, but I don't."
"Why not?"
Merlin looked suddenly flustered. He blushed and kind of tilted his head, before shrugging and going back to his work.
Arthur suddenly understood. Merlin didn't need a magic core because he was the magic core. Merlin was magic in and of himself. He didn't need it from another source. He was Emrys. And if Emrys wanted to make a magically charged weapon of unyielding power using nothing more than a knotty old tree branch, then he would do just that. For a fleeting moment, Arthur allowed himself to imagine how horrible the world might've ended up if anyone but Merlin had been given such power. He shivered.
"Right." He said, and both of them knew that Arthur understood.
Merlin held up his handiwork to inspect it. It was a long, straight stick, tapered at the bottom and twisted up into a thick knot at the top. He held it at his side, gripping the twist near the top comfortably, and gave an experimental tap on the ground. Across the room, the wall exploded.
"Well," Merlin said calmly through a cloud of plaster dust, "That worked well."
Arthur sighed. Weapon of mass destruction, indeed.
After Merlin had fixed the wall with some more magic, he sat running a small piece of rough porcelain over his staff to smooth out any splintering areas.
"So, what are you going to do with it?" Arthur asked, somewhat uneasily. Merlin stopped working and looked down thoughtfully at the staff in his hand. After a moment, he stood, took it in his hand, and, before Arthur knew what was happening, turned it and knocked the king soundly upside the head.
"OW! Bloody- Merlin!"
"You have no idea how good that felt."
"Of all the stupid, uncalled for… Why did you do that?"
"Because I can."
"Because you… Merlin, that isn't a reason!"
"Of course it is! Now stop yelling at me, I'm only a poor old cripple."
"A cripple?"
"Yeah, can't you see my walking stick?"
"I see your bludgeoning stick, if that's what you mean."
"Hmm. Multi-purposed walking stick, then. And anyway, I don't see why you're so angry. You're the one who made me get it in the first place."
"I didn't make you get it so you could hitpeople with it!"
"So you might not have done, but yet it works sowell like that."
"Merlin!" Arthur lunged for him. Merlin tapped Arthur's hand with his staff, and Athur jumped away from an electric shock. "OW! Why you… I'll show you-"
"You'd hurt someone with a gimpy leg and no proper armor on? I am surprised at you, Arthur!" Merlin cried, staff crossed defensively in front his body. Arthur seethed.
"Damnit, Merlin!"
THWACK!
"Cripple!"
In the years and decades that followed, most everyone assumed that the great Lord Emrys carried his staff with him every for the sake of its power, because it was indeed quite powerful in his grip. It could level mountains, raze cities, boil rivers and turn the sky dark with a single tap on the ground…Or at least, so the fables went. As it so happened, however, it was an admirably multi-purposed tool. It may have been a weapon of legendary potency, but as the local residents of Camelot might have noticed over the years, it had an auxiliary use that saw far more action than its reputation seemed to demand.
It was incredibly good at whacking people. Particularly people wearing crowns atop their heads.
"I'm not saying you have to right now," Arthur said, "I'm just saying that, maybe, soon-ish, it might be a good idea to-"
TWHACK
"Bloody hell, Merlin, what was that for?" Arthur rubbed his head where it stung.
"You're trying to get me to shave off my beard. I like my beard."
"Yes, well, you have to admit it is getting rather long."
"So?"
"Well… Merlin, it's not at all neat. And all that grey is beginning to show..."
"Oh, grey, is it? Funny you should mention, Sire, I think you've got some grey of your own."
"What?" Arthur picked at his hair frantically. "Where?"
"Right about… here."
THWACK!
"DAMNIT, MERLIN!"
And as the aging King chased his bearded Court Sorcerer down the halls, a half-cackled cry rang back,
"Cripple!"
A/N: Well, the weirdness has come to an end. Hope you enjoyed my procrastinatory ramble. And yes, the use of Elder and mention of 'magic core' was a shameless nod to Harry Potter.