Merlin awoke to the sound of thunder. He rolled over to see lashes of rain splattering his window mercilessly, and groaned. The castle was even more moldy and chilly when it rained. Arthur would be rabid – training was shot. In this weather, the knights wouldn't be able to see the swords in front of their faces.
"Merlin! Get up, lazy lout!" Gaius chirped cheerfully through his door. "You've overslept!"
Merlin shot out of bed in horror. "I'm up! Gaius, why didn't you wake me?" he shouted. "What time is it? Is Arthur awake yet?" He pulled on a shirt and a pair of socks before tripping out of his room, nearly stumbling into a table on his way out.
"Merlin, at least have some breakfast," Gaius tried as the boy dashed for the door.
"NotimesorryGaiusgottagoseeyoulaterbye!" Merlin yelled as he slammed to door.
"Don't forget you promised to help me collect herbs today!" Gaius called after him.
Merlin fairly sprinted down the corridor, nearly smacking into Gwen, who was carrying a basket of dirty laundry rather aimlessly in the opposite direction he was going. She smiled at him and opened her mouth to say good morning, but he was already gone. The castle was barely even awake yet – or perhaps it was just the absence of light that made it seem so. The blaze of torches flickering off the stone walls was not nearly enough to overpower the nonexistent sun outside.
Merlin skidded to a stop in front of Arthur's bedroom door ten minutes later, carrying a heavily laden breakfast tray and a prayer that Arthur would choose to have mercy on him. Holding his breath, he tapped on the door. No answer. Merlin sighed and tapped again, then pushed opened the door.
The tray dropped to the floor with a crash that Merlin barely heard. Arthur was lying on the floor. Excepting the odd position of his legs and arms, and the bloody wound scraped, gaping, across his chest, he might have been asleep.
"Oh, god, oh god," he muttered feverishly, rushing over to where the prince lay. Arthur's skin was as pale as marble, and his wrist, when Merlin felt it for a pulse, was cold as ice. His eyes were half open, unseeing, and the glazed blue slits of his irises were just visible. Merlin felt his skin tingle with horror as he felt, with increasing desperation, for a pulse that he could not find. "Arthur, do me a favor and don't – please don't be dead, you great idiot," Merlin huffed as his fingers flew to the wound and he leaned down to examine it more closely. He recoiled in horror – there was a horrible stench coming from it, something like a rotting corpse. But more than that – it was a feeling, a premonition. Something like death. Something like poison.
Merlin jerked back, shouting over his shoulder as he came to his senses. "Help!" he yelled. "The prince, he's hurt! Please, someone!" Merlin knew his voice must sound close to tears, but he didn't much care. He felt something sink inside of him, a deadening of optimism. Had this been foretold, and he simply had not seen it? Arthur surely couldn't die now. But what would happen to their intertwined destinies if he did?