Hey guys! So, I've been reading some fics lately and decided to write this! :D Hope you like it, please review and tell me whatcha think!
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN MERLIN
PS: If a MERLIN BETA is reading this, can you PM me? It would be very much appreciated. Thanks!
Merlin was starting to become very annoyed. He didn't get why Gaius wouldn't just leave him be, he had too much work to do and the old physician was just making him late. Arthur didn't put up with Merlin's excuses anymore, not that Merlin didn't blame him. He had been so late these past few weeks that Merlin had taken to getting up before the sun is even peaking over the horizon.
Merlin doesn't mind the extra chores and work though, and he doesn't complain either. He knows how much stress Arthur is under, with the impending war on Camelot, led by Morgana. He knows how affected Arthur was after Morgana's betrayal, which is why he didn't say anything about how out of character Arthur was being.
He didn't know when it started, but then again he didn't really care. He was just so tired and busy, but there was no time to sleep. But he didn't mind, sleep was unimportant when it came to saving Arthur's life; which he does about every night now. Because that's when the attacks were. Always at night, when the prince was dreaming peacefully in his bed, Merlin was fighting some sorcerer or minion that Morgana had sent. Then during the day he would be doing chores for Arthur, he would be doing them slow though. Then Arthur would yell at him, and then give him more chores as a punishment. He hadn't enough time to eat or sleep but, again, that was a minor concern to him.
Right now he was just doing one of the many chores that Arthur had ordered him to do. It was lunch time, and Merlin knew he was going to be late. This was why he was stumbling through the empty halls of the palace, trying to get to the kitchen. Everyone else was already in their chambers, eating. Even the servants. But not Merlin; no, Merlin still had tons of chores to do and he couldn't not do them. Arthur would kill him then.
The skinny man-servant paused outside of the kitchen doors to catch his breath before shaking himself and walking in quickly, grabbing the King's meal. He shook his head at a maid who offered him some mea as he walked past her. He didn't have time to eat; he was already late as it was. Oh gosh, Arthur was going to kill him for being late. That thought only made him run faster. Bad idea. White dots started swarming in his vision and beads of sweat formed on his brow, but he ignored it as he burst into Arthur's chambers with a cheery grin. "Here is your dinner, Sire." He greeted, only to barely miss getting hit with a vase.
Merlin quickly lost his smile when he met the furious eyes of Arthur who was standing in front of him. "What took you so long Merlin? You were supposed to be here hours ago!"
Merlin rolled his eyes, still grinning. "Oh, come on prat. I'm not that late." he shrugged, his grin hiding the pain that small motion gave his. Ugh, his muscles hurt so much these days. Lately every step he took was filled with pain.
Arthur scowled at him and yanked the tray of food from his hands and walked back over to the table, his back towards Merlin. Merlin however, stumbled up against the door to keep his balance at the sudden way Arthur took the food. He started to feel light-headed, his vision swimming but he ignored it and quietly began cleaning Arthur's room and making the bed. By the way Arthur was tearing into his food, Merlin could tell he was in no mood for their regular banter.
As Merlin made Arthur's bed he tried to ignore the white-hot pain that seemed to be forming in the back of his head, near his neck. His vision started turning black, leaving him barely able to see and he abruptly stopped what he was doing, trying to get his sight back. But it just kept getting darker. Faintly, he heard someone call his name. Arthur? No, not Arthur. Arthur doesn't care; if he did, Merlin would've been bombarded with questions long before now.
A soft gasp escaped the man servant's mouth and he swayed on his feet, his knees buckling. The last thing that he remembered before he passed out, was warm calloused hands grabbing him; keeping him from hitting the hard, cold ground below him.
Well? What do you guys think? Good? Bad? Please review! Constructive criticism appreciated!
