Hello!

I had this idea while re-watching "The Fires of Idirsholas"; when Merlin was hugging Morgana as she gasped, I thought: "Hey! I could write something like that with Arthur holding Merlin!"

I didn't want Merlin to be poisoned for the umpteenth time... So here it is.

Title: "A Friend in Need"

Category: Gen (Canon)

Characters/Pairings: Arthur, Merlin, Gaius, the knights

Rating/Warnings: T for blood

Summary: The usual patrol takes a different twist when Arthur, Merlin and the knights are attacked by Morgana's mercenaries. But when a bandit holds a dagger to Merlin's throat and Arthur makes a mistake, they all realize that a friend needs their help.

DISCALIMER: I still don't own Merlin, but when I do, I'll make an alternate season 5. I only own my minuscule brain and my iPhone. No, wait. My dad owns it. *sighs*

Chapter 1: A Friend in Need

When King Arthur had declared to his knights that he planned to go on a patrol that day (meaning that Merlin would have to tag along as well), he certainly didn't expect things to go so terribly.

It had started as the usual patrol, with him giving orders, Leon chatting with Elyan, Percival staying quiet as he listened to Gwaine's inane prattle and Merlin whining about absolutely nothing.

"Don't be such a girl, Merlin," he exclaimed, turning his head to look at the servant.

The younger man scowled at him. "Arthur, we all know that place is dangerous."

The blonde rolled his eyes. "The Valley of the Fallen Kings isn't dangerous. Seriously, Merlin, you're acting like a girl's petticoat. Stop whining."

The warlock huffed in annoyance. "Why does it always have to be the Valley of the Fallen Kings? Why not another place? That stupid, supercilious and arrogant prat..." he muttered under his breath.

Arthur turned to look at him again. "What was that?"

"I said that I completely agree with that great, extremely intelligent and not at all arrogant king," he answered, a cheeky grin on his face.

The blonde rolled his eyes. "I didn't know you thought so highly of me," he joked, his tone sarcastic.

Merlin grinned. "I don't," he replied, sticking his tongue at him.

Arthur opened his mouth to throw him a scathing retort, but he was interrupted by the sound of many footsteps coming towards them.

Bandits.

He unsheathed his sword and dismounted, looking around to be certain that everyone understood the situation. He was surprised when he saw Merlin with a dagger in his hand, ready to face an eventual opponent.

The bandits reached them quickly, attacking the group and yelling as they fought savagely.

Arthur cut down man by man, trying to end their lives as quickly as possible and in the less painful way. They were still humans, after all.

He was about to stab another bandit in the heart when a voice caught his attention.

"Lay your weapons down, or the boy dies."

The king whipped around to find a huge man, around Percival's size, holding a knife to Merlin's throat.

Merlin.

Fear began to seep through his heart as he understood the danger his servant was currently in. He lowered his sword on the ground and nodded at his knights to do the same.

"What do you want?" he asked, trying to calm his racing heart.

The bandit smirked. "Our mistress wants you and your knights to come with us."

So they weren't simple bandits. They were mercenaries, apparently following the orders of a woman. And Arthur had a vague idea of who it could be...

"Morgana," he spat, venomously. He held no love for that evil and emaciated woman who was his sister. His childhood friend, the girl he had so dearly cared for, was long dead, killed in the battle against magic.

The man's smirk widened, his yellow teeth resembling those of an animal. "Yes, my lord. The lady is waiting for you with baited breath," he said, mockingly.

Arthur breathed in deeply. He couldn't follow those men, or he would fall into Morgana's grasp. But could he let his serv- no, his friend, die?

And if he did, could he live with himself after it was over?

There was only one answer.

But he couldn't risk the lives of his knights, as well as those of his people, for a single man.

He had to do something.

He locked eyes with Merlin, seeing the fear written all over his face - it wasn't fear for his own wellbeing, but for that of his friends. He nodded at him, begging the younger man to trust him. The servant's eyes steeled in determination and he blinked in response.

The king looked at Leon, who was standing just behind the mercenary, as a plan began to take place into his head. A single glance to his oldest knight showed that the man had understood everything.

He knew he would be putting Merlin's life on the line, but if his plan succeeded, they would all be safe.

The bandit pressed the blade deeper on the servant's neck and a tiny patch of blood stained the blue fabric of his neckerchief.

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, hesitating.

He opened them and bolted to the side, as Leon moved to catch the bandit's arm from behind and the other knights began to fight.

It all happened in few moments.

The bandit released Merlin, who fell on his knees, and Leon stabbed him.

The other knights killed the rest of the men, catching them unaware.

He turned around, the smile lighting up his features falling as soon as he caught the scene before him.

He had tried to convince himself that the noise he had heard as the bandit threw Merlin on the ground wasn't what it really was, but just the fluttering of a passing bird's wings.

That it wasn't the dry sound of flesh being cut.

But it was, and he stood frozen on the spot as the warlock, crouched down on his knees, looked up at him, pleading with his eyes to help him, as blood gushed out of the hideous wound on his neck.

His feet moved on their own and he was soon kneeling beside his manservant, untying the knot of the bloodied and formerly blue neckerchief, pressing the worn-out fabric on the pale neck.

The gurgling noise of the man's breathing was the only sound breaking the silence of the forest, as if the earth itself had stilled while the warlock choked on his own blood.

Arthur tried to think rationally, not to let panic win over him, but it was no easy feat.

Merlin was gripping the front of his chainmail, his pale fingers seeking for support as his life poured out of the wound.

As Arthur met the blue eyes of the raven haired man, he knew that he had to do something.

Maybe the dagger hadn't reached the jugular, maybe all that blood didn't mean that his friend was dying. He tried to make himself believe that everything was going to be alright, diverting his concentration into calming Merlin.

He tightened his hold on the younger man's body and rubbed soothing circles on his back. "It's going to be alright..." he whispered.

Bright blue eyes, wide with fear, were staring at him, telling him that no, it's not going to be alright, you prat!

The servant was trying to say something, but Arthur shushed him gently, an unusual act for the normally stoic royal. "Don't be such a girl, Merlin. We'll get you to Gaius," he retorted, trying to keep a light tone, but being betrayed by his voice breaking at the end of the sentence.

They were both covered in blood, the life-giving liquid continuing to pour out of the wound and fall, at an alarming rate, to the ground, as bright red droplets hit the fallen leaves under them.

Arthur was practically hugging his friend, not giving a damn about his knights' opinions.

Leon was riding back to Camelot, desperate to reach the physician, hoping to save the young servant. The knight felt guilty, having been the one who had removed the bandit's weapon from Merlin's neck, but not quickly enough to stop the dagger from doing its work.

Indeed, it was his hand that had ultimately caused the terrible incident to occur, but the idea had been Arthur's.

If Leon felt guilty, how was the king supposed to feel?

As he tried to calm his manservant, he felt Gwaine's eyes staring at him. The knight blamed Arthur, but understood that he hadn't had another choice.

Elyan and Percival had gone to fetch the necessary things to treat a wound, mostly water from a nearby river to clean the cut and avoid infection.

All Arthur could do was try to stem the blood flow and stay with Merlin.

He was beginning to suspect that the jugular had been sliced, but he wouldn't admit it to himself, not bearing the thought of losing his best friend.

"Merlin?" he called softly. The young man's eyes focused on his face, as he tried to stay awake.

"It's going to be alright. We're going home. You just have to stay calm, and you'll be in your bed before you know it," he said, trying to soothe the wounded man.

"Think about it. Camelot, welcoming us... The streets full of working people and laughing children. Gaius will whack you on the back of the head, telling you that you're a clumsy idiot for falling in the hands of that bad smelling bandit. He won't let you leave your bed until you recover, and you'll hate it even more than going out on patrols. Guinevere will hug the life out of you, but then you'll tell her that you can't breathe and she'll leave you alone. But you'll have to listen to her confusing ramble about you having to be more careful and to stop making her worry," he said, smiling at the thought of his beautiful Gwen.

Merlin had closed his eyes, imagining all the things his master was saying, a dreamy expression on his face as his breathing became steadier, less panicked, even if still accompanied by gurgling chokes.

A thin line of blood left his lips and Arthur became more frantic in his reassurances. "I'll give you a day off. Two, maybe, but you'll have to muck the stables twice when you're back to work. Come on, Merlin, it's not that bad. And then..."

He stopped as a hand gripped weakly his arm. He looked down to find his servant staring at him amused, his eyebrow raised in a perfect Gaius' "eyebrow of doom" (Merlin's words) imitation.

He chuckled. "I'm babbling, ain't I?"

The warlock blinked in response, mouthing "Gwen" with his bloodless lips.

He snorted. "Worse than Gwen, you say? Don't exaggerate, you idiot. No one compares to Gwen."

Merlin rolled his eyes and gave him a smile, before closing his eyes.

A gasp caught the king's attention. He raised his head to find Gwaine's scared and confused eyes looking at him. "Is he...?"

He shook his head. "He's just unconscious. Come on, let's bring him home."

Merlin knew that the wound was deep, probably fatal. The dagger had sliced his jugular and he was losing an alarming amount of blood. A part of it had probably entered his larynx, as he had almost immediately begun to choke on it.

He was panicking, not enough breath reaching his lungs, and was close to blacking out. He knew that if he passed out, he would probably die, therefore he tried to focus on Arthur's scared face.

His king was trying to calm him and, against all odds, it was working.

He began to think more clearly and reached for his magic, feeling its warm presence in his chest. He left it to take care of the wound. The cut wouldn't close completely, but the internal damage would be healed.

The blood loss could still endanger his life, but he was sure that Arthur would bring him to Gaius in time.

He gripped his friend's arm, putting a stop to his ramble. The blonde chuckled, and he mouthed "Gwen" to mock him, reassuring him that he was going to be alright.

The royal probably didn't catch the hidden message, but seemed to subconsciously calm down, and said something about no one comparing to Gwen.

He rolled his eyes and smiled, before letting himself fall into oblivion.

Arthur and the remaining knights had reached Camelot in no time, without meeting a single threat or any kind of interruption.

The king was holding Merlin in his arms, sharing his horse with him, a hand pressing his red cape firmly on the wound, as the neckerchief had been completely soaked in blood and was therefore useless.

The blonde dismounted carefully, trying not to joust his friend's body too much.

He carried him quickly to the physician's chambers, as Leon, who had been waiting for them near the gates, fell into step with him. They stayed silent during the short journey, their attention focused on their mutual friend as his brow furrowed in pain even when he was unconscious.

Gwen was waiting outside of Gaius' chambers anxiously, and gasped when she saw her friend laying pale and covered in blood in Arthur's arms.

The old man fell quickly into 'physician mode', as Merlin loved to call it, and gestured for them to place the young man on the stool. He worked quickly and efficiently as always, cleaning and sewing the wound, before covering it with honey to avoid infections.

He went to wash his hands and turned towards his audience, now with the addition of the other knights, who had followed them not long after they had arrived.

Gaius smiled at them, his tired eyes showing how much his ward's near death had shaken him, despite his attempts to hide it. "The wound wasn't nearly as deep as it seemed. The neck always bleeds a lot, but no main artery was cut," he said to reassure them.

The truth was that Merlin should have been dead, and he attributed his miraculous survival to his magic.

Everyone seemed relieved knowing that their friend was safe, and Gaius couldn't help but marvel at how many hearts the warlock had managed to find his way in.

Sometimes, his boy really amazed him.

And he was sure that, when the day came that Merlin's magic was revealed, he would have many friends to back him up.

"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand."

-Henri Nouwen