So I was reading through and found that I've switched a couple of letters around in various places. Please forgive me; I have a bit of dyslexia. Anyway, I fixed the timeline - I think - thanks to a guest who pointed the mistake out. I also fixed the fact that I had the setting in both the middle of October and the beginning of Spring.
Happy reading! =)
The next morning found Merlin with a massive headache and no recollection of the previous day's events. Judging by the state he was in, however, he guessed that he had gone to the tavern.
The servant groaned. Arthur was bound to be furious. And he was already late.
"What a fantastic day this is going to be," Merlin grumbled sarcastically. He slipped out of bed and dressed quickly, shivering in the cool autumn air.
"Good morning, Merlin," Gaius greeted, carefully examining the young warlock as he stepped out of his room. "Breakfast?"
Merlin grimaced. The thought of food made his stomach churn. "Not today, thanks," he replied, already half out the door. "Late as it is."
The servant wasn't surprised that Arthur was already awake by the time he arrived with his breakfast. He was surprised, though, to find that the Prince seemed to be regarding him as cautiously as Gaius had been.
"All right, Merlin?" Arthur asked as Merlin set the tray on the table in front of him. "You look like hell."
"Thanks," the younger man snorted. Then he sighed. "I feel like hell." He peered up at Arthur. "Do you, er, know what happened yesterday? I can't remember…"
"As a matter of fact I do," the Prince responded, taking a sip from his goblet. "You drank my allergy tonic. It was laced with hallucinogen."
Merlin blinked. "Oh." His cheeks heated as he imagined everything he could have done while he was intoxicated.
Arthur noticed this and smirked. "Yes. Thought the table was going to kill us. It's a good thing that you stabbed it before it had the chance."
The servant's blush intensified. He began to tidy Arthur's chambers, avoiding meeting the older man's eyes.
"We're going back out to look for the Well today," Arthur said after a few minutes. "Seeing as you're no longer ill."
Merlin stiffened. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" the Prince asked, frowning.
"I… nothing," Merlin sighed. He would just have to do his best to lead Arthur away from Faerthurin's Well if they got too close.
After cleaning Arthur's chambers and helping him get dressed, Merlin gathered the dirty dished and took them back down to the kitchen. On the way he met Elyan, who asked him if he was all right, to which he replied with a grin and a reassurance that he was perfectly fine. Well, almost. If it weren't for that blasted pounding in his head… The knight, upon realising that there was nothing wrong with his friend, grinned and informed him that it had stopped snowing in the armoury.
On the way back he met Gwaine, who asked him, smirking, if his hair was still green. He howled with laughter as the servant's cheeks reddened.
By the time Merlin made it back to Arthur's chambers, he was flustered an bruised from tripping over his own feet — which had done nothing for his head — and felt as though the blush that had spread from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears was surely permanent.
"Have you readied the horses?" Arthur asked as he head the door open, not looking up from the letter on his desk.
"Oh — horses. I… right. Questing. Horses. Right," Merlin stammered, running a hand through his already tousled hair. He didn't notice the odd look Arthur gave him as he turned and promptly careened into the doorframe — again, doing absolutely nothing for his head — before making his way out of the chambers. Or maybe he did. If so, he ignored it.
The young warlock found a bit of solace as he gently brushed down his and Arthur's mares.
"At least I didn't say anything crazy to you," he muttered. Arthur's horse snorted in agreement. "How could I have been so naїve? I just threw my life away without a second thought. And I can't protect Arthur or Camelot if I'm dead, even if by dieing I'm protecting them in the process." He sighed and stroked the animal's nose. She looked at him, her eyes warm, as if she was telling him that everything would be all right. He smiled at her before wincing. His head still hurt with an undying fervour.
By the time Merlin had resolved to get some sort of tonic from Gaius, the knights had begun gathering and it was too late. The servant groaned internally, knowing that he'd have to live with this headache throughout the entire journey. But he supposed it was a fair price to pay for drinking a dodgy allergy potion.
Arthur arrived a few moments later and, after quickly surveying Merlin and nodding to himself, mounted his horse, signalling everyone else to do the same.
The young warlock didn't quite remember the exact location of the Well, though he was fairly sure that it was only an hour or so's ride from Camelot. So when they had passed that hour's mark, he sighed quietly to himself in relief.
The relief was shot-lived, however, when Prince Prat decided that they should be looking for the Well up the side of a mountain that just happened to stand over a river. Now Merlin was fast, and stealthy when he wanted to be, but he wasn't exactly one for climbing. Or swimming. Quite honestly, he couldn't swim to save his life.
How on this green earth Arthur and the knights managed to climb up the face a mountain fully armed was beyond Merlin. How they managed to climb up the face of a mountain fully armed and keep Merlin from falling off was just so ridiculously unimaginable that the servant decided to just let it go, resolving that both his brain and his ego would suffer in trying to come up with an answer. Still, they were there; a hand to grab his tunic if he slipped, a voice to ease his anxiety if he began to go into what could probably be classified as a minor panic attack.
To say that Merlin was glad when they reached a ledge wide enough to stand on would be like pointing out that you're decidedly and most definitely not a horse. The young warlock clung to the rock wall for a moment, regulating his breathing and silently thanking the lords for the solid stone beneath his feet. He settled on not looking down, because the height made him dizzy and the fact that there was nothing below them but rushing, swirling, foamy water nearly caused him to faint.
"Stop being such a girl, Merlin," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. He stopped for a second and peered into the river. "You don't suppose the Well was washed away or something?"
Merlin knew what was going to happen before the section of stone Arthur was standing on began to crack.
For a split second, the younger man was torn. He couldn't swim. If he did this now, it would surely be the death of him. But Arthur was wearing full armour and carrying a sword, and while the Prince had probably been taught how to swim, it didn't matter anyway because he would just sink. If Merlin didn't do this now, it would surely be the death of Arthur.
Without another thought, Merlin leapt from his place and shoved Arthur to safety. The ground crumbled beneath his feet, and suddenly he was free falling.
Use your magic, you fool! a part of his mind screamed.
You can't, you can't, Arthur will see, another, bigger part protested.
Merlin didn't have time to decide, however, for the next thing he knew was an all-consuming coldness that froze his thoughts and his body. Panicking, the young warlock tried desperately to draw in a breath, only to be met by a lungful of water.
And then there was darkness.
That idiot.
That complete and utter moron.
Damn him. Damn him to hell.
Damn him to hell and back again for all he's put Arthur through.
After Merlin disappeared into the swirling water, Arthur waited. And waited. And waited. But the younger man didn't resurface.
Cursing Merlin and the river and all the mighty gods above, the Prince struggled out of his armour, cast his sword aside, and jumped.
It was freezing, there in the water. The cold shocked his system and blackness tugged at the edge of his consciousness, but Arthur fought. He had to get to Merlin.
The Prince searched frantically, the current pulling him downstream. He came up and sucked in a quick breath of air before going under again.
Just as he began to panic, just as he began to think that he was too late, that Merlin would be lost to him forever, he saw it. A pale hand, the fingernails tinted blue. A hand that was attached to an arm that was attached to a torso…
Arthur grabbed Merlin round the chest and dragged him up, out of the water. He resisted the current and crawled onto the shore where the knights were waiting, faces drained of colour.
"Merlin, you great idiot," he muttered weakly, looking down at the younger man.
Merlin didn't respond. He didn't stir. He was still. Too still. Too unnaturally still…
And Arthur realised, with horror, that he wasn't breathing. Merlin wasn't breathing. He wasn't breathing, oh gods, he wasn't breathing…
"Arthur, you need to calm down and get out of the way." Leon's firm voice snapped Arthur back to reality. He realised that he had been repeating, "He's not breathing, he's not breathing," over and over again and shaking Merlin as though he could shake the breath back into him.
When the Prince didn't move, Gwaine gave him a shove that sent him sprawled on his backside. Arthur scrambled up and watched as Leon knelt in the space he had been previously occupying, adjusted Merlin in front of him, and hit the young man forcefully on the chest.
Merlin coughed, an alarming amount of water spouting from his mouth, and began taking in desperate, shuddering breaths. Leon thumped the servant's chest with his fist one more time for good measure.
Arthur, Gwaine, Lancelot, Leon, Elyan, and Percival all crowded around the younger man, watching with concern as his eyes fluttered.
Merlin blinked dazedly up at them and licked his lips — that were, thank God, losing their blue tinge and slowly retuning to a normal colour, along with his skin — before saying, "My head hurts."
"You will be the death of me, Merlin, I swear it," Arthur growled, glaring at the unconscious manservant who was, apparently, unyieldingly suicidal.
The sun was just starting to set, but the light from the fire they had built danced merrily, illuminating the seven men sitting around it. They had doubled back a bit and set up camp in an attempt to warm Merlin. The servant, who had been stripped of his freezing clothes down to his breeches, was wrapped in all of their cloaks and placed strategically so that the heat of the flames blanketed his slight form, was still trembling like a leaf.
"In Merlin's defence, Sire," Gwaine spat, "I believe that it was you who was almost the death of Merlin." The knight, for some reason, blamed Merlin's near brush with death on Arthur.
"It's not my fault he's too bloody loyal to save his own bloody arse," the Prince snapped back.
They glared at each other until Lancelot intervened tiredly. "Come on, you two. Let it be."
Arthur sighed and settled against the tree he had been leaning on. He had removed his tunic and hung it on the tree branch above his head to dry. His trousers had nearly dried as well, seeing as he was sitting close enough to the fire himself. He knew that they should get Merlin back to Camelot soon, but he was reluctant to remove him from the warm camp.
The Prince had to admit that he was deeply shaken by this close encounter. It was an all-too-vivid reminder of the time Merlin had taken a bolt for him. Arthur decided then and there that he would put an end to this reckless valour if it was the last thing he did. He did not need any more heart attacks, thank you very much.
"We should start heading back," Arthur said, standing.
They made it back to Camelot before sundown, and Gaius said that after a full meal and a good night's rest, Merlin would be fine. Arthur made his way back to his chambers and began preparing himself.
Merlin woke the next morning feeling surprisingly… normal. It was almost as though he hadn't nearly drowned the day before.
"Good morning, Gaius," he said as he walked out of his room, giving the old physician a smile.
His smile was returned. "Good morning, my boy. How do you feel?"
"I feel great, actually," Merlin stated, letting the surprise colour his tone. He sat down to eat. "Better than I did yesterday."
"Good, good," Gaius replied, setting a bit of bread and porridge in front of him, along with a cup of water. "I'm needed in the lower town today — will you be all right?"
"I'll be fine, Gaius, don't worry."
The old man grimaced; reminding Merlin that the last two times he'd said that he'd given his uncle quite the reason to worry.
After breakfast, Merlin fetched Arthur's own from the kitchen and set off for the Prince's chambers. He was surprised, this time, to find him awake and waiting for him, arms crossed.
"Put that down and sit," Arthur ordered, his voice hard. He pointed to the chair in front of him.
Merlin did as he was told, dread starting to curl in his stomach. Whenever Arthur was like this it meant something bad had happened and it was probably Merlin's fault.
"This will stop immediately," the Prince barked, glaring at his manservant.
"What will stop?" Merlin asked, bewildered.
"This… giving your life for mine. You are to worry about your life only, Merlin. I can take care of myself."
The younger man rolled his eyes. "You were wearing armour, Arthur. You would have drowned."
"And you wouldn't have? You can't swim, Merlin!" the Prince yelled.
"And you're the future King of Camelot!" Merlin retorted.
"That doesn't matter!"
"You don't understand!"
Arthur threw his hands up in frustration and cast his eyes to the ceiling. "Lord almighty, protect me from all things I don't understand. Make me understand, Merlin!"
The younger man just glared at the Prince. "Prat."
"Idiot."
It was silent for a moment, but when Arthur spoke again, he didn't look at Merlin and his voice was no longer angry. It was surprisingly vulnerable. "Please, Merlin. You… scared me."
Merlin's gaze softened. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I'll try to be more careful."
