Disclaimer: Merlin is not mine.
Gwaine wasn't entirely certain, but he was at the very least reasonably convinced that he was dying. On the one hand, he'd thought that he was dying after grievous injury on more than one occasion before, and he'd always imagined something grander than lying on the dirt floor of a forest with a pale king and a frightened servant hovering over him, making it downright offensive if he truly was dying, so hopefully he was just stunned from whatever the spell had been.
On the other hand, his fingers were shriveled and black, and the blackness was slowly but surely spreading toward his wrist, and he was somehow sure that it wouldn't stop until it reached his heart. Judging by how the intense pain in his hand had faded to nothingness as the blackness spread, and Merlin had swatted Arthur away when the king went to touch his skin with his own bare hand, Gwaine could only suspect that he wasn't long for the world by the time the blackness got anywhere near his heart.
But it was so strange, because he felt so alert that he just knew he could make them both laugh with his "on the other hand" joke, but he couldn't open his mouth to form words, or even move other than to look in one direction or the other. He was perfectly conscious, and the way Merlin had propped him up — against a rock, because apparently he'd wronged Merlin at some point and his revenge was to give him an uncomfortable repose as he died — let him see his immobile body, watch the interactions of Arthur and Merlin, and witness the blackness spreading, even as he lost the sensation from where it touched.
Gwaine could also hear, and he was on the fence about whether or not that was a good thing. He never would have thought that three would be a crowd when it came to his tragic but dignified (and surely destined to be remembered in song) death, but he couldn't help but feel that Arthur arguing with his manservant could have been saved for after Gwaine had drained away to the great beyond, if such a thing existed. Old habits may die hard, but Gwaine was the one whose death was seemingly looming! Could they not save the bickering and spend his final moments on the same page?
He would have laughed at his own question, if he could have.
"We have to get him to a physician trained in these things, Merlin," said Arthur, very calm and very steady even as he remained very pale, which moved Gwaine past "not entirely certain" to "ready to start composing his own epitaph" in the span of a heartbeat.
"Arthur, you saw what happened when we moved him! The blackness spread!" shot back Merlin, whose voice was as high-pitched and quavering as Arthur's was steady. While Gwaine was flattered by the notes of panic in his friend's voice, something in the back of his mind thought Merlin was overdoing it somehow. Which didn't make sense. It couldn't make sense. And yet... also unlike Arthur, Merlin was flushed, and his eyes sparkled strangely.
Still, as Gwaine kept his eyes focused on Merlin's, even while Merlin's focus was on the king, that same part of him that thought Merlin was overdoing the panic wondered if Merlin's eyes didn't always have that strange twinkle to them, but none of them ever held still long enough to forgo what they assumed to see what had always been there, hidden and averted and sharp.
"I did not see that, actually," said Arthur. "You said that the blackness spread when we moved him, and shouting it isn't going to make me see it too."
"Which one of us is the physician again, Arthur?"
"Unless you mean to tell me that healing skills can be passed along by prolonged exposure, Merlin, I'm not going to believe that you've had enough time actually training with Gaius to learn much more than how to stop bleeding long enough to get me to him for actual treatment."
Gwaine felt that was a bit harsh, and wished he could say so.
"Fine," said Merlin sharply, then took a deep breath, looked at Gwaine, and rearranged his features.
"Arthur," began Merlin, his voice taking on the tone that Gwaine had come to understand was altogether too familiar for what formal friendship was allowed to exist between men of their ranks, which didn't bother Gwaine in the slightest and the rest of Camelot discreetly pretended not to notice between the king and his servant. "Arthur, you go for a physician. It'd be faster for you to go and bring one back than for you to carry Gwaine, and the blackness spreads by touch anyway. I can stay with him. You may think me a coward, but you know I wouldn't leave Gwaine."
"I don't think you're a coward, Merlin," said Arthur, after a pause slightly too long for Gwaine's comfort considering he was busy dying, and the king's words came with too much sincerity for Gwaine to come to any other conclusion than that Arthur was convinced his end was nigh. "But what if one of the sorcerer's friends arrives to finish what he started? We can't just assume that two sorcerers are going slip back on some leaves and then break their necks on trees. Honestly, I still don't understand how the first one gathered enough momentum for his neck to snap like that."
Merlin averted his gaze, and Gwaine was surprised to spot a spark of resentment on his friend's face, mingling with fear and urgency. Something in that look made him gasp, although that might have also been due to the magical infection cast by the sorcerer they'd caught by surprise. After casting the spell that felled Gwaine, the sorcerer had looked in Arthur's direction, gone very pale, and began to say another incantation of some sort, but he only got as far as "Emrys—" before he slipped backwards, hit the tree, and said no more.
But maybe, thought Gwaine suddenly as more of his arm went numb, the sorcerer hadn't been looking at Arthur at all, but rather at Merlin, whom Arthur had stepped in front of as soon as they stumbled on the sorcerer and his basket of herbs. The sorcerer certainly didn't look like he'd realized he was in the presence of the king. Then again, he hadn't had time to do much of anything before he fell, and he wouldn't be telling his story. So what—
"Arthur," said Merlin, clearly taking advantage of Gwaine's gasp to make his point that they needed a physician. "Go."
"You won't touch him," said Arthur, looking conflicted even as he shrugged out of his armor to lighten his load and allow him to run faster. "Not skin to skin."
"Of course not," was Merlin's answer, and Arthur was preoccupied enough with the armor he could never manage on his own that he didn't even realize that Merlin was lying. Oh, if only Gwaine could speak and tell the king to stop Merlin…
But the king departed as soon as Merlin unfastened his armor for him. Arthur hastened out of Gwaine's line of sight, and Merlin hovered over him, listening to Arthur running for help. When Arthur's footsteps faded, Merlin knelt down on the ground next to him and put his hand on his cheek. Gwaine knew that the blackness hadn't spread that high yet, because he could feel the warmth as Merlin did exactly what Arthur had asked him not to. Skin to skin, hand to cheek, too close for Gwaine to be sure that Merlin's clear confidence in his own safety was justified.
"I am sorry, my friend," said Merlin, "but I can't have you awake for this."
Merlin said something, although it was either in a language Gwaine didn't understand or his hearing was going already. The world began to fade into grey right away. And yet, Gwaine thought he saw something gold glowing, for just a minute, where Merlin had been. The last thing he saw before everything went black was Merlin, taking his own blackened, diseased, dead hand in his own, like there was nothing wrong with it at all even though he'd struck the king when Arthur tried to do the same.
And then, there was nothing but darkness.
.
Note: "A Certain Point of View" originally started as part of my "In Media Res" series of one-shot reveals, but one-shot became two, and it keeps getting longer, so here it is as a standalone!
The first two chapters are the originals, with Part III and onward new. I always live for reviews, so any thoughts would be very appreciated!
