Hello, I know I'm a bit late for the exact days of each prompt, but I will do my best to participate - even if I can't post the works in a chronological accordance to the prompts. I've been busy with exchange activities on twitter these couple of days but I would love to challenge myself with these prompts 3
Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it or Happy Holidays! I wish you all the best things in the world please stay safe and healthy! 💖
Enjoy this fic! This is my first attempt at writing Merlin's POV. Oh boy, it is somewhat more challenging than writing in Arthur's POV.
"Merlin, stop. Just stop. I need to rest," Arthur rasped, his breaths coming out in short gasps. The king's sweaty face was marred with deep lines of pain and dirt, but he was still the stunning statuesque royal prat Merlin had come to love-and the warlock's heart was churning at the suffering he could see on his king's face, even as he tried his best to bear half of Arthur's weight on his shoulders. The suffering he had failed to protect Arthur from.
There was blood. Too much of it , an inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Gaius remarked detachedly in a perfect poise of a court healer - which, Merlin was failing to be because he was too dismayed, too frightened for the life of his king, his friend, his… no he couldn't ... he was just a servant after all.
But it was always Merlin's job to protect Arthur. Destiny-appointed or not, he wouldn't hesitate to give his all to protect his best friend, regardless of whether Arthur thought of him as so too or not. Although sometimes, his all was not enough. Never enough . Destiny must be mistaken to choose a failure like Merlin.
.
The sword wound that was currently oozing too much blood on Arthur's chest shone a horrible red, bright in the sweltering heat of the hot afternoon as they trekked through the rough terrain. Like an unwanted mirage, the ambush they had just escaped from played over and over in the warlock's mind, as if taunting him of his utter failure and helplessness when he watched the bandit plunged his sword to the king.
Merlin had immediately darted to Arthur's side in a blink of an eye, secret be damned-and if Arthur noticed the way all their enemies froze and were thrown away by an unnatural force, he honestly couldn't care less. All that mattered was Arthur-Arthur-Arthur-oh Gods, please don't die, please-how can I save him-
But Arthur had fallen unconscious right there. Never noticing the storm that was Merlin's panicked magic distracting - and demolishing -their enemies as the king and his secret protector made their way out to Camelot for help. Never seeing how Merlin was almost in tears the whole time trying to hold it together.
The tear tracks on Merlin's face had not dried when Arthur woke up a little while ago, and Merlin had not gotten the time to wipe them before his king pinned him down with a disconcerting stare and then he had the gall to chuckle.
That royal prat.
Absolute clotpole of a man.
.
And now they were here, their mares had long abandoned them since the bandits' ambush, trying to make it back to Camelot for help, and Arthur- that royal turniphead was unnervingly calm, gazing at Merlin with- dare he say it- almost fond and gentle eyes, and telling him to stop and rest.
There was a serene resignation in his beloved king's breathy voice.
Merlin absolutely hated it.
.
"We have to reach Camelot before sun's down, Arthur," he said softly, adjusting his grip on Arthur's body who was increasingly becoming more and more uncooperative. "We must. Come on. There'll be plenty of rest then, you lazy daisy."
"Merlin…," protested Arthur, not for the first time.
"Yeah, no." Merlin shook his head, his jaw clenching involuntarily. "Not going to happen. We are not going to give up."
"Might I remind you who gives the orders around here?" chastised Arthur, but he was smiling, not at all perturbed by the mortal wound on his chest. Merlin noted with rising dismay that the king was so pale, almost all of his body weight was supported by Merlin now, and they were faltering as Merlin forced both of them to go forward.
.
Arthur was right. It was hopeless to continue.
.
No!
.
He couldn't think that. He mustn't think that.
.
"Arthur…," Merlin called softly, dread coursing through his veins like a pulsating beat after they stumbled for what must have been the twentieth time. This time, Merlin gently lowered a frighteningly-sagging Arthur to the soft forest ground-but that slight movement still had the king groaning in pain while blood continued to flow from the wound on his chest.
.
They were running out of time.
.
"No," the warlock muttered, half hugging his king to his chest, trying - futilely - once again to stem the blood flowing out of the darned wound.
.
Arthur's hand suddenly grabbed his. "Leave it."
"Like hell I will."
"You will because I have ordered you so. Mer lin, look at me." Arthur's voice was uncharacteristically tender as he raised a palm to his manservant's cheek, and slowly wiped away the tears that were found there. "It's okay. You'll be okay. You've done everything you can."
.
"Not everything..."
.
His secret wasn't worth Arthur's life, for what was his life compared to the life of his king? Merlin knew he was abysmal at healing magic, and he certainly knew no spell that could heal a mortal wound, but magic had always been his only option.
And Merlin would put it all on the line for Arthur. Always.
.
"Merlin?" Arthur's weak call broke his stupor, and Merlin beheld his king, his destiny, the other side of his half, then it was like a complete calm washed over his being. He knew what he had to do.
.
"Arthur," he murmured, and he took a deep breath as he concentrated on amassing the magic in and around him. His irises must have glittered gold because a part of him heard Arthur's soft gasp. "Please, you can hate me all you want afterward. But let me heal you, please. "
The king was staring at Merlin, a look of stunned betrayal started to form on his face - and that alone sent a stab to his heart deeper than any sword could reach. Deeper than the wound that would be the result of what he was about to do.
.
"I am so sorry, Arthur," Merlin sobbed before plunging both his hands to Arthur's fatal wound, issuing a firm but instinctual command of Heal to his magic. At all cost.
.
Magic obeyed his call, and he felt it bursting all around him. His eyes burned as he idly watched great tendrils of magic rushing forward and stitching the wound on Arthur's chest. Everything seemed distant, even as he felt more and more of his energy leaving him, and a growing agony to his chest as the wound was transferred. Magic gave and magic took. Balance. Merlin understood that perfectly and he had given willingly.
.
Take me instead. Not him.
.
The last thing Merlin saw in his golden-tinted, dimming vision was Arthur's frantic - beautiful - face. His beloved king who should not be hurt or sad because Merlin would not allow it. At all cost.
.
It's okay. You'll be okay, Arthur, was his last thought as he fell.
The ending is left open-ended for now :')
Although, Merlin canonically has a knack of surviving the most impossible situations, doesn't he? 😉
*whispers* I'm so sorry, Merls, for torturing you again
Hope you enjoyed and feedbacks are always appreciated 💖