As promised, Part 2! I can't thank you guys enough, your support and feedback on this story has been greatly, magnificently appreciated. Seeing as this is my first Merlin fic, it's really nice to know that it's something you like. Personally, one of my favorite parts about the show is that underneath all the fantasy aspects of the world, the real appeal comes from the characters and their interactions with eachother. That's why I love writing things like this. It places these larger than life characters in subdued situations and tests their reactions and emotions. Anyway, working hard on Part 3, will have it up soon! I have a direction I'm going with this plot, but any and all suggestions/comments are welcomed and greatly encouraged!
Once again, I do not own Merlin or any of the characters associated with it. Cheers!
From the sound of the lightly exasperated sigh that escaped his lips, one might assume that a bit of bothersome dust had just landed upon his sleeve whilst beating the dirt out of the musty tapestry in Arthur's foul chambers. It was not the sigh of a young warlock falling to his death.
As the peak of the rocky ridge fell farther and farther from his outstretched palms, and his body twisted to gaze up at the shockingly steep, unforgiving landscape of the massive cliff he had slipped off of only moments before, Merlin felt oddly...calm? Perhaps it was the resulting stupor of having the earth steady beneath his feet and a sure fire victory over Arthur within his grasp only moments before, only to have both ripped from beneath him not a second later. He found himself falling. And thinking. In fact, his thoughts were so clear and logical, he had to attune his senses to the rapid yet steady pounding of his heart as well as the labored sound of his whooshing breath to make sure he was actually alive, and not tumbling through some strange purgatory.
Seeing as this was perhaps the only instant in his short life when he hadn't felt overtly panicked in the face of danger-and with Arthur by his side there was plenty of opportunity for that-Merlin quickly determined he must not waste the clarity. He created a thoughtful list. One, he noted, that Gaius would be particularly pleased by, seeing as it contained the meticulous inner workings of a great sorcerer's superior intellect. It really was that brilliant. And it went like this:
I, Merlin, know five things.
1. I am falling.
2. I will die if I do not stop falling.
3. I have magic.
4. Arthur is an idiot.
5. I am not. An idiot, that is.
According to number 5, Merlin discerned that he should be able to apply number 3 to number 1 to ultimately negate number 2, which was caused involuntarily by number 4.
See? Merlin assured himself. Not an idiot!
Noticing for the first time the rapidity with which the landscape was changing and passing by the outer corners of his vision, Merlin made the executive decision to work quickly, despite the newly and fortuitously slowed logistics of his thought process. Merlin shifted his body away from the cliff side. His head, while still pointing down with his feet in the air like some sort of free falling bird of prey, was no longer facing the dark soil and flurried patches of grass intermixed with the boulders lodged into the precipice wall. Instead, he was now gazing at the open air of Albion. It was a daunting sight. For the first time since losing his balance and stumbling over the edge, Merlin allowed a small inkling of fear to trickle into his veins. Scrunching his eyes tightly shut, he pushed away the incoming panic and reached deep within to summon the magic that would undo his undoing.
Duthectad bithlane! He gasped quietly, eyes flying open, flashing a wild shade of gold. Merlin felt relief flood his senses as he immediately began to feel his body's descent slow.
I am clearly a genius.
Merlin couldn't keep the toothy grin from sliding across his face. Despite his apprehensions about proving his physical worth to Arthur, he could always count on his magic. Everything was going to be alright. He would emerge, unharmed, and Arthur would be so impressed by his unlikely ability to escape a situation as deadly as this one that he would never again question his ability to protect himself. Everything was going to be fine, everything-
Slam
Merlin felt the blow reverberate through his spine like a thousand of Gaius' largest needles, all the way down to his toes. His temple smashed against a jagged rock, bouncing his head, whipping his neck and sending a sinister, threatening veil of darkness to creep along the outer edges of his vision.
It all happened just like it had begun: instantaneously. It took Merlin every bit of strength he had to fight unconsciousness as he slid head first down the sloped, rocky base of the cliff, leaving a trail of blood leaking from his head in his wake.
Merlin had made a grave miscalculation. His spell had slowed his fall, but he had failed to take into account the terrain of the ledge. What he had assumed to be a straight, vertical descent of which he could easily complete his spell and land gently on his feet at the bottom had actually become a jagged, uneven slope, landing him on his head and jarring the magic right out of his body. He was sliding now at a rapid pace, stunned and disoriented, with no clue how to slow himself.
Suddenly, a white hot, blinding pain erupted in his leg, spreading like wildfire throughout the rest of his limbs as his body came to a harsh stop, slamming his thin frame against the hard packed dirt like a limp rag doll. Perhaps he had imagined it, but Merlin was certain he had heard an extremely loud crack erupt, similar to the sound of a whip slicing through the air at the exact same time his body had been shuddered to a halt.
He didn't scream. He didn't groan. Merlin just lay there, blood rushing to his head as he lay on his back upon the bumpy, steeply sloped mountain side. Pain rolled over him in waves, like the ocean tide after a large storm. His mouth was agape in a silent scream, no sound passing out of his lips as he continued to lay still, dazed, eyes squeezed shut. The pain was...unbearable. It consumed every trace of the logic he had maintained only moments before scorching a trail of searing agony through his muddled mind.
Slowly, painstakingly, as if his eyes had been stuck together with honey, Merlin pried his lids apart and lifted his head. His neck immediately protested, and his vision swam dangerously at the movement. His senses felt...dulled, as if he were waking from a deep sleep, and thoughts became slurred and mixed, reminiscent of the time he had stumbled out of the tavern in the early hours of the morning just last week. It was exhausting, trying to think about so many things at once, but he fought the incoming bout of sleepiness. Peering down the length of this body, he found that he was sprawled on his back, legs sloping upward, with one leg caught between two large, jagged boulders. That was the blessing and the curse that had halted his descent. What he saw next, however, made his pulse fly faster than it had when he had slipped off the edge.
His leg looked like a piece of driftwood that had been splintered against an errant rock in a swiftly moving river. The bone had broken cleanly on the upper part of his shin, leaving the rest of the leg to hang limply, as if completely separate from his body.
Merlin shuddered, laying his head back down on the cool dirt. He groaned, feeling hot tears prick at his eyes as the severity of the situation sank in.
Ok. I might be an idiot.
He's an idiot. He was born an idiot, he lived as an idiot, and now he's gone and died an idiot. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid stupid, stupid, stupid.
Arthur was shaking. Large, violent tremors wracked his body, making his legs wobble as he stumbled numbly down the cliff side. After what had felt like an eternity of perpetual fear staring down at the sight of Merlin's broken form, he had risen slowly to his feet, gradually goading himself to act. He had found a slight slope on the outer edge of the cliff, one just large enough to support his weight as he descended to the too still body of his mangled manservant a few hundred meters away.
He was dead. He had to be. He had fallen hundreds of feet, and now he lay in a crumpled heap. No matter how much he wanted it to be true, there was simply no way in hell that Merlin was alive.
A hitched sob escaped from between Arthur's lips. It was like a dam bursting, and all of a sudden he couldn't stop it, try as he might. The pain was just so unexpected, crashing against his conscience like a hammer clanging against an anvil. He had never lost control like this before. Arthur wept. He ran, sobbing desperately like a newborn child, anguished screams catching in his throat while hot rivulets of tears raked their way down his already sweaty, dirty cheeks. What did it matter? The one person who would give him grief for being such a girl lay unmoving on the moist, dark soil below.
This wasn't supposed to happen, a voice deep within his head proclaimed. Oddly, it didn't sound like his own. It sounded like Merlin's.
As he drew closer and closer to his pale form, Arthur considered throwing his own body down the cliff side and dying right alongside his friend. He simply could not believe he had let this happen. The day had been full of beautiful promise, promise which now lay dead in the dried up ravine further down. How was he to live with himself? What was he supposed to do? He needed to know. He needed Merlin to tell him.
Arthur slowed, eventually coming to a halt about twenty feet from Merlin's body. He was petrified, too afraid to face the other side of the thin veil he was standing behind. He simply stared, allowing the guilt of what he had done to seep into his pores.
Merlin's body lay at an angle, conforming to the slope of the ground, the rocks beneath his back causing his bony torso to rise and fall in unnatural places. He wore an expression of paralyzed pain, lips parted, eyebrows knit together, eyes tightly shut. Arthur winced, noticing the fresh blood pooling around his neck and head, leaking from a deep gash on his temple. His arms lay sprawled to the side, palms facing upwards towards the sky. Arthur's eyes continued to travel the length of his body, landing in horror upon the source of the sickening crack he had heard earlier. Merlin's leg had been swiftly broken like a twig, and it was currently wedged between two massively jagged rocks.
Arthur allowed himself another moment of paralysis before he slowly began making his way towards the body. He decided he would drag Merlin back up the rocky slope he had taken down. It would be intensely difficult given the precipitous nature of the terrain, but he would make it. He had to. Gaius deserved to see what Arthur had done to his ward, and Hunith deserved to bury her boy.
That was when Merlin opened his eyes.
It's not possible. He had hallucinated. He had most certainly hallucinated. He shook his head, wiping some of the sticky tears from his eyes.
"A little help...would be splendid...clotpole," Merlin slurred groggily, slowly turning his neck to address Arthur.
Arthur broke into a run, collapsing on his knees at Merlin's side and gathering his upper body into his arms, his dark shock of hair nestled beneath his chin. He breathed him in, relieved to find that Merlin smelled like fresh air, sweat, and wet dirt. He smelled alive.
"Let go o' me, praaat," Merlin groaned.
Arthur laughed, sniffling heavily and working desperately to compose himself and fetch back his dignity.
"You should be dead, you hear me? How the hell are you not dead?" Arthur was practically giddy.
"Sorry to disappoint," Merlin grimaced, gasping at the slightest shift in his body as pain shot up his leg and collided with his head. "Maybe it's the armor," he gestured to the thick metal and heavy chain mail still clinging to his body.
"Hold on, ok? I'm gonna get your leg out, but...this is gonna hurt a lot. Here, bite down on this," Arthur warned, offering up his glove.
"Just fell 500 feet. Survived. I think...I can handle it," Merlin panted. His response was muddled and slow, but it still held a hint of Merlin sass.
"Oh, so now you're a man? I seem to recall you barely able to support the weight of your own armor only a few hours ago," Arthur goaded, trying to distract the boy while he surveyed the scene and tried to work out precisely how to go about prying Merlin's limp right leg from between the tight clamp of the rocks.
"Yeah, well that was before I valiantly kicked your arse in that epic fi-SHIT SHIT SHIT STOP OH GOD ARTHUR STOP IT HURTS," Merlin writhed in pain as Arthur yanked his incapacitated leg free before promptly twisting his torso and vomiting on the soil, body convulsing as nothing more than water and bile seeped into the dirt.
"Yes, very valiant," Arthur rolled his eyes before drawing his expression into a frown.
"Easy, Merlin," he warned, placing one hand behind the boy's neck and the other on his chest before gently lowering him back to the ground, carefully moving him a distance away from the puddle of blood on one side and the mess of bile on the other. Merlin's eyes rolled around unsteadily, fluttering closed before sharply reopening at the gentle slap of Arthur's bare hand.
"Oh no you don't, moron. You stay awake or you'll find out the meaning of real pain," Arthur threatened, struggling to mask his worry. He pressed his water skin to the manservant's dry parted lips, doing all he could to make sure the boy didn't pass out.
"Didn't realize...you were...that asshole...that beats his servants," Merlin mumbled, a drunken half-smile curving along his lips as he finished drinking a whole teaspoon of water.
"Shut up," was all Arthur could muster. He began tearing up his cloak, hoping to staunch the blood still pouring out of Merlin's skull and buy himself some time to formulate a plan. Once that was finished, he checked the rest of the boy's gaunt frame for signs of anymore severe trauma, avoiding the one area he simply didn't want to address.
"What, are you on a diet, Merlin? You look like a ten year-old girl," he jabbed.
"Just tryna...maintain my girlish figure, sire," Merlin ribbed right back.
"Oh, that's right, I forgot you enjoy dressing up in women's clothing," Arthur cracked up at the memory of a flustered Merlin sneaking down the corridor unexplainably clutching one of Morgana's stolen garments. He would have given anything to be in that moment right now instead of this one.
Despite his fading pallor, Merlin still managed to flush at the thought. He felt a rush of sadness wash over him as his thoughts turned to Freya.
"I told you. That. Was. Not. For. Me!" he seethed.
Sensing he had breeched a sensitive subject, Arthur let it go.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just wait till we get you back to Camelot. I'm gonna force a thousand loaves of bread down your throat, followed by a thousand pounds of butter," he chided.
"Wonderful. Really looking forward to it," Merlin said, watching the king with amusement as he struggled to stay positive. Usually he was the one playing the role of the optimist.
Seeing nothing more than a littering of fairly heavy bruising, Arthur sighed.
"I have to set your leg, Merlin."
"Nope. Not broken, I promise," he was slurring heavily now.
"You are possibly the worst liar I've ever met. Look, I really, really need you to try to keep still. Don't fight passing out, alright? Go dream about fairies or unicorns, or whatever it is that tickles your fancy. Got it?" He basically forced the glove into his mouth this time around.
Arthur inhaled shakily. Do it. Stop being a girl, and do it. He allowed himself a peek at Merlin's pale face, who stared directly back, eyes unevenly dilated but as wide as saucers. He nodded, giving him the okay.
Stupid, brave idiot.
Arthur braced himself, gripping the stick-thin limb with both hands.
1. 2. 3!
He twisted with all his might, listening to the strangled cry rip itself free from Merlin's throat as he struggled, despite the unbearable pain, to keep himself still. Arthur used the remaining pieces of his cloak to wrap the broken bone as tightly and quickly as possible.
When it was all finished, he sat down heavily next to Merlin's head, both men exhausted.
"Sorry." Arthur winced.
"Thanks." Merlin heaved.
Both spoke the words at the exact same time.
Merlin had remained stubbornly conscious during the ordeal, and Arthur could see the clarity in his eyes slipping farther and farther from his grasp with each passing second.
"Art'ur?" Merlin slurred groggily, eyebrows furrowed and forehead scrunched, those giant dilated pupils peering out from behind half-lidded eyes.
Arthur sighed, leaning back on his heels and taking in their vast surroundings, trying to get his bearings. "Yes Merlin?"
"I am concussed."
Arthur pushed a hand through his blonde hair, front to back, and rolled his eyes. "Yes, I realize that Merlin. That among many other things. Idiot."
"I am. I am an idiot."
Merlin had just conceded to being an idiot, without even an attempt at insulting Arthur back. He must really be hurting.
Things were bad. Things were really, really bad. How the hell did things get this bad?
Think, Arthur. You're the goddamn king of Camelot.
Arthur tilted his head back, one eyebrow raised as he surveyed the sky. The sun was sinking far in the west, dipping maliciously lower, as if Arthur were a mouse and time were a great big cat, playing with its food before the inevitable meal.
The real problem lie in the fact that nobody knew they were out here. Only that one servant who had helped Merlin with his armor earlier, as well as Gauis, knew they had headed down this morning to practice for the tournament. Under normal circumstances, Gauis would be the one he placed his trust in, seeing as he was constantly struggling to keep his ward out of danger and was therefore always acutely aware of Merlin's whereabouts. But on this particular night, Gaius was sure to have more than enough on his plate. As court physician, he was in charge of tending to all injuries obtained during the tournament. When everyone gathered on the compound in a few hours for the opening ceremony, they would simply assume Merlin and Arthur were in Arthur's tent, suiting up. Everybody knew how much Arthur hated giving speeches, and no one would dare to bother the king during his pre-fight rituals. No one would even guess something had gone amiss until Arthur didn't show up for his first match. Hell, even their horses were still tied up at the compound. Nobody would suspect a thing. Nobody was coming for them...
Arthur slowly rose to his feet. Even if his people did realize they were in need of help, there was no way a search party was going to be able to locate them, especially not at the bottom of a dark, arduous cliff. And if they did manage to catch their trail? Well, Arthur simply didn't have those hours to spare. Correction: Merlin didn't have the hours to spare. Merlin was going to die out here, and that was a fate Arthur simply would not accept. Not again.
Adrenaline seeped into his blood. He tilted his head back, looking up the slope that had brought him down the cliff side. That particular route had required him to basically dangle vertically before allowing him to drop onto horizontal ground. Even if he could somehow haul Merlin to the top of the slope, there was no way he was getting him up and over the ledge with his broken leg, especially without a rope. Arthur turned in the opposite direction, heart beating a little faster as he realized his only option would be to take Merlin down and out through the valley. They would be spending the night in the forest.
He gazed down at Merlin. In the fading light, his face seemed to have grown sallow and pallid, sharp cheekbones jutting out menacingly. Arthur grimaced, realizing the ghastly effect had most likely been caused by the blood loss. His eyes were closed, but Arthur could see them rolling around frantically beneath the translucent, paper-thin skin of the lids.
Arthur lowered himself down next to him, once again dropping his ear over his mouth to make sure he could hear the faint murmur of his ragged exhalations. Gently, he grasped his chin in his fingers, gingerly turning the white face towards him and inspecting the strips of fabric he had wrapped around his temple, assuring himself they were still securely in place. Arthur breathed in deeply through his nose, smiling sadly.
"How did it come to this, Merlin?" a question more for himself than for Merlin.
"Well, you see, there was this cliff..." Merlin quipped, painfully cracking one eye open. He closed it immediately, brain hypersensitive to even the tiniest sliver of light. Arthur flinched, letting go of his chin and surveying as Merlin's head lolled to the side, limp.
Annnnd that's my cue to get moving, Arthur thought, impelling himself to take action. He thrust his arms underneath Merlin's armpits, preparing to heave him up off the ground.
"You ready, mate? It's gonna be a long night," he murmured, leaning over him.
Arthur allowed himself a small, amused smirk. He hadn't expected a response, but he should have seen it coming. Unsteadily, with eyes still firmly shut and head turned away from Arthur, Merlin uttered two distinct words:
"Ready. Prat."