Aw, I'm so touched by the reviews and all the people who put this on Favorite Story/Story Alert! Thank you, I hope I won't disappoint anyone!
Arthur pursued his quarry up a steep, twisting stairway. Gwaine and Lancelot were twenty feet behind him, but he couldn't wait for them. He was sweating, and his legs were beginning to tire under his heavy chainmail. The sorcerer had led him on a long chase, but the hunt was coming to its end. Arthur's senses were supercharged. He could see the sorcerer's shadow swaying in his torchlight, he could hear his faltering breath, and he could even smell the sorcerer's fatigue. It wouldn't be long now. The screams of people below as they fled the fire now feeding on their village rose to Arthur's ears. He felt a twinge of anger in his stomach. Because of magic, those people would spend the next year trying to regain what they lost this night.
There was a loud bang up ahead and Arthur's attention snapped fully back to the situation at hand. A few seconds later he reached the landing. The door had been blown apart. He entered the tiny room, sword held high. There was a figure hiding in the corner, panting heavily.
"Show yourself!" Arthur ordered. The sorcerer raised his hand in a manner that Arthur knew to mean "I surrender". Arthur relaxed his grip on his sword and let it drop a few inches. Just as he did, strange words issued from the corner, and the eyes of the sorcerer glowed. Arthur lunged with his sword and felt it hit its mark; he hoped desperately that the spell aimed at him had not been completed. He didn't think it had, he felt normal. There was a thud and a clatter of metal behind him. Arthur whirled around, taking his sword with him. He inched closer to the source of the sound and by the light of his torch found a man slumped unconscious on the ground, a heavy sword lying next to him. Arthur bent toward him, the man looked familiar. Yes, he was the one who was responsible for the violent greeting Arthur and his party had received the day before upon entering the town. Having been so caught up in chasing the sorcerer, Arthur must not have noticed this following behind him. And by the look of that axe…the spell then, wasn't meant for him…Lancelot and Gwaine rushed into the room. There was a moment when they both stopped. Then Gwaine moved further into the room and raised his torch higher, as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"By the gods, Arthur!" Lancelot breathed, horror-stricken.
"What have you done?" Gwaine roared. Arthur turned around, and by the light of all three torches it was made clear.
Merlin was laying on a musty tarp, clutching a gaping wound in his midsection. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing shallow and ragged. Dark blood dribbled from his mouth. Arthur was suddenly winded, like a giant had hit him in the stomach. His warm sweat had just turned cold and he was shaking.
"Merlin?" he asked. Merlin replied only with more rapid huffs of breath. Fear washed over him, rushing into his head. With it came the ability to move again. Arthur threw his sword aside and ran to his servant. He crashed to his knees and bent over Merlin. He pressed a hand on top of Merlin's, keeping steady pressure on the wound.
"Merlin? Stay awake, come on!" Arthur pleaded. He tore his glove from his other hand with his teeth and touched Merlin's face. "Damn it, Merlin! Don't close your eyes!" His voice shook, a feeling of cold dread crawled through his body like ice. Merlin's breathing was becoming slower; his eyes were closing almost lazily. "Wake up! Merlin!" Hot, stinging water crashed over his eyes like water through a broken dam. He shut his eyes tight, and those tears dropped on Merlin's face.
"No…" he whispered. Arthur pressed his forehead to his friend's. He wrapped his arms around Merlin, embracing him.
"Please…no…" he prayed. He buried his face in Merlin's shoulder and wept, holding him. Arthur felt as though he had entered a dream realm. This couldn't be happening, this couldn't be true…His mind was wading through a thick mist of unreality, and yet… There was a great ache in his heart; it was an agony worse than the pain of any weapon that had ever pierced his skin…and it was inescapable. A thick, heavy blanket was wrapped tight around his chest and neck and would not allow him any reprieve from his pain. It constricted his throat so he could not scream, and the grief in his heart could not evaporate through it. All he could was whimper and moan incoherently into his friend's shoulder. This was intolerable, he could not lose Merlin. Nonetheless, the truth wriggled into his brain like the dirtiest and most despicable insect: He was clutching Merlin's limp body in his arms.
"Arthur," Gwaine touched his shoulder. Arthur shrugged him off. Neither Lancelot nor Gwaine made another attempt to speak to him. Arthur didn't want to let go, didn't want to leave Merlin here… His sobs subsided. He ran his bare hand into Merlin's sweaty hair and pulled him closer still. After a moment like this, Arthur felt a faint, warm puff of air pass his ear. He held his breath, and prayed it hadn't been his imagination. Slowly, Arthur became aware of Merlin's chest moving up and down, however slightly. Arthur gently laid him back on the tarp. Had he really been so stupid that he didn't check? He placed a hand on Merlin's chest. His breathing was shallower than ever, but it was steady. He put two fingers to Merlin's neck. Again, his pulse was almost non-existent, yet steady. Arthur dried his eyes. He tossed off his shoulder armor and chainmail and ripped off the bottom length of his shirt.
"Arthur, what are you doing?" Lancelot asked, confused by Arthur's strange behavior.
"He's not dead," said Arthur quickly.
"What?" said Lancelot dully. Arthur looked over at his companions. Both their eyes were red and streaming too.
"He's not dead, "Arthur repeated, hope flittering in his chest. "Help me tie this around him."
Lancelot and Gwaine held Merlin's body while Arthur died the strip of cloth tightly over his wound.
"Downstairs." Arthur nodded toward the door.
"Arthur," Gwaine had a look on his face like he detested what he was about to say, "The village is burning, even if we find a physician he'll be overwhelmed as it is."
"We must get him to Camelot," answered Arthur promptly.
"Camelot is two days ride from here, he'll never make it," Lancelot too, had a look of shameful disgust on his face, like he couldn't believe what he had just said.
"Fine!" Arthur snapped, "You two can stay and sort out this mess, but help me get Merlin down the stairs!" There was no more argument. Between the three of them they carried Merlin swiftly and safely out of the castle.
Arthur's mare was well-trained, even while people were fleeing about her she stayed where she was, though she did look slightly alarmed. Arthur laid Merlin gently on the ground, went to his mare and took off her saddle and bags, all except his canteen, which he swung around his shoulders. He took hold of the reins and leapt on to her bare back with ease.
"Gwaine, Lancelot," Arthur spoke, determinedly keeping his voice steady, "There is some rope in my bag. Hoist Merlin up behind me and lash him to me." Gwaine and Lancelot exchanged looks.
"Hurry!" Arthur barked. They did as they were told.
"Arthur," Gwaine started, "It's still a two day ride…"
"I should've bought some speed by removing her saddle. Besides…"
"Besides?" Gwaine asked.
"I believe in Merlin. He won't die before I reach Camelot. I'll see you there Gwaine, Lancelot," he nodded to the other knight before clicking his tongue. His mare, anxious to be rid of this village as well, immediately obeyed his command. She streaked down the village streets and was soon out of sight of Lancelot and Gwaine.