A/N: I'm back! Sorry for the long wait, if there are any of you who did hang around to wait. I actually started a different drabble a few weeks back, but it's turning out to be really long (20 pages in Word, and it's not even finished yet!) It was on one of the requested stories and it is a reveal, so that should be up soon-ish. In the meantime, enjoy this drabble, which takes place in 3x1.

Quick Info: Morgana is evil & working with Morgause. In 3x1, Merlin sneaks off and misses work to follow the sisters, who catch him and chain him up. He's stung by a serket, rescued by the Great Dragon, and returns to Camelot.

Day Off

"I could have been dying in a ditch- ever think about that?"

Arthur rolled his eyes at Merlin's back, irritated. He'd woken up in a bad mood, responsibility-induced stress having robbing him of a good night's sleep. The prince had spent a good portion of the night tossing and turning, sheets tangled around him and eyes aching from being held open in the dark. In the mirror beyond Merlin, Arthur could see his own reflection, eyes shadowed and hair disheveled.

The last thing the prince needed was Merlin's sass.

"Shut up, Merlin," he snapped. "I want a real answer. Why weren't you at work yesterday?"

Merlin spun around to face him, an insolent, rebellious gleam in his eyes. "I was dying in a ditch," he reiterated firmly. The servant turned back around before Arthur could form his frustration into the sharp reprimand Merlin clearly deserved. In fact, Merlin seemed frustrated with Arthur- Merlin's face had reappeared in the glass reflection of the mirror propped against the wardrobe, and he looked equally irritated as he set out breakfast. Oh, that's rich, Arthur fumed, getting meaner and madder by the second. How dare I make him do his job! How dare I want an excuse for him being an irritable, unreliable, selfish-

Arthur grabbed a particularly heavy goblet from his bedside table and lobbed it at Merlin's back, with more vigor than usual. It flew true and struck Merlin right between the shoulder blades.

Merlin's reaction stopped Arthur in his tracks. The plates he was holding clattered to the floor, and one hand flew around to his lower back, like an old man in pain. His other hand, shaking, flew out to grab the table for support.

But it was the look on his face that really made the prince's blood run cold. In the mirror, Merlin's refection didn't have the look of indignant exasperation that he'd been hoping for. Instead the servant looked like he was in pain. Real pain. Not that-will-bruise-you-prat unhappiness, but open-mouthed, gasping-for-air, wide-eyed agony.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked, jumping out of bed and hurrying to his servant.

Merlin didn't immediately answer, but took a few unsteady, deep breaths, trying to regain his composure. It was something Arthur had seen men do before; knights in battle who had been wounded sometimes got the same tight look about their eyes, had to take the same deep gasps for air before continuing. But they were knights.

"Merlin?" Arthur prompted again, real worry coloring his tone.

"You- why would you do that?" Merlin snapped, trying to bury his pain under uncharacteristic anger. "You didn't have to throw it so hard!"

"I didn't," Arthur said, a little helplessly. "I didn't."

Merlin softened. "Well," he scoffed, "I don't expect you to know how to interact with regular people, you being a knight and all." The attempt at humor would have been more effective if Merlin's face wasn't still drawn tight and pale.

"I don't understand," Arthur said quietly; this time not as a half-formed apology but in real confusion. He stepped back and looked at Merlin closely.

Merlin had automatically turned to face Arthur when he'd first approached, perhaps as an involuntary attempt at shielding his back. Likewise, his normally stooped posture was very straight, as if he was trying to keep any pressure off his shoulders.

"Merlin," Arthur said slowly. "Are you injured?"

"Yeah, people get hurt when you throw chunks of hard metal at them," Merlin quipped sarcastically.

"Let me see your back," Arthur ordered, reaching for the hem of Merlin's shirt. To the prince's amazement, the other man jerked out of reach, something like panic flashing behind his eyes.

"This really isn't necessary," Merlin offered quickly. "I'm fine!"

"Turn around, Merlin," Arthur snapped. "That's an order."

"I told Gaius I'd be back soon, he needs my help for-"

"Merlin!" Arthur's tone of voice left little room for arguing. Defeated, Merlin shuffled around so that his back was to Arthur's.

"Don't freak out," Merlin mumbled under his breath. Nothing, of course, could have been less reassuring to Arthur, or more likely to make him freak out.

Gently, Arthur took the hem of Merlin's shirt and hiked it up to the back of the man's skinny neck, so that his entire back was open to the cool air. Goosebumps followed the shirt upwards.

When Arthur saw Merlin's back, he almost had to sit down from shock. Right in the middle of the man's back, in an oblong shape that stretched up to his shoulder blades, was a hideous wound. It looked like he'd been stabbed, or stung, with a raised black lump in the middle and black veins wrapped and twisted throughout his back. The skin surrounding the wound was an angry red, inflamed and hot to the touch. Purple and blue bruises lashed across Merlin in almost perfectly horizontal rows; someone had tied him up, and none too kindly.

For a moment Arthur could only stare, and then he hissed an obscenity through his teeth, making Merlin recoil. The servant turned around and pulled down his shirt. Although he was facing the prince, he wouldn't meet his eye. Instead Merlin looked resolutely at Arthur's boots. The earlier look of panic had faded into reluctant acceptance- the lines about Merlin's eyes and mouth were set and pale.

"What happened?" Arthur chocked out. "You- that looked like- Merlin, why didn't you tell me you were hurt!"

Merlin didn't answer, but his gaze dipped lower to the floor. The man's hands were clenched tightly behind his back.

"You need to see Gaius," Arthur realized, feeling so overwhelmed he hardly knew where to start. This, at last, drew a reaction from Merlin.

"No!" He said quickly, head snapping up. "Gaius doesn't know."

"What?" Arthur echoed, anger bubbling up. "You didn't tell the physician? Of all the stupid-"

"He'll worry too much," Merlin interrupted, pleading. "It's healed Arthur, or healing. I got help, there's nothing more Gaius could do anyway."

"Who did you see for help?" Arthur asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing. Merlin's mouth compressed into a thin, white line, and he looked away, shuffling uncomfortably.

"Fine. If you won't tell me that, then tell me who hurt you," the prince demanded angrily. To his amazement, Merlin shook his head.

"You don't want to know," he said quietly.

"Yes, I do!"

"I just… I got stung. By a serket. Nobody else was involved," Merlin said finally. He looked tired, and sat down in one of the chairs heavily. Arthur at once felt acutely guilty for interrogating an injured man; and yet he couldn't image letting this just blow over.

"A serket," Arthur said, low. He could have guessed as much, now that he thought about it. He'd seen men who bore the same ugly wound. Horror trickled through him- those men never survived the night- but confusion followed quickly after. Merlin, wound aside, didn't look like those men. He wasn't in a sick bed, vomiting and sweaty with fever, or speaking in confusion blankly to no one. He didn't look like he'd been poisoned at all.

"How are you still alive?"

"I told you, I had help," Merlin replied, looking uneasy again. His leg jogged up and down rapidly under the table, a nervous tic of his.

"No physician can cure that poison," Arthur said finally, sinking into the chair opposite Merlin. "I know. I've lost too many men to it." He ran one hand over his eyes, wearily. "A sorcerer helped you."

"No, I-"

"Don't lie to me, Merlin, you're not any good at it," Arthur interrupted. Merlin fell silent, a look the prince couldn't read on his face. Arthur took this to mean he'd guessed correctly. Though the prince didn't say so, he felt relief flood him. It was involuntary, and entirely against what he'd been brought up to believe, but strong and present none the less. Merlin's life took priority, something Arthur knew but wouldn't dare say aloud. If he owed that safety to magic, then so be it.

"That still doesn't tell me how you got hurt," Arthur continued, raising one hand to stop the objections Merlin looked poised to make. "Don't try to tell me no one else was involved, Merlin. You didn't tie yourself up."

Saying the words made it more real. A vision of Merlin, restrained and alone with death closing in, flashed by in Arthur's mind. Red hot anger flooded him, which he fought back with great difficulty. Merlin didn't deserve his rage.

After a long pause, Merlin said slowly, "Morgause." Arthur's blood ran cold.

"She's back?" He echoed, horror struck. "Why on earth wouldn't you tell me that!"

"Didn't think you'd believe me," Merlin mumbled. He had the decency to look faintly guilty.

Arthur, for his part, felt shame flood him. What sort of friend was he?

"Go rest, Merlin. No-" he added, seeing Merlin open his mouth to protest- "I'm not going to let you work in the state you're in. You should be glad of the day off," he tried to joke, hollowly.

Merlin, for once, left obediently, leaving Arthur to grapple with his furious anger and shame. There was more to Merlin's story, he was sure, but he'd extract that later. He was deeply aware that he'd have to do better by Merlin, although having his neglect exposed in this way was painful. A new thought struck him them, horrible but undoubtedly true:

Gods above, he really was dying in a ditch.