He really was a girl's petticoat sometimes. Merlin silently acknowledged the insult Arthur threw at him every now and then, despite the oddity of such a statement. After all, he couldn't help but worry, any and every time there was likelihood of danger. But it wasn't for his own life, as the prince assumed.
It was for Arthur. (Read: Reckless idiot.)
So of course worry was on the forefront of his mind as it foggily registered what was happening around him. He wasn't in the dungeons, or Gaius's injured table, or even where he'd been knocked down by Sir Quite-stupid however long ago.
Merlin had been moved: to a huge pile of hay. He was propped against it, at least not uncomfortably, though the strong smell tickling his nose was probably what woke him. He sat up with a start, remembering how Arthur had been trying to fight the knight, and immediately flinched when the action had his whole torso catch on fire. Then, of course, did Merlin remember why exactly Arthur had been trying to fight in the first place.
"Your servant insulted my honor, my nobility, my dignity. You expect me to ignore such impertinence, not seek justice for it?"
"Please, Sir Kytstulped, see sense. Merlin . . . has been punished. You saw to that, clearly. If—"
"This Merlin has only had a taste of what's coming. I'll have his HEAD if I can, bagged and delivered—!"
"You won't touch another hair on it!"
Three different voices, not too far away. Probably right where he'd been beaten to a pulp it sounded like, around the corner where the door he'd made the escape for was. Merlin immediately recognized the last angry tone to be Arthur's (considering how often it'd been directed at him), and the second might have been Leon or another knight. The first one about his head in a bag . . . well, context clues made that quite plain.
"Sir Knight—gold, land, ranks, I'm sure Prince Arthur would gladly compensate you for letting this lie—" the first voice implored, Leon it sounded like, before Arthur indignantly interrupted.
"—I will do no such thing! You listen here, Sir Idiot, I will strip you of your rank if you so much as—"
"—Only one thing will satisfy me, I'm afraid, m'lord. Besides his head on a platter." Sir Quite-stupid's voice sounded strangely smug; as if he knew he would get what he wanted.
"What." Arthur's voice cut sharp as a sword-edge.
"Another duel. You and I, prince, but not only—this time the servant can join in on the action, with you."
Arthur barked a laugh, though Merlin could bet he currently found the idea as comical as Merlin did. "A duel. What could you possibly—?"
"Because I fancy it once more, I find. You two, against me. Or shall I go ask audience with the King . . . ?"
Merlin could hear the smile in his voice, feel the smugness radiating off the horrible man even from here as Arthur slowly answered, "No. No, you shall not. You will have your duel. In one week's time—"
"Tomorrow. First light, or we have no understanding."
"Tomorrow? But Merlin—"
"Is lucky to still be alive, if I had it my way. Will you deny the challenge?"
"No," Arthur said, like the sound had been gritted out through his teeth. "I accept."
The answering footsteps and tell-tale creak of the stable doors were all that followed.
Well, perfect. Merlin couldn't help but want to laugh at how quickly things had taken a turn for the painful.
When Arthur himself came round the bend he stopped in his tracks, looking at Merlin with wide eyes. His entire expression was one of worry, gaze sweeping over his servant as if more injuries could have been inflicted when he wasn't looking.
"You're awake then," he recovered after a moment, shoulders un-tensing as he approached. Merlin quickly made to sit up—and bit back a cry, grimacing as he remembered why exactly that wasn't a good idea.
"We should get him to Gaius," Leon said, right on his prince's heels. He gave Merlin a small, kind smile.
"Not—a good idea," Merlin gritted through his teeth, feeling every single battered inch of his injuries as he lay completely still. Even the movement of his lungs breathing in and out caused a sharp, needling pain in his chest. The idea of moving all the way to the physician's chambers seemed quite laughable in this condition.
"Nonsense. You can't very well sleep here tonight," Arthur jibed, grabbing him by the armpit and attempting to haul up his manservant.
Merlin was aware enough to know the sound he made very much resembled a wounded dog; he had little more capacity to think, however, as every bruise made itself known and something, a strange, sharp cutting feeling, slashed into his right side.
Arthur immediately dropped him like a hot brand, Merlin sinking mercifully back into the hay with a groan, and the prince looked dazedly shocked again. "Gaius," Leon said again, this time more urgent, and Arthur nodded dumbly.
The knight left for help, then, leaving Merlin gasping for even shallow breaths and Arthur watching him restlessly.
"I think I broke something," Merlin huffed through the pain.
"Probably," Arthur nodded, his jaw clenched. "Though it was Kytstulbet who did the breaking."
"That's his name? Kytstulbet?" Merlin said in disbelief, speaking between breaths. "How is anyone supposed to remember that?"
"I don't know," he replied quite sardonically, "they could start by not nicknaming him 'Sir Quite-stupid' and almost getting themselves killed."
Merlin gulped. "I'm sorry, Arthur."
"Don't apologize," he warned rather fiercely, stopping his pacing to glare at Merlin. "That scum still had no right. And I'll flatten him tomorrow for it; you just need to keep out of the way."
"Gladly." Merlin nodded, wondering how on earth he'd even manage being on his feet tomorrow. (Of course, magic; except no, not of course. This was a bit complicated.) "I'm sure Gaius knows of a good remedy, some pick-me-up I can take right before the match."
Arthur dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "If you've got a broken rib, which I'm sure you do, there's no 'pick-me-up' that could cover it. Honestly, have you been living the past 4 years under Gaius's roof or have I?"
"Technically we're all under the same roof," Merlin pointed out.
He crossed his arms, staring down at Merlin with a flat expression. "Better question, then: aren't injured supposed to be less annoying?"
Merlin laughed without thought, groaned at the immediate pain, and managed in wheezing breaths, "Guess . . . I'm, the exception to the rule . . . most of the time."
Arthur frowned down at him, and without explanation left the room. He came back running in little time, however, a much brighter expression on his face. "Leon and Gaius are coming, I can see them," he said, as if everything was all solved and settled now. Merlin harrumphed.
"And how am I supposed to get up? Or am I indeed sleeping in the stables tonight?" He raised an eyebrow. Gaius and Leon came back in just that moment, Gaius's face red from exertion.
"I came quick as I could, my boy," he huffed to Merlin, kneeling down next to him in the hay with his medicine bag. "Now what happened exactly?"
Arthur beat him to the punch. "Merlin made up an insulting song about Sir Kytstulbet, who heard it and proceeded to beat the shite out of him," he said matter-of-factly in that singular, prattish way of his. "When I came in he was kicking Merlin with a lot of force at his back, probably his front earlier. I'm guessing mostly rib damage and internal bruising."
Gaius's imperious eyebrow had climbed steadily higher and higher toward his receded hairline as he listened; now he faced back towards Merlin with it. "And is that so?" he asked Merlin quite sternly, looking somewhere between worried and exasperated.
"Pretty much," Merlin nodded and avoided any more eye contact, shifting uncomfortably and then wincing at the action. Gaius pulled up his shirt and examined the skin that was already darkening in reds and purples, poking at places that made him hiss.
"And so the knight has compromised Merlin's life with a duel," Arthur continued, this time in a mock cheerful voice that set Merlin's teeth on edge, "in which not only Sir Kytstulbet and I but Merlin will fight at dawn tomorrow, to satisfy his desire for retribution!"
Gaius stopped mid-poke. "Merlin will NOT be fighting in a duel tomorrow!" he yelled shrilly, outraged as Merlin's mock-uncle (though probably as a physician as well).
Leon's consoling voice was the one to answer. "But Gaius, you must understand, the knight would ask for Merlin's head otherwise," he explained, and the old man blinked in shock. "This is what we could compromise to stop that from happening. The King . . ."
"My father doesn't need to know about this," Arthur finished for him, jaw set.
"At least Merlin can be protected," Leon continued. "Prince Arthur will be the one truly fighting Sir Kytstulped, and he will win again like he has half a dozen times before. Right, sire?"
"Nothing to worry about, Gaius," Arthur agreed, standing with his shoulders back and one hand resting lazily on his sword-hilt. "My last fight with him was pathetically short, and the next will likely be even shorter at my guess. His skills have meant little to nothing ever since I found his weakness."
"And what of your weakness, sire?" Gaius asked slowly, frowning up at the prince.
The prince frowned back down at him, his eyes flickering to Merlin (remembering him ask the same question, Merlin presumed) before answering Gaius shortly.
"Nothing to worry about there either, physician. I have no weakness."
A/N: Thank you for your amazing response to the last chapter! Your enthusiasm is really appreciated. Hope you enjoyed the update :)
