The horse's left hoof swished passed them and splintered into the boards. The right smashed into Merlin's frail chest with such force that both boys were thrown back. Deep beneath Camelot, the dragon roared out his disbelief.
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Merlin's back crashed into Arthur as if he'd been flung from a canon. Arthur's head connected smartly with the boards behind them. In an instant they'd slid down the rough planks into a heap on the straw. Arthur had managed to get one arm around Merlin's shoulders and slow their descent.
For a moment Arthur was sure they were both to be trampled. Hooves flashed and stamped, they were both struck and grazed. Clumsily, the prince managed to pull himself and Merlin off to the side, throwing himself over Merlin's head, trying to shield him from the frightened animal.
He figured they were likely at the end. That would certainly put a crimp in the tournament.
With senses exquisitely tuned time seemed to slow and he was assaulted with shards of reality …screaming horse, shouting men, smashing hooves, feet in leather riding boots, blood on the straw, the crack of a whip, the smell of fear and sweat and dung…he felt Merlin move beneath him.
In seconds the grooms had descended on the stall and the beast was out, still rearing and neighing.
"Sire!" the head groom cried out and ran into the tiny space. His blood had run cold at the thought that the prince may have been badly injured—or worse! The king would quite literally have his head!
Arthur blinked hard; trying to clear his vision and his mind, the room swam around him, ears ringing. Wincing, he touched his scalp and came away with a bit of blood. Arthur opened his mouth to speak but found he had no air. After a painful gasp he waved the groom off "Gaius" he croaked. His gaze tore back to Merlin "get Gaius!"
Merlin was lying on his back in the straw, eyes open and staring up at the ceiling, arms and legs askew.
"Merlin!" Arthur's hands began roving over the boy "Merlin are you alright? Can you hear me? Merlin!"
Nothing.
Arthur positioned himself in Merlin's line of sight "Look at me!" Arthur commanded, his voice shaking with unaccustomed fear.
As Arthur watched, blood seeped from Merlin's parted lips trailing down his cheek like an ugly leech. Arthur immediately hated it, hated that trail of blood. He wiped it away roughly with the ball of his thumb. No sooner had he drawn his hand over the offending stain then it reappeared. No! Merlin's life blood continued to ooze forth.
Arthur had no idea what to do "Where's Gaius!!!?" he yelled at the men watching uncomfortably from the aisle, Arthur's hands never leaving Merlin completely.
To Arthur's horror Merlin started twitching slowly, his eyes still focused somewhere overhead. Suddenly, he convulsed—head back and Adam's apple standing out in sharp relief, blood bubbling forth from his mouth and nose. Once, twice. Arthur kneeled aghast, shaking his head, too stunned to act.
The head groom was back and ran part way into the stall "He's drowning sire!"
This broke Arthur's trance "Merlin!" his voice caught—impossibly positioned between a yell and a whisper. Arthur grabbed his servant up without another thought. Confused, afraid, and concussed, Arthur didn't even notice when he began yelling his friend's name over and over, louder each time.
Arthur tried to support Merlin upright, though he was limp as a wet rag. Merlin twitched and gained a bit of tone, some air had made it into his lungs. With that bit of breath came the most horrific sounds Arthur had ever heard. They would surely follow him to the grave. Thick, gurgling chokes. Like drowning a man in mud.
Gaius rounded the corner as fast as he could move. He had begun running towards the stables as soon as he heard the dragon—he might not have much magic but he had enough to hear the dragon's rage and despair and to know what it meant. Half way to the stables his fear was confirmed by the sight of a knight running to get him. Before he'd even made it to the stables, Gaius heard the prince's pained yells.
Gaius quickly absorbed the scene before him. A tableau of agonies. Merlin lay twitching in Arthur's arms, his eyes open, glazed. Sightless. The side of his forehead resting on Arthur's crimson-soaked breast. Blood was running down Merlin's chin, between the boys, and spattering them with each half-breath that choked out. Arthur's face could have been etched from stone, frozen in horror.
Arthur hadn't looked up, the groom spoke "The prince and his man were trampled. I think Merlin's taken the worst of it…"
Gaius stopped listening as he dropped to his knees in front of the boys. Merlin was in grave peril. One or both lungs had been badly damaged, likely by broken ribs. In a culture ruled by horseflesh, Gaius had seen hundreds of trampling victims.
"This way! Tilt him this way!" Arthur immediately obeyed; as Gaius guided Merlin's head to the side, Arthur half-rolled him in his arms. Blood poured from Merlin's mouth. Arthur shut his eyes, stomach clenching, and swallowed hard as the hot blood ran from wrist to elbow. Merlin gave two more great twitches, lungs spasming and the blood slowed back to a trickle.
Finally, Merlin blinked. He coughed pitifully before moaning, his breath catching on agony like a rusted nail. He tensed as if to draw himself into a ball then suddenly went limp, dangling from Arthur's arms, overcome by pain and shock.
"Merlin?!" Arthur's frantic eyes met Gaius' and what the prince saw there undid him. Gaius hadn't bothered to hide his silent tears. "No!" Arthur's whisper was harsh and pained. He pulled Merlin back towards himself, into a gentle embrace; planting his chin on top Merlin's head. His mind ghosted over a though…why had he never embraced his friend before?
Arthur's face crumpled for a moment, then straightened "No. Absolutely not! You must save him…"
Gaius forcibly pulled himself together "You there! Guards! Bring that board for a stretcher!"
Gaius and Arthur gently positioned Merlin, on his least injured side, onto the board. Three guards rose as one and bore Merlin off to the physician's chambers. Arthur's eyes lingered on the soles of Merlin's shoes as he disappeared from sight.
Arthur was suddenly freezing, he felt empty—bereft—without Merlin's small, warm presence in his arms. All the things that seemed so important over the last days were suddenly meaningless. His clothing clung, wet and cold.
Gaius made as if to turn back, realizing he had not yet tended to the prince's injuries. His head was bleeding at the very least and bruises were forming on his forearms. Arthur waved him off. "Go. Go with Merlin." Gaius left Arthur with a kind look.
As Arthur tried to stand, thoughts rushed at him…he'd been so damn cruel to Merlin—mean, flippant, entitled, not one ounce of appreciation or kindness. Again. For no good reason. "Liar!" Arthur whispered angrily to himself. He knew the reason. He had no idea, not one iota, how to show affection. In his heart of hearts, Arthur treasured his most-endearingly-imperfect Merlin.
Merlin. Merlin had saved him. Panic overtook Arthur, shoving sadness aside for the moment. Merlin had just stepped right out in front of a kicking horse. On bloody purpose.
Merlin couldn't die! It was unthinkable, they were meant to be together damn it all. The two of them, slowly turning to wizened old men. Merlin had become a fixture in all of Arthur's imaginings of the future.
But he was going to die. The look in Gaius' eyes had been unmistakable. Arthur closed his eyes, lids shuddering against bitter tears, holding them back. His head spun with an image of Merlin, chest heaving and convulsing, drowning in blood. Arthur forcibly opened his eyes; blood was everywhere, pooled on the floor, spattered on the wall, soaking his shirt and breeches. He reached out a hand to push himself up and it slipped, smearing cold blood across the floor. Arthur gagged. He punched the floor once, twice, three times. Four times. Barely registering the pain, mixing his own blood with Merlin's, his eyes welled with tears and he shook his head to clear them.
Suddenly, Arthur shot up onto his hands and knees. Retching turned to barking sobs, and then he was vomiting, hacking, gasping. Crying.
Gods forbid. Princes don't go to pieces over a dying servant and a knock on the head.
Arthur knew he must have looked quite a sight as he sank back onto his haunches, haunted eyes, choking on bitter grief, covered in blood and clutching a possibly-broken hand to his chest. He shook his head at a servant who'd come running at the new sounds emanating from the stall. The concerned and fearful look in the man's eyes filled Arthur with guilt. One last sob couldn't be held back and Arthur tried to disguise it as a cough. For the other or himself he didn't know. He roughly rubbed the evidence of his weakness from his eyes and nose then heaved himself to unsteady feet. After swaying for a moment, Arthur spat into the straw and made his way out of the stables.
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