A/N: well, hello there. Long time no see, huh?

This one's for ImAProundMudBlood. I'm a little nervous about how this turned out. It has been almost written and rewritten a number of times, and there is one 27-page, 11,600-word version that was too long, too tedious and will never, ever be finished. So this is the completely different and thankfully finished result of that. I hope you like it, ImAProundMudBlood.

More prompts are always welcome and though I can't promise how quickly I'll get them done, I will try to do them all as long as they are reasonable requests. My other multi-chapter fic, 'A Master of Two Servants', will hopefully be finished soon, so I will be slightly less busy writing-wise. Life-wise, however, most likely not… :)

Title: Broken Arrow

Author: FlYiNgPiGlEtS

Summary: prompt from ImAProudMudBlood – Merlin and Arthur go hunting, and Merlin is shot.

Ratings: T

Characters: Arthur, Merlin and Gaius.

Pairings: no slash.

Spoilers: spoilers up to the series 4 finale. Set between series 4 and 5.

Warnings: injury.

Disclaimer: unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

VIII: Broken Arrow

Arthur had never really been all that good with a bow and arrow.

With a crossbow, he could shoot just about anything. Give him a sword, and he could run through even the most skilled of enemies. A spear was yet another weapon he'd mastered, and he'd been throwing knives before his father had even let him near a real sword.

But when it came to a bow and arrow, he could never hit the bull's eye.

Merlin, of course, teased him endlessly about it. The knights had started joining in as well, to the point where Arthur couldn't so much as mention archery without some sort of jest. At least his servant had the decency to look somewhat sympathetic. Gwaine was not at all sorry.

One day at training, when they had been using the bows he'd had made only weeks ago, he missed the target rather embarrassingly and during the weeks that followed, was the subject of much mocking from his knights. Even the council members had heard about it and he couldn't go to a single meeting without some mention of it, nor venture into the lower town without a jeer from one of his own citizens.

Arthur sulked. Merlin spent his days looking appropriately guilty, and didn't protest to taking the blame for starting the whole thing. Thankfully, the teasing was starting to dwindle, and training sessions, council meetings and any other trip Arthur took outside of his chambers was becoming slightly less tedious.

That was until a visit from a lord from the kingdom of Rheged. The lord bought not wine, or another common gift, but a bow accompanied by a large carrier full of arrows that, he claimed, were the best any hunter could hope for. Although the knights had snickered, the meeting seemed to pass with little incident or further mention of his poor aim, mostly thanks to Gwen's composure. Then, before his departure, the lord had made a flippant comment, with a grin condescending enough to give even Arthur a run for his money, about the quality of the arrows and how hopefully, Arthur would find him aim much improved when using them.

The knights had laughed for days.

Something had to be done. Arthur decided he would prove them all wrong, and organized a hunting trip to prove that he could use a bow and arrow as well as any other knight. He bought the new arrows with him; they were well crafted, after all.

Merlin, unlike the knights, did not think so highly of the arrows. He had been forced to carry them for the hunt. "Why are these so heavy?"

Arthur sighed irately. "Because there are so damned many of them."

"Is that why you keep shooting them at trees?"

"I'm practicing, you idiot."

"Yes, well, you certainly need it."

Arthur, with a grunt of frustration, fired another one of the arrows at a nearby tree. Birds exploded from the branches, squawking in alarm as they propelled themselves towards the cloudless sky. "Shut up, Merlin."

"What did that tree ever do to you?" Merlin cried.

"I said, shut up!"

"Sorry," Merlin mumbled. They lapsed into silence for a moment. Then, "Can we go back now? Gwaine said–"

"Do I look like I give a damn what Gwaine said, Merlin?"

"Wow," the servant whistled. "They really got to you, didn't they?"

For a moment, Arthur stood straight and still. He took one deep breath, then another, and turned to face Merlin with a look of poorly concealed fury. "If you don't shut up, I will–"

There was a fluttering in a nearby bush. Both froze, peering at the shrubbery in question. In a mad rush of wide eyes and flailing limbs, a deer burst from the undergrowth and hammered in the opposite direction. Arthur paused to indicate that Merlin should circle around and cut it off, before setting off in a run, bow in one hand and arrow in the other.

The deer was already injured, limping wildly through the forest at a speed even Merlin could keep up with. Arthur had almost caught up with it when they reached a clearing and, with the last of its strength, the deer set off at a renewed speed. Arthur clambered to a stop, fumbled with his arrow and raised his bow. There was no point continuing with the chase.

"Merlin!" he yelled. "Now!"

Merlin, looking as reluctant as he did guilty, leapt out of the trees and startled the deer to a stop. It galloped uselessly around the clearing, disoriented and trapped. Arthur sighed at the tortured look on his servant's face and took aim. Pulling the arrow back, he–

"Wait!" Merlin shouted, as though believing he could convince Arthur to let the thing go.

But the shout only served to distract Arthur, and he fumbled with the arrow, letting it go at what he knew was the wrong angle. Still, it flew a considerable distance.

"Let it–ow!"

Arthur was sure he heard the arrow meet flesh. There was a thump, a loud cry of pain and then the distressed yell of, "You prat!"

The deer was looking at him with wide eyes. Seeming to sense that it was safe, it galloped lamely away. Oh, no, Arthur thought, as he watched it go. He hadn't hit his target. No, he'd hit Merlin.

When Arthur turned to where his servant had been, he found Merlin sitting on the forest floor, shaking hand hovering over where an arrows was embedded deeply in the side of his knee. Arthur, with one last look at the godforsaken thing, threw his new bow away in disgust and thundered to Merlin's side.

"You idiot!" Arthur snapped, kneeling beside his servant.

"You idiot!" Merlin snapped right back, before Arthur could think up another insult. "You shot me!"

Arthur fumbled with his shirt and begun tearing it into strips, shouting as he did, "It was your fault!"

"My fault? How was it my fault?!"

"You were in my way!" Arthur hissed, pressing the fabric around the wound, where blood was already beginning to stain Merlin's breeches.

"You missed!"

"I did not miss. You were distracting me!"

"With what?"

"Your idiocy!"

Merlin didn't reply straight away. He stared at Arthur as though trying to work out if he was born that stupid. Then, quietly, like some petulant child denied of his favorite desert, muttered, "I can't believe you shot me."

"Stop complaining. It's just a scratch. Honestly, Merlin, you are such a girl's petticoat."

"At least I'm not an idiot," Merlin replied, still sulking. He flinched slightly when Arthur poked at his thigh, but otherwise made no indication that he was in pain.

"That you most certainly are; a girl's petticoat and an idiot!" Arthur jabbed his thigh again, closer to the wound. Merlin barely reacted. "See, you're not even in pain!"

"That's because I can hardly feel my leg, dollophead!" Merlin yelled, his panic genuine this time, no longer fueled by his shock at having been shot by his own master. "And do you really think poking me is going to help?"

That shut Arthur up. "Oh."

Merlin quieted and looked away, studying a nearby log with intense interest. Arthur sat back on his heels, observing the servant, and then stood. Merlin looked questioningly up at him.

"Come on." Arthur held out his hand. Merlin only glared at it. "Come on. I told you; it's just a scratch."

"I can't–"

"I know," Arthur cut in, more gently. "But it's probably just the shock. You'll be fine, Merlin. Now come on. I thought you wanted to get back to Camelot. Perhaps you can even convince Gwaine to do your chores for you."

With Merlin leaning heavily on Arthur, they set off back Camelot.

There was many a raised eyebrow when Arthur turned up in the courtyard supporting his limping servant, who had an arrow with recognizable Camelot fletching stuck fast into his knee. Gaius gave what was perhaps the most formidable look of inquisition the struggling pair got, but he said nothing as Arthur deposited Merlin on the patient bed and proceeded to hover awkwardly around the room as the physician looked over the injury.

Tired of Arthur's lingering and questioning, Gaius put his presence to good use when he went to remove the arrow. It was a surprisingly slow process and if the face Merlin was pulling could be taken as any indication, Arthur was sure he certainly felt the injury now.

Soon enough, Merlin's knee was wrapped in a large bundle of bandages and he was positioned comfortably by the fire, with a bowl of stew Arthur had bought up from the kitchens. Gaius bustled around making a pain-suppressing potion and Arthur sat with Merlin, own bowl of stew positioned carefully in his lap, while he wondered if he should apologize and, realizing he really, probably should, exactly how he to go about doing it.

"I know I said it was," Merlin spoke before Arthur got the chance. "But it wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have–"

Arthur gave a frustrated sigh. "Merlin, are you completely incapable of any sense? I may have blamed you in the woods–"

"Blamed me?" Merlin blurted and although he seemed to realize his mistake, or at least that starting the argument again wouldn't help, he couldn't bring himself to stop. The last few months finally seemed to be catching up with them both. "You shouted like I'd committed a crime."

"Can't you shut up for one minute? I'm trying to–well, I don't know what I'm trying to do," Arthur huffed, something snapping inside of him too. "I don't know why I'm bothering."

Merlin narrowed his eyes. "Neither do I."

"I'll just finish my dinner with Guinevere then," Arthur snapped, placing his bowl on the table and waiting for Merlin to say something. When he didn't, he added, "Come back to work when you can walk. Stay out of my way until then."

"Gladly," Merlin muttered.

Glaring, Arthur retreated from the room. Gaius sighed and shot Merlin a reprimanding look, but said nothing.

Although it was painful, and required a crutch, Merlin's knee seemed to cause very few problems after the first week of limping and cursing Arthur's bad aim. The incident was almost forgotten – though Arthur was sure he was never going to live it down, no matter how many times he insisted he hadn't done it deliberately.

It was on one of the patrols Arthur liked to take alone (but with Merlin, of course) not a few weeks later, in the pretense that he wanted to search for Morgana himself, that the injury came back to haunt them both. Mostly, these kinds of trips were to give Arthur a break from his duties as King and went smoothly enough, even if they never came much closer to finding Morgana.

This time, however, things would go so smoothly.

They didn't know what kingdom the mercenaries belonged to, if they belonged to one at all. If they were working for anyone, noble or not, there was no indication of it. Surrounding and storming their camp, they came from nowhere, with no warning, and took both Arthur and Merlin by surprise.

Arthur pulled Merlin to his feet and they both ran, knowing there were too many men, that they would have better chance of escaping with their lives if they could get far away fast. They hadn't gotten far when Merlin stumbled and fell, and didn't get back up.

"Merlin, what are you doing?" Arthur demanded, running back to where Merlin was struggling to sit up and glancing around in concern when he heard the mercenaries shouting and stomping. "Get up! We have to go."

"You go. I'll just–I'll just stay here," Merlin wheezed, sounding as though he was in pain.

Arthur put his hand around Merlin's upper arm and tried to drag him to his feet. "What's the matter with you?"

It was then that Arthur spotted it. Merlin's wound was healing well, but the stitches had yet to be removed and if the bloodstain spreading across the servant's breeches was anything to go by, they had been ripped open during the attack.

"My knee," Merlin gasped out. "The stitches must have come undone."

Arthur was still looking desperately around the woods, keeping an eye out for the mercenaries. "Can you walk?"

Merlin shook his head, guilty and pained.

"You're going to have to," Arthur decided, pulling Merlin up and ignoring his cries of pain. "Just a little further, until we find shelter, and then you can rest."

"Arthur–"

Arthur dragged them onwards, through the forest, having to all but carry Merlin. The pain of his stiches pulling and moving seemed to keep him alert and awake, even if he was disoriented and dizzy from pain. The mercenaries followed, faster and stronger than the usual band of men looking for money. They were also far better equipped than expected – whether that meant they were good at their jobs, and had killed enough to take worthy spoils and been paid a great deal for their efforts, or had simply come across the weapons by chance, Arthur did not want to find out.

Eventually, they could run no further, no matter how much distance Arthur wanted to put between them and the mercenaries. Finding a small alcove beneath the twisted roots of a tree overhanging a natural, muddy shelf, right in the middle of a tall slope that they struggled not to fall down, Arthur dragged himself and Merlin inside, pressing against the nature-made wall to keep as out of the way as possible.

"Merlin," Arthur hissed, nudging Merlin's uninjured knee with his own. "Merlin."

Merlin blinked at him, eyes hazy with pain. "What?"

"Good, you're awake," Arthur said, almost to himself. "Now I need you to listen to me. If the mercenaries find us, you are going to take my sword and stay here. I will run in the opposite direction, to direct their attention away from you. Then–"

Merlin shook his head. "No. No, Arthur, you take the sword and run. Leave me here. I'll be–"

"Merlin, I am not leaving you here."

"I can hardly walk. You'll have a better chance of getting back to Camelot without me."

"Do you think I care about getting myself back to Camelot?" Arthur demanded, more harshly than intended. "Do you know how many people will be out for my head if I return without you? I won't–I can't leave you here, Merlin, not knowing its my fault, not knowing what those men will do to you."

"Arthur, they will know who you are, and it'll be far worse for you if you stay. I don't want to see you hurt."

"And I don't want to see you hurt."

They both stared at each other, coming to something of a stalemate, knowing that if they said anything more, it would be expressions of caring and, dare they say it, friendship. That was something neither were entirely sure how to voice anymore, not with things being somewhat strained between them recently, with Arthur retaking his position as king and dealing with the fallout of Guinevere becoming queen, as well as fixing what Lancelot had broken between them, along with coping with Morgana's latest attack and Agravaine's betrayal. Merlin was just as busy trying desperately to keep up with the extra work it meant for them both, while making sure Arthur and Gwen weren't overwhelmed by it all, not to mention protecting Camelot, helping Gwaine and Elyan adapt back to ordinary life after their imprisonment, assisting Gaius with patients, medicines and herbs, and – well, the list was a long one, and with the injury he'd acquired thanks to Arthur's misaimed shot was not helping a great deal with getting all these things done. The past few months had been stressful on them both and yes, they could admit it, they had taken it out on each other.

He could see it in Arthur's eyes too, the sudden realization of just how badly they'd been treating each other recently, with the teasing, the insults, Arthur throwing things and on one memorable occasion, excluding him from the Round Table in the spur of the moment, something, however, he had yet to remedy, and Merlin ignoring him even when he knew that his master, his friend, needed him now more than ever, not just for protection, but for support in the face of one of his hardest trials. And just as Merlin went to speak, to try and fix it all, Arthur beat him to it.

"I know I have done very little to–express it, in the past, but…" Arthur took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for what he was about to say. "You are a friend, Merlin, a good friend, and as I said in the caves, I–I couldn't bear to lose you."

"I thought you were joking," Merlin said with an amused smirk.

"I'm offended that you think so little of me, Merlin," Arthur replied, with a false look of insult.

"Well, can you blame me?" Merlin barely concealed his laughter. Arthur grunted in mild indignation and nudged him again with his knee, although he laughed too. Sometime later, Merlin sobered, and Arthur was taken back by the rare truth in his eyes. "You're a very good friend too, Arthur… even with your bad aim."

Arthur tipped his head back against the slope behind him and laughed again, more freely than he had in months. "I am sorry about that. About all of this. We'd probably be halfway back to Camelot by now if I knew how to use a bow."

Merlin shrugged, grinning. "Well, it certainly made the trip more exciting."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur admitted, guiltily, "It has been a little boring around Camelot recently."

"Makes for a change," Merlin falsely agreed, while silently thinking, you have no idea how not boring it's been.

"Things have changed." Arthur looked suddenly somber, letting out a long, tired sigh. "For the better, I hope, but… promise me that, whatever happens, we won't change; you won't change."

"I promise, sire."

"Arthur," Arthur corrected. "When have you ever used titles?"

Merlin chuckled. "This almost feels like old times. Just another quest gone wrong."

"I suppose it does. We always made it out, though, no matter how bad things got. And we will this time."

With a wide grin, Merlin bowed his head in agreement. "Like always."

Pulling his bow from where it rested beside him, Arthur did his best to both ignore Merlin's look of questioning and not alert the servant to the fact that they had been spotted while he leveled his arrow and aimed. Letting it go, this time at the right angle, he hit one of the mercenaries exactly where he'd intended.

"You've been practicing," Merlin noted in surprise.

He struck another two mercenaries down before replying. "Turns out I'm a much faster learner when I have an incentive."

"And what was the incentive?"

"Proving Gwaine wrong; my bad aim won't be the death of us all." Arthur grinned dangerously, drawing his sword. "Now, to put an end to this rather unexpected adventure."

"You know, I think your sense of adventure's what'll be the death of us all."

Shaking his head in amusement, Arthur thumped him on the shoulder before standing. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Don't doubt it."

"You just stay here and hide," Arthur called over his shoulder, sword raised as he rushed down the slope and into the fray. "Just like old times!"

Laughed, Merlin shouted back, "Just like old times!"

And it was just like old times; Merlin saved the day with his magic and Arthur got all the credit when they returned home. But Merlin was glad for the normality of it all, because things had changed and would continue to, but he knew now, better than ever, that it would all be worth it, and he and Arthur were better for letting each other know how they both felt.

And when Gwaine joked that Arthur had shot Merlin deliberately, Merlin could safely say that he hadn't.

Well, at least he hoped he hadn't.

Arthur's aim had improved rather suddenly.

A/N: I missed the whole Arthur and Merlin going on a quest thing in series 5. Although I love the knights, episodes like The Labyrinth of Gedref and The Last Dragonlord were great and always my favorite, and I missed it being just them. Plus, even Arthur and Merlin must get sick of each other sometimes, and Arthur totally meant what he said in 'The Sword in the Stone' so this is my sort-of answer to that.

Reviews make my day :)