#3.30am

Launching himself over the fallen tree, Merlin felt the man’s hand on his shoulder again, before it gripped tight into his shirt. Together they leapt up and over the large trunk. The hand in his shirt pulled him down the other side, and they ducked against the tree, out of the creature’s sight.

It screeched again as it soared over the log, its wings flapping. It flew over them – either not seeing them, or just deciding they weren’t worth it – and soared up into the sky with a few beats of its powerful wings. Merlin craned his neck to follow its flight, to make sure it wasn’t turning around for an attack from a different angle.

When it appeared it wasn’t, he sank back against the tree trunk.

“It’s gone,” he panted, slightly disbelievingly. He looked over at the other man, his gaze flickering over the stunningly handsome face and the low, loosely-laced shirt on the man’s heaving chest. He was a very attractive man. And incredibly brave too. “You saved my life,” slipped from his mouth as he gazed at his rescuer.

The man turned to him, his dark brown eyes scanning Merlin quickly, as if he was checking him for injuries, before flicking up to meet his eyes.

“I’m Merlin.” He held his hand out, and the man reached to grasp it firmly.

“Lancelot,” he supplied. Then his hand slid out of Merlin’s and his head lolled back against the tree trunk behind them. He let out a groan and his eyes rolled and closed.

Concern soared through Merlin’s chest. He leant closer to Lancelot. Lancelot’s other hand fell from his side, revealing a large, rapidly growing bloodstain on his pale blue shirt.

“Oh no…” Scrabbling up onto his knees, Merlin leant over Lancelot, gently tapping his face.

He just groaned, his eyelids fluttering but not opening. Merlin gently slid his fingers underneath the sword belt around Lancelot’s waist, his fingers plucking the leather out of the buckle and unfastening it. He rolled the hem of his shirt up to see the wound. It wasn’t quite as bad as Merlin had feared; a relatively shallow slash just under his ribs. But the edges of the wound looked a little grimy and raw. The creature’s talons clearly weren’t the cleanest.

Wishing he had a waterskin with him to at least try and clean the wound, he carefully brushed away a few grains of dirt from the skin around it. He tried not to notice how tanned and soft Lancelot’s skin was, instead focussing on finding a way to stop the bleeding. If only he’d put his neckerchief on this morning, he’d have a useful makeshift bandage.

Then he remembered his mushroom collecting basket; there was a small cloth in there. He’d dropped it when the horrible creature had attacked him, he could quickly run and fetch it. He was loathe to leave Lancelot alone, even for a minute, but it was either that or take his own shirt off to use and he didn’t think that would be quite the best option.

Scanning the surrounding trees, and the sky, quickly to be sure the beast was nowhere in sight, he pulled himself up to his feet with the fallen log. He climbed over it and ran as fast as could to where his basket was tipped on its side, round little mushrooms strewn out the top. He paused to scoop as many as he could back into the basket – he didn’t fancy having to come out here again if he didn’t fetch enough for Gaius. Almost tripping over on his own feet again, he sprinted back to the fallen tree, Lancelot still slumped against the side of it exactly where he had left him.

Unceremoniously, he dumped the basket, fishing the cloth out of it. He gave it a good shake, and folded it into a careful square.

“I’m sorry, this will probably hurt,” he said. Just because Lancelot was unconscious didn’t mean Merlin wouldn’t talk to him.

He lifted the light shirt again, chewing his lip, then placed the folded cloth onto the wound and pressed firmly. He wasn’t sure how hard to press, he knew pressure was good, but he didn’t want to cause any extra pain. He really needed to pay a bit more attention to Gaius when he was trying to teach him things.

His fingers flexed over the wad of cloth. His thumb brushing just beside it. It took a lot of self control to not let his hand run over the enticing plane of Lancelot’s stomach. His chest was rising and falling heavily, his breathing a little laboured and Merlin frowned.

“Lancelot? Lancelot can you hear me? Can you wake up?” he tried, the hand that was not keeping pressure on the wound lifting to tap Lancelot’s face, his fingertips resting just a little longer than necessary on his lightly stubbled jaw.

Lancelot groaned again, but showed no other indication that he might wake up.

What really bothered Merlin though, was the heat he could feel in Lancelot’s cheeks. He laid his palm on his forehead, flinching back at the heat of it. Was it normal for a fever to set in so soon after an injury? Maybe the beast’s talons were poisoned? Perhaps it was just the pain and shock.

Either way, Merlin wasn’t happy about it. He’d feel much better if Gaius could see Lancelot. He made up his mind; Lancelot was coming back to Camelot with him. There was no way Merlin wasn’t going to repay him for saving his life.

He peeked under the improvised bandage, relieved to see the bleeding had stopped. After dabbing at it once more, he took the cloth away and unfolded it, refolding it so there was a relatively unbloodied patch. Putting it over the injury, he held it in place while he pulled Lancelot’s shirt down to cover it, then very gently wound his belt back around him, using it to secure the bandage and keep it where it should be.

“There,” he said, patting Lancelot’s chest reassuringly. “We’ll get you to Gaius and he’ll fix you up.”

Another groan and Lancelot’s eyelids flickered, revealing just a tiny slither of deepest brown irises that slid towards Merlin.

“Thank… you,” he murmured, the words barely forming more then a breath, a wince etched into his face.

“You’re welcome. It’s alright,” Merlin soothed, patting his shoulder and trying to catch eye contact before Lancelot’s eyes slid closed.

But Lancelot drooped again, his chin falling to his chest, his dark hair flopping on his forehead. Merlin tenderly pushed it back, catching himself before he started running his hands through the lovely waves of dark hair.

“Right, let’s get you back then.”

He undid his own belt, looping the handles of his mushroom basket over the belt before refastening it, the basket now bumping against his hip. Then stood up, chewing his lip as he surveyed Lancelot. He wasn’t strong enough to lift him… he’d have to use magic to carry him, and just hope he stayed unconscious and wouldn’t see it.

He hooked his hands under Lancelot’s arms and pulled him up, muttering a spell as his lifted him onto his shoulder. Settling his magically reduced weight across his back, he started back in the direction of Camelot.