#protective lancelot

Lancelot skips towards the center of the cage and takes in his opponent. The guy is a mountain of a man, and the bloodthirsty crowd goes wild around him. If he wins against that, it's going to be a whole bag of gold, and if not — well, Lancelot wouldn't need to worry about it then.

He throws a last look towards their host to gauge his mood and stops short.

On Hengist's right hand, pale against the opulence of furs and skulls, sits someone who should have been safe and happy in Camelot. Their gazes meet over the rambunctious crowd, and it's the start of the battle that makes Lancelot avert his own, but something vile and shameful spikes his veins as the blue eyes of Hengist's guest keep following him.

But soon, those blue eyes have to leave his mind, for he's moving around the cage, slashing and parrying and pushing — all the usual moves of his favorite dance. He doesn't mind the pain, the blood, the grime; they're all a package deal to what he was born to do, and a twisted sense of belonging fills him while he fights to kill amidst the lowlives' gazes, all while blue eyes still pierce him from high above.

The finishing moves of his dance bring his sword to the man's throat, and he knows what he must do; he has done it before. The sword inches further, grazing the neck in a death's chaste kiss, but the weight on his shoulders makes him look up and meet Merlin's eyes over the hungry crowd that urges him to kill, kill, kill.

Lancelot stays his blade.

It is against the rules of the cage, and maybe Lancelot has allowed this sick place to permeate him, grime and blood long stuck under his fingernails, but he can't fall even lower in Merlin's eyes. He sheathes the sword and doesn't look at the terrified eyes of his opponent, and he leaves the cage behind him. With the hungry crowd booing at him for his bloodless victory, his feet bring him to Hengist.

He tries to look at Merlin only briefly, to not show his interest in front of their host, but what he sees leaves him paralyzed, cold sweat running down the temples and heart beating frantically, like a rabbit in a snare.

What first gets his attention is a bruise, blooming red on Merlin's cheek, right under his eyes, bright with disbelief. He can't look at them, though, as his gaze falls lower to the neck where Merlin's usual neckerchief is missing, some bulky, ugly collar clasped tight around his throat.

While his eyes are fixed on Merlin, he misses Hengist's face going ripe red with anger and him giving a sign to his men.

At once, two thugs step forward, grip him by the shoulders, and push him to his knees. His sword at the hip clinks uselessly against the stone floor. He can't run, there are too many people, and like vultures, they would eat him before he even reaches the cages. He can't run and leave Merlin here.

He stays still on his knees as Hengist spits at him. "There's no mercy in this place, you stupid rat." And again, the hungry crowd shouts and urges for the kill, kill, kill. "You should have known better. I will always have some blood, one way or another."

Hengist gives another signal, and Lancelot hears a thug drawing a dagger, still dirty with another's caked blood, and swallows his fear at the kiss of the blade on his throat. He doesn't want to leave Merlin here alone, but he can't run.

"Wait!" Merlin shouts. His voice is hoarse and weak, and his eyes seem feverish. "Don't kill him. Please."

"Would you look at that," Hengist laughs, and bile reaches Lancelot's throat as the lord's attention shifts to his prisoner. "My pet sorcerer took a liking to you."

Sorcerer. Is it good that Hengist knows about it, would see him as valuable enough to spare? Is it bad? Lancelot doesn't know.

"What's it about, hm?" Hengist watches them. "Is it the way he fought? Would you ask the same for any of my men, pet?"

"No," Merlin answers bluntly, defiance still shining through his features despite everything.

"Then why?" Hengist indulges him, a twisted smile stuck on his face.

"He has a kind heart. It should not be wasted."

Lancelot looks down, shame piercing that same heart. What value is it if he's here of his own volition, fighting and killing for money? Has Merlin really looked at it, or does he still remember that naive lad from when he first came to Camelot?

"A kind heart?" Hengist laughs with abandon, and his thugs echo him. "And what do you think it's worth? A gold piece a pound? A silver? I'll tell you what it's worth — nothing."

Hengist raises his hand to give another signal for his execution, but Merlin grabs at it. "Don't!" The shackles on his wrists clink with an ugly sound, and Lancelot despairs at the sight. "Don't hurt him. I'll do what you want, just don't hurt him."

Hengist seethes at the touch and grips Merlin's shackled hand with his own, hard, squeezing it until he cries out. Hengist doesn't release him then. He stands up and, his meaty palm still on Merlin, strides purposefully towards the cages, Merlin stumbling after him.

They stop at the entrance, the crowd going silent with curiosity around them. The thugs turn Lancelot around, curious as well, and the dagger grazes his throat at the careless movement.

Hengist puts Merlin's back to him and reaches for one of the heavy keys strung at his neck. He unlocks the shackles and the collar at Merlin's nape, and in one swift movement shoves him brutally into the cage. Merlin crashes hard onto the rough stone, scraping his palms against it.

In front of him stands the cowering form of a giant Lancelot spared, his sword long gone to the vultures outside the cage.

Behind him, the door slams shut, with Hengist leaning against it, and Lancelot can't see the sleazy smile on his face, but he can definitely hear it.

"I'm feeling kind today," and the crowd cackles with him. "I'll give one of you rats another chance."

At these words, the giant stops cowering, and a huge bloody smile shines on his face. His eyes go to the still kneeling form in front of him. Merlin is still panting and coughing and doesn't get up. Lancelot would shout for him to get up, but the dagger presses closer to his neck, and he has to swallow his words lest he soaks them with blood.

"You," Hengist addresses the warlock. "If you lose, or decide to spare him, I'll kill that rat over there," he pauses to let that sink in. The weight of these words falls heavily on Merlin, as he struggles to get up on shaking legs. "Show me what you're worth."

And it is all the signal the giant needs. He surges forward, as if pushed by his chance to stay alive and keep the worthless life Lancelot desperately regrets sparing. He throws himself at Merlin, crushing into him with all his weight, and brings him back down onto the bloody floor.

Lancelot watches, helplessness and misery clawing at his throat worse than any dagger could. He thrashes against his captors, but their iron grip locks him in place, and a heavy fist buries itself deep into his gut, knocking the breath out of him along with all the struggle, and only the sickening nausea remains. He is forced to watch, and he won't blink, won't avert his gaze from whatever happens, because it's the only thing he can do for Merlin, and he should see the consequences of his own actions.

The giant brings his hands to Merlin's neck, pushing into where the collar was just a minute ago, and Merlin lets out a pained and breathless gasp, his own hands going weakly for the giant's. Still, the thug's hands cling to Merlin's neck, like he clings to his own chance to live. There's no regret or shame on the bloody face, only a smile of a man breathing in his freedom.

Merlin's hands fall down. Lancelot's heart skips a beat, and there's a moment of sick triumph on the giant's face before he is suddenly, violently thrown back by an invisible force. The man's massive frame flies easily through the air and crashes into the iron cage with a rattle and a wet, loud crunch of bone. It slides heavily onto the floor and doesn't get up. Blood leaks from his fractured skull in a thick stream, and his lifeless eyes stare wide, frozen in a permanent, glassy gaze of horror directed right at Merlin.

Merlin stands up shakily, his breath fast and gulping, and stares at the body with golden eyes.

Hengist appears at his back and snaps the collar back around his throat, and the sun in Merlin's eyes instantly dies out, giving way to the feverish, dazed blue. Merlin's breath hitches loudly, painfully, and he brings his shaking hands to the collar and then jerks them away, as if burned.

All the while, Hengist laughs amidst the uneasy spectators and leads the sorcerer out by his arm. He nods at Lancelot's captors, and he is set free, and at once he rushes closer, stopping at the edge of the crowd.

Up close, Merlin looks even worse now. His skin shines with sweat, and he wheezes with each breath, and a new bruise blooms under the metal collar. It was put there by another's hands, but those as well may be Lancelot's own. Lancelot yearns to close the distance and to rip away the damn collar which must be hurting him somehow, to plead forgiveness for his mistake Merlin had to pay for, to take him away from Hengist.

He stays, rooted to the spot, afraid of making another mistake. Merlin doesn't look at him.

Hengist reaches for a bag at his belt and throws it at Lancelot. He catches it on a reflex, and the gold burns his hands.

"For the entertainment," Hengist comments and watches him before once again shifting his attention to the prisoner. He grabs the sorcerer by the collar, dirty nails biting into the skin. "You truly think that guy's heart is kind?" Someone from the crowd laughs on reflex but quickly shuts up at Hengist's annoyed glare. "That rat kills just like anyone does. All for a bag of gold."

The statement punches him in the gut and once again knocks all air and struggle out of him. It's the truth, and it settles heavy on his shoulders, a perfect fit. It's the truth, and it flays at his chest, reaching toward his heart with each bloody memory, each murder. It's the truth, and Lancelot looks down in shame, not wishing to see Merlin's disappointed look, not deserving of the blood on Merlin's hands.

It's no matter. By the time he finds the courage to look up, both Hengist and Merlin are gone.

The crowd disperses, finally sated with their bloody meal, and the dirty bag of gold burns a hole through his hands and falls down on the floor.

~~~

Merlin just wanted to get as far as possible from the ruined fortress. He had been on edge since they had dismounted their horses, his magic telling him that something was dangerous here. But of course Arthur wouldn't listen, instead making fun of Merlin and his 'funny feelings' even after all the times he had proved himself right.

The sun hadn't already set, but it wouldn't be long before the darkness surrounded them. Merlin resigned himself and kept alert as they entered the ruins they had decided to camp on for the night. Lancelot walked by his side, sword at the ready as he knew what it meant when Merlin was on edge, and gave him an apologetic smile with a shrug of his shoulders. Merlin was thankful that at least someone believed him, although by the worried looks that Gwaine was constantly shooting around, Lancelot may not be the only one that had listened to him. The rest of the knights walked without much care, only a hand on the hilt of their swords just in case. It wasn't long before they found a room big enough for all of them to rest comfortably, and Merlin went to get something to burn a fire for the night.

"Have you found the monster that lived in the ruins yet, Merlin?" Arthur asked when Merlin returned. The rest of the knights chuckled at their banter, everyone already settled while Merlin started lighting the fire.

"For a second I thought I had found a troll, but don't worry, sire, it was just you," Merlin said with a smirk, even if the feeling of danger wouldn't disappear from the back of his mind.

Gwaine's chortle sounded the loudest through the room at the astonished look on the king's face, but everyone's laugh stoped the moment a loud screech was heard in the distance, and Leon asked, "What was that?"

The six knights moved fast as they got to their feet, unseating their swords and watching the entrance the sound had come from.

"That was a pheasant," Gwaine said, a nervous smile on his face as he glanced at Merlin before looking back at the entrance.

He almost wanted to laugh at the memory of their time in the perilous lands, but the wyvern that entered the room stopped him from reminiscing of the past. Soon, other two followed the first one, screeching and groaning while they cautiously approached their group.

The odds were in their favor, but Merlin knew better than to let his guard down around the winged creatures. With a roar of one of the wyverns, the battle begun, but it wasn't until Percival's sword pierced the last one that the warlock allowed himself to relax. No one seemed to be dangerously injured, so Merlin let out a sigh of relief.

"Well, that wasn't that hard, was it?" Gwaine said, moving his head to get his hair out of his face and turning to grin at Merlin. "They just were really big pheasants." Despite his careless demeanor, he was panting from the effort of fighting the creatures.

Merlin was about to reply when he saw a fourth wyvern coming out of the shadows of the other entrance, behind Gwaine, and his face paled. As the wyvern threw himself at the knight, Merlin knew that Gwaine wouldn't be able to react in time, to defend himself against an attack from his blind spot.

He acted by instinct. He was already talking in the dragon tongue before he had time to think things through, and the words came to him like second nature. The only thing Merlin knew was that one moment a wyvern was attacking Gwaine and the next the creature was scurrying away in the direction it had come, as Merlin had commanded.

No one said anything, and only the sound of the cracking fire disturbed the silence. Merlin's hands started trembling as terror took hold of him when he realized what he had just done, but most importantly, in front of whom.

"I-" he tried to say, but his throat was closed and not another word would come out. I messed up, he thought. The trembling of his hands started to spread throughout his body with every beat of his heart. He looked around him, each knight with a different emotion on their face. Arthur was still looking at the space the wyvern had been a moment before.

Merlin wanted to talk, to say something, but the words were stuck. With every second of silence the panic he felt only increased. "I'm- I- I'm sorry," Merlin managed to get out after several tries.

"Who are you?" Arthur asked, his tone so soft he wouldn't have heard it if it weren't for the loud silence. He was finally looking at Merlin, and it pained him to see the look on Arthur's face, as if he were watching someone else and not his best friend who had accompanied him to battle countless times.

"Merlin?" It was Gwaine's turn to talk when Merlin didn't answer the king's question, but the knight didn't look at him with disgust or uneasiness. He saw only worry in his features and a caution usually reserved for frightened animals, which he supposed wasn't very far from the truth as his shaking continued.

He didn't know how to answer Arthur. He was the Merlin Arthur knew, but he was also Emrys and the Once and Future King's other half. He was magic and a Dragonlord. But Arthur only knew one of those because the rest were a secret he had kept to himself for years now. Instead, he said softly, "I have magic."

Arthur made a chocked noise that took hold of Merlin's heart and squeezed until it felt like it was breaking apart.

Merlin startled when a hand landed gently on his shoulder, so focused on Arthur that he hadn't noticed Lancelot coming to his side. "I think we should talk," Lancelot said, giving Merlin's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"You knew," Arthur breathed out. It wasn't a question, but a statement, betrayal and pain clear in his voice as his face started to turn red with anger.

Merlin's gaze caught Gwaine's, and his reaction to Lancelot's interference was similar to Arthur's, the same betrayal and pain, but instead of anger he found a sea of sadness on his brown eyes.

"I did. I have known since the day we defeated the griffin," Lancelot admitted, voice loud and clear where Merlin's had been a mere whisper. "He didn't tell me, and if I had found out today like the rest of you, I wouldn't blame him, because it's a secret that could cost him everything. However, he risked everything when we fought the griffin and used his magic, and thanks to that I survived back then, the same way it's only because of Merlin that Gwaine is still with us now."

Merlin felt his vision turn blurry with unshed tears, but he forced them away, as he tried to push through the panic. Lancelot was trying to help him and he couldn't break down now, not when Lancelot would be accused of treason along with him if things went wrong. "I only use it for you, Arthur. For Camelot," Merlin said, voice slightly less unsure, but still pleading for him to understand.

"You're a sorcerer," Arthur said, spitting the last word with disgust.

"I was born with magic, I didn't chose to," he said in reply.

Their attention was pulled away from each other when Gwaine started to walk towards Merlin. For a second he feared his life would end before he had a chance to explain himself. However, no blade pierced his heart. Instead, two arms encircled his body and a voice whispered next to his ear, "Nothing has changed for me, you're still my truest friend, bog man."

It took his brain a second to realize that, at least, he hadn't lost Gwaine, and that is all it took for the tears he had fought so hard to contain to spill out as he returned the embrace.

"Gwaine!" Arthur's voice sounded disbelieving, and Merlin couldn't blame him because he hadn't expected someone to welcome him with open arms after they discovered their secret either. And yet, Gwaine's arms around him were proof that he still cared about Merlin, even now.

Gwaine pulled away from the embrace, but kept close enough to put an arm around Merlin's shoulders as he stood next to him. "What did you want me to do, princess?" Gwaine said. "If a friend tells you a secret that has him fearing for his life, the knightly thing to do is to support him, isn't it?"

Merlin felt Gwaine's shrug of his shoulder through the arm around him. Arthur's mouth started opening and closing, but when nothing came out of it he groaned in frustration and started pacing while he run his hands through his hair in desperation.

A few minutes passed where no one talked and everyone let Arthur organize his thoughts. Meanwhile, Gwaine kept Merlin close while rubbing his shoulder, something that he felt comforting even if the threat of an axe cutting his neck or burning in the pyre still haunted his thoughts.

"Talk," Arthur finally said when he stopped, jaw clenched and gaze hard.

It was a chance to finally lay it all out in the open, and Merlin did. He told him about his magic and how he was using it before he could even walk. He told him about coming to Camelot, to learn how to control his magic without just following his instinct. He told him about bandits and magic beasts that could only be killed with magic. He told him that magic didn't corrupt, that it was each person that chose how to use it. When he finished with one story, he went on to the next, finally free from the weigh on his shoulders that was his secret.

"-killed Nimueh after he tried to trick me and sacrifice Gaius instead of me-"

"-I freed the dragon, but I didn't know Kilgarrah would-"

"-told me that Balinor was my father and, when he died, I turned into the last Dragonlord-"

"-you from the Sidhe Sofia and his father when they tried to-"

"-tried to heal your father, but Agravaine put a-"

They had all sat down around the fire when Merlin had started talking, and by the time he had finished several hours had passed. The knights had asked questions and listened with an openness that Merlin could have only wished for, nodding from time to time as if the pieces of an incomplete puzzle where finally fitting in and they could at last make sense of it. Neither Gwaine nor Lancelot had moved from his side and they offered words of support when his emotions became too much and he had to stop for a bit.

Through it all, Arthur was quiet. He stared at Merlin with an intensity that made it impossible to look at him for too long, although he noticed how he flinched at certain parts like when he mentioned Balinor's death as well as Freya's.

"How many times?" Arthur asked, and he must have seen the confusion in Merlin's eyes, because then he clarified, "How many times have you saved me or Camelot?"

Merlin opened his mouth, but then frowned and stared the fire. "I don't know. I never counted them. It wasn't about how many times I protected you. It was just about keeping you, and everyone in Camelot, safe, regardless of the number of times I had to do it."

Arthur nodded just once at the answer and the silence returned once again to the room. Everyone seemed to think about what Merlin had been saying, each of them in their own world with pensive looks.

He felt a hand over his and turned to look at Gwaine, who was looking at him with affection and pride, making his heart race once again, but this time not in a bad way.

"No matter what happens, I will always be by your side, magic or not. Besides, I'm already planning some pranks that will need your help," Gwaine said as he bumped their shoulders and interlocked their fingers. Merlin's grin was genuine for the first time in what seemed decades.

It had happened slowly, he realized, but as he spent more time in Camelot and started to have more friends he loved and had to protect, keeping his magic a secret had started to weigh him down more than it ever had before, because he didn't want to lie to the people he cared about.

Now he was finally free of that weight and still had friends by his side no matter what, like Gwaine had said.

"Thank you," Merlin said in response, trying to convey his gratitud with just those two words and rubbing Gwaine's had with his thumb.

When Arthur stood and walked towards Merlin, he was ready for whatever he was going to hear, or at least he thought so.

"Merlin, I..." Arthur stopped talking to let out a deep sigh before getting on one knee and putting one hand on Merlin's shoulder. "I'm sorry you couldn't tell me sooner, or anyone else-"

"Arthur, it's not-"

"Yes, it is my fault, Merlin. And even after hearing you, there is still a voice in my head saying that magic is evil," Arthur said, and Merlin could see how much it hurt him to admit that. "You're my best friend, and it pains me to see how much you've suffered because of me. It's going to take some time until I can silence that voice, but I promise you that no harm will come to you because of who you are as long as I'm the king of Camelot."

"Are you saying...?" Merlin said with a trembling voice, not wanting to get his hopes up, but unable to stop himself from doing so.

"Yes, Merlin, you won't be executed nor banished, and I'm planning on lifting the ban on magic," Arthur said with a roll of his eyes, and Merlin threw himself at his friend to hug him. Surprisingly, Arthur returned his hug, even if just for a few seconds before he pulled apart. "You're such a girl."

When he looked at Lancelot, he had one of the biggest smiles he had ever seen in him. He was lucky to have them as friends.

The other three knights that had refrained from interfering while they talked, walked towards them and congratulated Merlin, giving him a few pats on the shoulder and back.

For the first time in his life, Merlin felt truly happy. Soon, he wouldn't have to hide anymore. He would be able to do magic freely and talk about it without being constantly on alert and hiding who he was. His friends knew what he was and they had accepted it.

"It will take time, though, before we can change the old laws for new ones if we want to avoid chaos," Arthur said, but not even that could spoil his happiness.

"Your father only needed one day to create them, so do it fast, Princess," Gwaine said with a teasing smirk.

"And look the mess he left me," Arthur said waving his hand in Merlin's direction, "a useless manservant that wouldn't be so useless if he could use his magic."

"I don't care about the time it takes," Merlin said with a wet chuckle, trying to stop the now tears of happiness with the sleeve of his blue shirt. "I have waited my whole life. I can wait a bit longer."

"Well then, everyone, lets get some rest and we'll talk more tomorrow," Arthur said, and everyone listened to him.

Merlin wouldn't be able to sleep even if he wanted to with the amount of energy he had in his body, so he chose to watch after their group in case another wyvern or some other creature appeared. He leaned on a wall and hugged his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knees while he looked at his friends with a smile that wouldn't disappear anytime soon.

"So, apparently you're the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth." Gwaine said as he sat down next to him.

He didn't reply, just smiled with everything he got. No more holding back.

Gwaine answered with his own grin before running his hand through Merlin's hair, what got him a shove. It felt good to go back to their camaraderie as if nothing had happened.

"I believe I haven't thanked you yet for saving me, oh great Emrys," Gwaine said, and his smile turned genuine, filled with warmth.

"You don't have to, I did it for selfish reasons," Merlin said. Gwaine's acceptance mattered to him in a different way than the other knights', because the way he cared about him was different. He hoped that the words he had said conveyed the meaning of the words he hadn't.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Gwaine said after a bit, expression more serious than before. "Were you worried that I would have turned my back on you?"

Merlin turned to look away from his face, gaze unfocused. "No... well, yes, but it wasn't you I was worried about. Not really," he said with a sigh before glancing at Gwaine out of the corner of his eye to watch his reaction. "Since I was a kid, my mom has constantly warned me about keeping my magic a secret from others, and even when I came to Camelot Gaius always said the same thing as her. It didn't matter who it was, the fear was always there even if I trusted all of you with my life. It was something I couldn't tell anyone, not just you.

"I knew that Morgana had magic and yet I didn't even dare to tell her. It may have been an irrational fear, but it's difficult to forget about something that has been carved deep into your mind, the same way it's difficult for Arthur to forget about his father's warnings about magic, no matter how irrational it may be." Merlin started playing with the hem of his shirt, waiting for Gwaine to speak. He wanted him to understand that it wasn't because he didn't trust the knight.

"I understand, I just... wished that I could have helped you somehow," Gwaine said as he took Merlin's hand in his and interlocked their fingers. "I know that Lance was there for you, but I hate that I wasn't." he admitted in a soft voice. Gwaine's free hand reached up to cup his face and he leaned into the touch subconsciously as his thumb brushed Merlin's cheek.

"From now on, count on me for anything you need, alright? I don't care what it is. Even if you need me to run naked in the forest for some ritual, I'll do it," he said with a chuckle, "I'll do it for you." His words caused Merlin to blush, and Gwaine seemed to be delighted by that.

"Thank you, but I don't think there are any rituals that require someone to run naked in the forest," Merlin said.

"Well, I know of a certain ritual that requires nakedness, from both parts involved," Gwaine said with a wiggle of his eyebrows, and Merlin felt his blush deepen, but then Gwaine's eyes lost their playfulness as he leaned in slowly, giving Merlin a chance to move away. When he didn't, Gwaine's lips soon met his in a kiss that was far too innocent and chaste for it to come from someone as flirtatious as the knight, but it still made Merlin's heart race and a shiver to run down his spine.

"I have wanted to do that for a very long time," Gwaine said when he broke the kiss, resting their foreheads together. "Will you show me? Your magic?"

The question caught him off guard and he leaned back to watch Gwaine's face, making Gwaine's hand fall from his cheek, but he didn't see any hint of doubt or a joke. "You want to see my magic?"

"I want to know everything about you, and that includes your magic," he said with a reassuring squeeze to his hand.

"Okay," Merlin said as he thought about something he could do to impress him, but being careful not to scare him away either. When he saw the sparks from the burning fire in the center of the room, and idea came to his mind. He pulled from his magic as he extended his hand in the direction of the flame and sent it that way with the intent of giving it shape. A small dragon formed from the sparks, flapping its wings experimentally before flying towards the two of them and landing in front of their feet.

Merlin heard the gasp that came out of Gwaine's mouth and when he looked at him he had an awe stricken expression on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling a bit because of his smile. When he reached to touch the little dragon the creature exploded in a thousand of sparks that floated around them, reflecting on Gwaine's eyes and illuminating the space the two were in.

"Your eyes," Gwaine said in a breathless tone with his mouth slightly ajar, "they're- you're beautiful."

"So are you," Merlin said before leaning in for another kiss, just because he could, and Gwaine seemed to want it too as he reciprocated in kind. This one was less chaste than the first one, but it was still full of affection as Merlin and Gwaine explored with their tongues each others' mouths. When they broke apart they were both panting and Merlin's hand had found its way to the back of Gwaine's head through his hair while Gwaine's was on Merlin's back, pulling them closer together.

"I want to court you. Properly," Gwaine said, "even if I don't know what I'm doing." Gwaine was biting his lip with a kind of nervousness that he had never seen in the knight before.

"You don't need to worry about anything. I will always want you, even if our attempts at courting each other end up in disaster."

"Wait, our attempts?" Gwaine said as a smirk started to grace his lips, the nervousness from a second ago banished from his expression.

"Of course, you didn't think that I would do nothing while you courted me, did you?" Merlin said with a grin.

"Then shall we make a bet and see which of us makes the other fall in love faster?" Gwaine said, a playful touch in his eyes.

"I don't think you should make that bet as you're bound to lose," Merlin said with a cheeky shrug of his shoulders.

"And why would that be?" Gwaine said playing along.

"Because I can make that cheese that tasted of apple pie you once dreamed about..." Merlin said as he gathered all the sparks around them on his outstretched hand and willed them to take the form of a piece of cheese, "with my magic." He felt giddy just by being able of saying something like that out loud without fear and he was almost afraid that he would wake up from at any given moment.

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.

The water-skin gets passed around the circle, Arthur eventually asking:

“What’s in that then, ale I presume, Gwaine?”

Gwaine holds a hand to his chest and gasps in mock offense:

“Why Sire, you really think I, the noblest of knights, would drink ale whilst on the job?”

The others snort at his tone, and the obvious lie, and Arthur just raises an eyebrow as the water-skin finally reaches him. He sniffs it, and rolls his eyes before taking a swig, Gwaine smirking victoriously as he says:

“It’s cider, the very best. I was saving it as a treat for a rainy day and look at me, sharing it with all of you, I’m so nice.”

Merlin had been about to take a long swig from the skin, but grimaces as Gwaine says cider, and passes it over to him instead. Gwaine shrugs, not questioning it, but Arthur looks to his servant curiously:

“Not a fan of cider, Merlin? That surprises me, with how often you’re at the tavern.”

Merlin shakes his head, ignoring the tavern comment and responding with an easy smile:

“No not really, more of an ale person myself.”

Arthur hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t say anything, fiddling with his hands as quiet conversation flows easily between the other knights, The King and Merlin sitting comfortably in their silence. After half a candle mark of Arthur’s incessant fidgeting and soft frowning, Merlin thumps him on the arm, gaining everyone’s attention as he says:

“For pities sake, Arthur, you’ve been thinking for ages, it looks wrong on you, what’s got your knickers all in a twist?”

Leon and Percival are the only ones who manage to cover their snorts entirely, but Gwaine openly laughs at Merlin’s comment as Arthur briefly scowls before responding thoughtfully:

“You know, Merlin, we’ve known each other for ten years. I hate to admit it, but you probably know me better than anyone, yet I was unaware that you don’t like cider. It’s odd, how little I actually know about you, don’t you think?”

Merlin just raises an eyebrow, smirking as he says:

“I’m an open book, sire, it’s not my fault you never ask questions.”

Arthur huffs, and then does so again even louder when he sees the victorious smirk on Gwaine’s face:

“Why don’t we make a little competition out of it? Arthur can ask questions about Merlin, us lot have to answer. Whoever knows most, wins.”

Leon rolls his eyes:

“Wins what, exactly?”

Gwaine shrugs, taking another swig of his cider and snatching his hand away with a stuck-out tongue when Percival reaches for it with a pout:

“I don’t know, my respect?”

Everyone snorts in laughter and Gwaine huffs good-naturedly:

“Oh, fine. The chance to say they know Merlin best. Considering half the Kingdom likes him, and the other half loves him, that’s a fairly impressive prize.”

Merlin blushes and Arthur looks incredulous, but doesn’t argue when the rest of the knights hum in agreement and nod, as if Merlin being popular were the most obvious thing in the world. Gwaine grins, gesturing at Arthur vaguely:

“Go on then, princess, what don’t you know about Merlin?”

Everyone looks to Arthur expectantly, even Merlin, and The King throws a glance his way before sighing, and giving in:

“Fine. Lets start simple, what... uh... what is Merlin’s favourite season?”

Lancelot throws his arm in the air immediately almost yelling-

“Spring!”

- in his excitement. Merlin just laughs and nods, and the other knights sulk slightly at having been beaten before looking to Arthur again:

“...Right. When’s Merlin’s birthday?”

Everyone looks shocked at that, and Leon takes advantage of their surprise to answer smoothly:

“First day of the year. I mean no disrespect, My Lord, but how on earth do you not know his birthday?”

Arthur flushes as he looks indignantly back at his First Knight, his petulant tone making everyone else laugh:

“He never told me!”

Leon just raises an eyebrow:

“He never told me either, I asked eight years ago, and in return he asked mine, and we’ve exchanged gifts every year since.”

Merlin smiles fondly at the memory, and gives Arthur a sharp elbow to the ribs when the man goes to argue some more, cheerfully saying:

“First of the year is right. Next question?”

Arthur rolls his eyes, responding to Merlin’s jab with a gentle punch to the arm (or gentle as far as he is concerned) :

“Hmm. What... is Merlin’s favourite food?”

The knights all scramble to answer, but it’s Gwaine who shouts the loudest, standing up to make sure he’s noticed:

“Blueberries!! And strawberries!! Any sweet fruit, basically.”

All of the knights, even Arthur, look to Merlin in suspense as he thinks over the answer. He finally blinks in surprise and nods, and Gwaine pumps his fist in victory before sitting back down again. Merlin smiles and shakes his head, saying in a disbelieving voice:

“It’s kind of flattering that you knew the answer before I even did.”

Gwaine covets Merlin’s words, grinning proudly at the servant’s fond, though still slightly shocked smile.

Arthur rolls his eyes yet again, clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention:

“Alright, alright. How many summers has he seen?”

~

The game goes cheerfully on for a while, long into the night, and it’s hard to say who’s winning. All (bar one) answer many questions, and they’re having so much fun (and Arthur is learning so much), that The King can’t bare to stop them. He doesn’t think anyone will mind the exhaustion tomorrow.

Eventually, all (bar one) are asking Merlin questions, and all (bar one) are answering them, though Arthur is growing mildly embarrassed at his lack of general knowledge on the man he’s seen everyday for ten years.

The game turns a little sombre, when Arthur clears his throat and asks the circle:

“What does Merlin know of his father?”

As far as Arthur was aware, it wasn’t a sensitive topic for Merlin; his father had come up briefly in conversation a few times years ago, and Merlin had never seemed bothered, but those few short conversations hadn’t actually told Arthur anything about the man, and he was curious to see if his servant had confided in any of the others.

Lancelot looked shocked at Arthur’s query, but the others just look around the circle blankly, realising that no one knew the answer. For some reason, Arthur had to resist the urge to smile victoriously at that. After a few moments, Leon shrugged, looking to Merlin with a questioning expression.

Merlin gave the knights a tight smile before answering quietly:

“Met him for the first time a few years ago, he died almost immediately. Only got a couple days with him.”

Lancelot gritted his teeth, reining in the glare that he wanted to send Arthur’s way as The King stares at his manservant in shock. Merlin keeps his gaze trained on the ground, even as Arthur quietly apologises. Leon clears his throat, and Merlin gives him a slightly easier smile, gesturing for him to continue at the knight’s questioning look:

“I have a good one. Has Merlin ever been in love?”

Merlin takes in a quiet gasp, but no one notices as a few of them begin talking over one another. Gwaine is the loudest (as per normal), shouting-

“With me, of course.”

-and sending a wink Merlin’s way. He quickly drops his playful smirk when he sees Merlin’s barely concealed sorrow, but before he can ask what’s wrong, Arthur scoffs, and answers:

“Ok, even I can answer that one. No, Merlin has never been in love.”

Merlin scowls briefly before schooling his face into something a little more blank, answering in a monotone voice:

“Once, a long time ago.”

Arthur looks taken aback, and all the knights (bar Lancelot, who is looking more and more distraught at the topic, having been briefly told of Freya) lean in curiously. The King rolls his eyes and smirks:

“Fine, going by your morose expression, I’m guessing it was either unrequited, or they left you, so which was it, Merlin?”

Lancelot looks to him sharply, grinding out his name in a whispered, though horrified tone. Before he can reply, or even blink to be honest, Merlin waves a hand dismissively in Lance’s direction, staring at his fiddling hands as he quietly answers:

“Neither, she... she died, actually.”

The intake of breath of everyone else in the circle is audible, and Merlin looks up, not meeting anyone’s eyes, but giving them a mournful smile. Leon gulps, frowning in concern as he gently asks:

“What happened? If you don’t mind us asking, of course?”

Merlin’s expression changes to that of assessment, and the knights wait with baited breath as he gazes at each of them in turn, Lancelot quietly saying:

“You don’t have to, Merlin, it’s fine.”

Merlin shakes his head slightly before taking a deep breath and sitting up straight, answering Leon’s question:

“She was a non-practicing Druid, kidnapped from outside of Camelot by some bounty hunter looking for easy money and dragged here for the reward.-”

A few quiet breaths are taken in at Merlin’s admission of falling in love with a Druid, but no one interrupts him:

“-I felt bad for her, helped her escape. I hid her for a while, kept her safe, did the whole... falling in love thing.-”

His eyes go glassy and he stares into the middle distance as he continues, tears gathering but not quite falling:

“-We were going to run away together, build a home on the shores of a lake with mountains and trees nearby; grow our own food.-”

Merlin gulps, taking a deep breath as he begins fiddling with the hem of his tunic slightly:

“-But something went wrong, she was found, chased by knights. I caused a... distraction, helped her escape again, but not before she gained a fatal blow. I got her out of the city, but the wound was too serious; I didn’t have any of my equipment with me and there was no one nearby who could help. She... she bled out.”

He finishes in almost a whisper and he quickly wipes away the lone tear on his cheek, sniffling slightly before he looks up to the shocked knights again, a fake smile on his face:

“Not the happiest story, I know.”

Arthur shakes his head slightly, staring at Merlin with wide eyes as he murmurs:

“Merlin... how did I not know about this?”

In a moment of weakness, Merlin is almost tempted to tell him the truth, tell everyone, that Arthur was the one who killed her, that Merlin had to clean her blood from his sword the next day with a smile on his face, but he quells the urge, giving him a weak smile and a pat on the leg:

“Because I didn’t tell you. It’s understandably not something I’m fond of talking about.”

Arthur nods gently, wiping the frown from his face as he pats his manservant awkwardly on the shoulder, not knowing quite what to do. Gwaine clears his throat, and quietly asks:

“What was her name?”

Merlin smiles, and the others are grateful to see that it’s real. Sad, but real. Lancelot stays quiet; he knows the answer, but he also knows that this is less about Gwaine’s stupid competition, and more about Merlin’s friends wanting to know him:

“Freya. Her name was Freya. I laid her to rest in a lake not too far from the city limits. I can take a little peace, some days, knowing that she ended up exactly where she wanted to, in the end.”

Leon nods knowingly, a soft smile on his face as he murmurs:

“Freya. It’s a beautiful name.”

Merlin’s smile grows and he nods his agreement, before blinking the memories from his eyes and clapping his hands:

“Come on, that’s enough of that moroseness, next question.”

~

And so, it continues even further, all the knights (bar one) asking questions; some generic: “name of Merlin’s childhood best friend?” (Arthur knew the correct response, but stayed quiet, the guilt just a little too much as he lets Gwaine answer instead), and some a little more specific: “Would Merlin rather live on the bottom of the ocean, or above the clouds?” (They all shouted guesses, and Merlin decided that, in the end, he’d rather live above the clouds with his namesakes).

Though eventually, hours and maybe hundreds of questions in to the game, Elyan holds a hand up, drawing everyone’s attention as he clears his throat:

“I’ve noticed, Percy, that you have neither asked anything, or answered anything. I know that you know at least a few of the answers, so what gives?”

Everyone looks to the gentle giant curiously, thinking back on the game and realising that Elyan is right; he hadn’t said a word since they started.

Percival gives Merlin an odd look for just a fraction of a second, before schooling his face into a smile and looking at the others with a raised eyebrow:

“It’s fun watching you lot scramble. I already know Merlin, I don’t need to win some competition.”

Elyan rolls his eyes fondly, but Gwaine pouts:

“Come on, Percy, there must be something you want to know. Anything, come on?”

Percival hums as he stares into his lap, before looking up at Merlin again, that strange look back on his face. Merlin tilts his head (though his face remains blank), at the man’s expression; an odd mix of challenging and anxious and knowing.

The knight clears his throat, muttering almost to himself:

“Maybe one thing.”

Merlin raises an (almost condescending?) eyebrow, and Gwaine pats Percival on the back encouragingly. The giant takes a few more moments, staring at Merlin assessingly, before he nods, and asks his first question:

“Do the Gods hear our prayers?”

Everyone is taken aback at that, but Percival doesn’t break the stare he has with Merlin. The servant looks a little nervous at first, and glances at Arthur quickly before turning his gaze back to Percival, his expression schooling itself back into neutrality. The knights stay silent, just figuring it was an odd man’s way of asking whether Merlin was religious or not, which surprisingly none of them know the answer to.

Merlin is obviously considering the question, and Lancelot is the only one to notice the way his eyes harden as he makes a decision. The corner of Merlin’s mouth ticks upwards in an almost imperceptible smirk (the servant is surprised at his own confidence, but hey-ho, he isn’t going to question it), before it falls down again and he answers, his one-word response firm, but quiet:

“Yes.”

Percival nods slowly, his expression not changing and his gaze not wavering as the other knights stare on, well and truly befuddled:

“Then why don’t They answer? Thousands of voices all crying out in agony, pleading for help, for mercy. How can They hear that and not answer?”

Merlin takes a deep breath and tilts his head, forgetting all around him bar Percival, his answer falling from his lips in a tone that was just slightly biting:

“They did answer. They just answered in the way that most benefitted Them. They don’t pay attention to the sacrifices made in the mean time, as long as They get what They want in the end. Do you honestly think They care about the suffering of mortals?”

Percival clenches his jaw, as if he were expecting that answer but isn’t any less disheartened to hear it said out loud, but he still doesn’t look away, not even at Merlin’s harsh, blank stare, or his forceful, bitter voice. His voice almost shakes in his response:

“And you? Do you care?”

The other knights are too confused by this conversation to say anything, all staring on in bewilderment, perhaps thinking they had had too much to drink. Lancelot is starting to realise with numb horror what might be happening, and glances rapidly between the two oblivious men.

At Percival’s question, Merlin smirks openly, his expression somehow dangerous and mournful as he glances to his lap, before staring back up at the knight again:

“A tool can hate those that use it, and still be willing to be used.”

Percival frowns slightly:

“And whose tool do you see yourself as? The Gods, or humanity?”

Merlin tilts his head, his smirk leaning slightly more to the dangerous side as the knights continue to listen in on the confusing conversation, starting to think that maybe it wasn’t for their ears:

“Both. You both use me, do you not? The same means, to the same end, for different reasons. They want balance for Their own selfish agenda, because it suits Them, and you want mercy, because you understandably don’t want to suffer.-”

The smirk falls from Merlin’s face, his expression and tone turning dark and his hands clenching tightly as Percival pales:

“-You think I don’t hear those thousands of voices? I could recite every prayer word for word, even your own, Sir Percival.”

Percival takes in a deep breath, his eyes widening, looking to the floor and nodding mutely, completely oblivious to the confused and now slightly worried stares of the other knights. Lancelot is really hoping that no one sees how panicked he is, especially when he notices the moonlight disappear behind heavy, angry looking clouds, and the wind howling just a little more violently than was natural.

Merlin finally looks away from the now subdued knight and glares to the sky with a scowl when a loud clap of thunder echoes out across the darkness. Percival flinches at the sound, but doesn’t look up, and Lancelot stares at Merlin in concern, aware of how his... gifts, sometimes get away from him. The servant ignores him, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as the clouds begin to slowly recede once more, and the wind dies down. 

Thankfully, no one seems to notice the rapid weather changes, too caught up in... whatever just happened between Merlin and Percival.

Gwaine finally breaks the silence:

“What the hell was that?!”

Everyone looks to Merlin expectantly, but he just raises a condescending eyebrow:

“That, Sir Gwaine, was thunder. No need to be afraid, I promise it won’t hurt you.”

Percival looks up at the servant sharply, evidently aware of the weather’s unnatural manifestation, but he doesn’t say anything, and no one notices. Elyan scoffs:

“I think he meant the freaky ass conversation that you and Percy just had. What prayers? What Gods??”

Merlin looks to him coolly, tilting his head as if deciding what to say before speaking slowly:

“Both of us grew up in rural areas, with different... beliefs. If you don’t understand our conversation, then you are simply unfamiliar with our beliefs.”

Elyan looks dubious, and Leon speaks next, his voice slow and concerned:

“You said you heard prayers, Merlin. We may not know what you have faith in but that’s... something else. Are you feeling ok?”

Merlin gives him a smile that’s just a little too sharp, but before he can say anything, Arthur finally breaks his silence.

He had previously been sat still as a rock next to Merlin, staring thoughtfully into his lap as he considered his manservant’s words. Prayers? Of thousands of people who are suffering? Gods? Balance? Balance of what? As much as Merlin might like to joke, Arthur really isn’t as stupid as he seems, and the question he asks has everyone in the circle stiffening in surprise:

“Merlin, what are your opinions on magic?”

Lancelot is almost vibrating in his seat at this point, and Percival looks almost scared of Merlin, though no one else takes notice of them, not even of the way Lance grasps loosely at the sword against his hip, or the way Percival’s hands are shaking. They’re all too busy considering The King’s question, and realising that, even in situations when opinions had been welcomed, had been asked for, they had never heard a peep from Merlin about magic.

Merlin slowly turns his head to look at the man next to him, his expression making a jarring transformation from venomously confident to nervous and afraid. He takes a subtly deep breath before settling an assessing gaze on The King, surprised by the blonde’s genuinely curious expression. He hums thoughtfully, schooling his face into neutrality once again as he speaks clearly:

“Magic is just a tool, like a quill or a sword. You can’t blame all blades for the action of an assassin whose weapon of choice is a dagger. Magic can cause pain, yes, but so can fire if mishandled. And just like fire, magic can be beautiful, warm. I’ve seen magic heal, grow, brighten. I see it in music, in food, in the growth of a meadow and the laughter of children. Magic...-”

He turns to the fire as he pauses, fiddling with his hands slightly as he internally reaffirms his decision to be truthful, fully; but he knows that he also has to be careful:

“-it ties this universe together. It’s woven between the very threads of existence, you can’t escape it. You can’t wipe it out, no matter how much you try, no matter how many you burn or hang or hunt, it will always grow, in cracks if it has to. Magic will... will always have a song, playing in the minds of those who want it. You need only listen.”

Merlin’s voice grew soft towards the end of his little speech, and the knights stare at him in shock. The camp is silent save for the rustling of beetles through the leaves and distant yowling foxes, until Gwaine once again speaks; though this time his voice is gentle, pained almost:

“How can you stand to live in Camelot, when you believe that? No offense, Sire,-”

He nods briefly at Arthur before continuing, and the use of Arthur’s actual title for once lets everyone know how serious Gwaine really is:

“-how can you serve a Pendragon?”

Arthur clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t say anything or argue, he knows that Gwaine’s question is valid. How can Merlin have such a high opinion of magic and serve the family that ordered its genocide?

In response, a weak, though slightly amused smile graces Merlin’s face, though he keeps his gaze firmly on the flames:

“Destiny is a tricky thing. Some days I remember that my whole life has been taking from me and planned ahead, through horrors I scarcely understand until I’m forced to face them alone, and its crushing, but equally, nothing and no one since Freya has tempted me to leave. When... when I can think of nothing but my fear, I distract myself with promises of a golden future, and it helps me rest.”

Everyone takes subtle gasps at Merlin’s mention of fear, understanding the implications intrinsically. Thankfully, they all gloss over the destiny comment; Merlin has talked about his father and Freya and magic all in one night, with Arthur, he’s not sure he can manage any further difficult conversation.

Gwaine, like Lancelot, now has a hand on his sword, sobering instantly as he looks around at his fellow knights, nodding briefly at Lance before his sweeping gaze searches for any signs of anger or hatred in the other faces.

Arthur gulps at Merlin’s words, taking a deep breath before he asks his next question:

“Merlin, do you have magic?”

Arthur knows the answer, and maybe a small part of him always has, because he isn’t stupid, but he wants, no, he needs, the truth from Merlin’s lips. Gwaine and Lancelot stare at him intensely, but the others focus their curious (not angry, not hate-filled, just curious, and maybe a little fearful. For him, though, not of him, thankfully) gazes on the dark-haired servant at his side. Merlin takes a deep breath, finally looking up at Arthur with an unreadable expression:

“I was born magic, it’s what I’m made of; Ma looked down and my eyes were already golden. She thought the threat of torture by pyre hanging over my head would scare me into learning to control it better, so she sent me to Camelot. It worked, I suppose,-”

He looks to the sky and gestures vaguely to where thunderous clouds had roiled briefly, though violently earlier:

“-though sometimes my emotions get the best of me.”

He looks back to the fire, trying not to show the relief on his face when no one makes any moves to attack him. He feels Arthur shift besides him, but he doesn’t feel tense, nor does he feel angry or scared. The knights seem frozen in time, and with the rolling emotions in Merlin’s gut he feels the need to glance up quickly, just to make sure that they aren’t frozen in time (something he’s done accidentally more than once). Their eyes are wide, and they are still, but he can see the slow rise and fall of their chests and if he really listens, he can hear their quick heartbeats. He looks back down to the fire.

Arthur takes a fortifying breath, staring into the same flames as his manservant:

“Destiny?”

Merlin sighs:

“It’s a long story. To put it quickly, the many, many prophecies say that you’re destined to bring magic back to balance and begin a golden age, and I’m meant to help and protect you along the way.”

He feels Arthur nod, but still doesn’t dare to look:

“You said you... you hear prayers.”

Merlin tenses, and he can feel Arthur’s heartbeat speed in response to his sudden... discomfort, but still he waits for Merlin to answer:

“This destiny of ours is... old. It’s ancient. Beliefs, faith, they have power, just like words and just like magic. If enough people believe in you, if enough people pray to you... well... it’s bound to bleed through eventually. How do you think Gods are born?”

It's Arthur's turn to stiffen now, and he settles an intense stare on the side of Merlin's head. The King gathers his bravery, and forces it up his throat and out of his mouth, asking the question on everyone's minds:

"Are you a God, Merlin?"

Merlin smiles slightly, shaking his head with a gentle guff of laughter, and everyone relaxes, just a little bit:

"Not quite, thankfully. I struggle as it is looking after you idiots, I don't think I could handle the responsibility of being a God."

Hesitant, though genuine smiles materialise around the circle. Gwaine releases the hold he has on his sword and laughs, though Lancelot only loosens his grip slightly, still a little... twitchy, for his friend's safety.

Arthur snorts at Merlin's words, shaking his head slightly with a smile as he responds:

"You are a terrible servant Merlin, perhaps the world is safer with you as a human. Plus, I don't think I could stand the humiliation of having to... worship you."

Merlin smiles, nodding his head in amused agreement. Lancelot relaxes fully, and all the knights stare at Arthur in slight confusion. To say they were expecting a far worse reaction to Merlin not only being magic, but being so magic he was almost a God, would be an understatement. But to be fair, none of them reacted badly, and as much as they might all be just a little jealous of the fact, Arthur was much closer with the man than they were. Perhaps him being accepting shouldn’t surprise them.

The King’s smile falls and he frowns, though the expression is more sad than anything:

“The things I’ve done to you, Merlin, the things I’ve said. Prophecy or no, how are you still here? How can you have so much faith in my supposed destiny?”

Merlin huffs out a gentle laugh and shakes his head as if the answer was obvious

“I don’t have faith in the destinies, nor the prophecies or fates or visions. I just have faith in you. You’re a good man, Arthur, you love your people and your kingdom endlessly, you are empathetic to the point of self-destruction. How could I not have faith? One day, the world will be united, and golden, and it will have been entirely down to you, not some centuries old blurry dream.”

Arthur lets out a breath at the way Merlin replied so softly, at how effortlessly the words fell from his lips, as if it were both the most apparent thing in the world, and something that he believed with his whole being. Tears gather in The King’s eyes, but they don’t fall as he swallows his emotions, reaching blindly for Merlin’s hand as they both stare into the fire. Their fingers find each other naturally, without effort, and Arthur wonders how he’d never noticed it before: how easily they always found each other.

Percival finally seems to have relaxed, though he still regards Merlin with an odd mix of reverence, and a gentle teasing fondness you feel for a younger brother. The other knights stare upon the two with an odd mix of annoyance (at owing Gwen a great deal of money when they get back to the city) and varying levels of barely concealed adoration.

The camp is silent for a while, but comfortably so. Just because they’re all ok with Merlin’s magic, with everything that has just been revealed, doesn’t mean it isn’t a lot to process. Silent that is, until Elyan frowns in confusion, tilting his head before looking at Percival:

“Out of curiosity, when did you figure out what Merlin was?”

The knight flushes slightly as he shrugs, saying:

“Since he first fell asleep in front of me: I felt it.”

Merlin nodded knowingly, muttering something along the lines of “I’ll have to work on that” under his breath with a thoughtful hum, but Arthur furrows his brows, slowly repeating Percival’s words:

“You... felt it?”

Percival takes a deep breath, looking like a man who has spent his entire life afraid, and has decided to be brave all of a sudden. He clears his throat, and unties the collar of his tunic with quick fingers, pulling it down to reveal a part of his chest. Everyone gasps in shock when he mutters something unintelligible, eyes flashing gold as a Druid Triskelion reveals itself tattooed over his heart. The King lets out an almost unheard, dumbfounded “huh.” and Merlin smiles, giving Percival a proud nod.

The knight returns his smile, only hesitating slightly, before asking:

“How long have you known what I am?”

Merlin snorts and rolls his eyes:

“From the moment I saw you. I can hide my gift, at least a little, you can’t hide yours, not from me.”

Percival looks shocked, and the knights are back to staring confusedly between them:

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”

The servant tilts his head slightly and smiles (the knights try to pretend that it isn’t just a little sharp again):

“I was curious. I wanted to see how long you would try to hide it from me, how long it would take for you to start resenting me, doubting me. About six years, apparently.”

Percival flushes, embarrassed at having been caught out:

“I apologise, My Lord, for my lack of faith.”

Everyone is taken aback at Percival’s address of Merlin, and Arthur looks very much like he’d like to argue (though still hasn’t let go of the younger man’s hand, something that no one will draw attention to), but before he can say anything, Merlin winces and shakes his head rapidly:

“Please don’t, I hate it when you lot get all... worship-y.”

Percival nods, cheeks turning redder, but Gwaine just barks out a laugh and repeats some of Merlin’s earlier words:

“I can recite every prayer word for word, even your own, Sir Percival.”

A blush rises on Merlin’s face, reaching his ears as he rubs the back of his neck in his embarrassment:

“Yes, that was a little dramatic of me wasn’t it.”

Arthur snorts, before tugging Merlin’s hand to get his attention. The servant looks at him curiously, and Arthur swallows down his timid smile when he feels Merlin squeeze his hand gently:

“How powerful are you, exactly? You’re obviously not just some ordinary sorcerer if there are prophecies and Percival is calling you My Lord. Oh, and you’re almost a God.”

Merlin grimaces slightly and Arthur frowns in concern; definitely not the response he was expecting. Percival and Lancelot both raise an eyebrow at him, curious to see if he would tell the truth or not as everyone else stares at him, waiting:

“Uh... fairly powerful,-”

Percival scoffs, and Merlin shoots him a brief glare:

“-some say I’m the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth. I’m... uh... I’m not great at healing magic, but other than that, I haven’t really found a limit to what I can do.”

Lancelot looks proud, and Arthur finally realises the man’s unsettling behaviour had likely been because he already knew. The King pushes down the red hot jealousy swelling in his lungs, and instead makes a mental note to thank him later: for keeping Merlin safe and loved when Arthur could not.

Leon, and Elyan look a little dumbfounded, obviously struggling to bring together Merlin, someone they thought of as a clumsy, sweet, brother, with TheMostPowerfulWarlockEver™. Gwaine just had a shit-eating grin on his face, and Arthur almost shuddered at the trouble he would no doubt deliberately get himself into now that he knew Merlin could literally do anything he put his mind to.

Arthur shakes away his worry. It’s been one hell of a night, and frankly, he’s not in the mood to get all... authoritative. He’ll ruin Gwaine’s fun one day, just... not today. He squeezes Merlin’s hand again, running his thumb over his manservant’s surprisingly calloused knuckles (he’ll have to ask if Gwaine has been dragging him into barfights) before smiling softly, gazing at the side of his face:

“Show us something?”

A grin spreads across Merlin’s face, but he doesn’t look away from the fire, giving the distinct impression that he’d been waiting for that specific request. 

He doesn’t wave his hand, or mutter a spell like Percival had, he just moves his gaze upwards, eyes flashing gold as his smile turns soft, and smoke begins to rise thickly from the wood. It warps unnaturally in the air, as if it were being painted on the breeze, and the soft edges sharpen into an image: the Pendragon crest. Merlin’s gaze flicks down briefly, and as he lifts his chin again, embers fly up in a quick whirlwind. The smoke warps once again, merging with the bright embers into a more life-like dragon. It breaks free of it’s smoky restraints, and the knights all gasp in wonder as it flies around their heads before diving back into the embers and dissipating into the air.

Once the light show finishes, a gentle round of applause goes up around the circle and Merlin blushes, bowing his head and tightening his hold on Arthur’s hand.

Gwaine laughs and claps his hands again loudly to draw everyone’s attention. They all raise eyebrows and groan when they see his normal cheeky grin adorning his face, but he doesn’t look away from the group’s Warlock:

“So, who wins?”

~

THE END!!

I really loved writing this. There’s a special place in my heart for Druid!Percival (and also slightly unsettling!Merlin), and I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Like normal, you wanna write it up properly or expand it, let me know and go for it!! Credit and tag me ✌️

It’s then that Elyan finally notices the slow trickle of blood from behind Gwaine’s ear, dribbling down his neck, he keeps hold of Gwaine’s shoulder as he looks behind him:

“Merlin! Gwaine hit his head!”

Elyan looks back around when he hears the knight gasp, to see him looking at him with wide eyes:

“Fuck, did I?? That’s not good, someone should.... should call Merlin.”

Elyan just bites his lip to stop himself from laughing, and nods sympathetically, as if agreeing with him. Gwaine slumps back against the tree and Elyan helps him sit down as Arthur and Merlin finally rush over.

Elyan moves out of the way, and Merlin crouches in front of the injured knight, setting his medical bag next to him as he takes Gwaine’s face in soft hands.

Gwaine gives him a bleary grin as Merlin checks his pupils and huffs:

“You... are very pretty.”

Merlin would have been happy to ignore Gwaine’s nonsense, but flushes slightly when he hears Elyan and Arthur snort behind him. He scowls at them briefly over his shoulder before beginning to clean the wound behind Gwaine’s ear, and checking for any further injury. The other knights gather around, having checked over the bandits for anything of interest, and Percival is the first to speak:

“He’ll be fine, won’t he, Merlin?”

Before Merlin can answer, Gwaine lifts a clumsy hand to pat the physician’s head with a shit-eating grin on his face:

“You know who is fine? This guy, very very fine.”

Merlin chuckles as he blushes, taking Gwaine’s hand and putting it back in the knight’s lap. The others laugh behind him but Merlin ignores them as he works, keeping his gaze on the wound, but speaking to Gwaine:

“Thank you Gwaine, but why don’t you keep your hands to yourself for a few hours?”

Gwaine huffs and pouts, looking very much like a child, but nods when Merlin smiles at him. Merlin finishes up, cleaning his hands as he stands, looking to the knights behind him:

“He’s got a pretty big concussion so he can’t fall asleep for the next twelve hours or so. He might feel nauseous at some point, and his balance will be way off, so I’ll ride with him. We need to keep getting water in him, but other than that, there’s not much we can do until it clears up. He’ll have a banging headache for a few days.”

Arthur nods, trusting Merlin’s judgement and gesturing Leon and Percival forward to help the knight up. Thankfully, they were on the tail end of their patrol and can just ride straight back to the city, but everyone takes great amusement in Gwaine’s slurred and nonsensical flirting with Merlin. That is, until the concussed knight turns his attention to Percival, and devotes his shoddy pick-up lines to the flushed giant, at which point it goes from mildly amusing, to absolutely hilarious.

2)

Everyone worries when Leon doesn’t show up to training.

Gwaine being an hour late? Not a worry. Leon not being early? Definitely a worry.

But when Lancelot sprints back to the training field after being sent to check on him, calling Merlin’s name desperately, everyone’s worry gets vastly amplified.

Merlin runs up to meet him halfway across the field, brow furrowed in worry. Lance rests his hands on his knees for a moment, struggling to speak through his quick breathing:

“He’s... there’s something wrong with him, I... I think he’s sick.”

Merlin immediately starts a quick paced journey back up to the castle, sprinting even quicker than Lancelot in his panic; Arthur and the others follow behind him, having not heard the conversation but turning understandably panicked at Merlin’s reaction.

When they finally catch up to him, he’s sat on the side of Leon’s bed, checking his breathing and pulse with a frown on his face. The knight is practically catatonic, eyes shut tightly, murmuring and twitching in his sleep, drenched in sweat and shivering.

Merlin looks back with a gulp to Arthur, stood by the door with a worried expression:

“I need you to go to Gaius’ chambers and pick up my bag. It’s fully stocked, I re-did it last night and it should have everything I need, but I can’t leave him.”

Arthur’s eyes widen at Merlin’s last words, obviously realising how sick Leon is, but Merlin’s harsh-

“NOW, Arthur!”

-breaks him out of his stupor, and he sprints away in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. The other knights, a breathless Lancelot having finally joined them, go to crowd into the room, but Merlin looks up at them, sternly saying:

“No, everyone out, it’s probably contagious, and with Gaius in the lower-town I do not have enough hands to treat all of you at once. Out.”

They all reluctantly file out of the room, but leave the door open, and Merlin rolls his eyes fondly as they all stand in the hallway, staring at their sick friend with furrowed brows and bitten lips.

Leon mumbles something and shifts in his sleep. Merlin looks back down at him, wiping the sweat slicked hair away from his forehead and rubbing a soft hand up and down his arm. The knight blearily opens his eyes, breaths shallow and rasping as his hand twitches towards Merlin. The younger man gives him a soft smile, hiding his worry as he takes Leon’s hand in his own. Leon relaxes slightly at that, blinking at him confusedly as he mutters:

“Mer...lin? I don’t... don’t feel... great.”

Merlin nods, stroking the back of Leon’s hand as he softly replies:

“I know, Leon, I’ve got you. You’ll be fine in no time, alright? Just go back to sleep.”

Leon nods slightly, and closes his eyes again, trusting Merlin’s words. His hand goes limp in Merlin’s once again and the physician swallows worriedly.

Arthur finally runs back in with Merlin’s bag clutched tightly in his hands. He’s breathing deeply, and at Merlin’s gesture, gently chucks the bag to him from the middle of the room, retreating again to stand by the door.

Merlin turns his attention back to Leon, rummaging through his bag, as Arthur asks, the concern clear in his voice:

“What else do you need, Merlin?”

Merlin doesn’t looks up at him as he pulls various supplies out form his bag, checking Leon’s breathing periodically:

“I need a few changes of clothes, a patient pallet brought up from Gaius’ chambers, a constant supply of cold water and clean cloths, and a spare chamber-pot; he’s almost certainly going to throw up at some point.”

Arthur nods, going out to speak to the knights. He sends Percival and Gwaine to the physician’s chambers to bring back some of Merlin’s clothes and a pallet, sends Mordred to talk to the steward about having a servant outside Leon’s chambers constantly so Merlin could have whatever he needed, whenever he needed it, and sends Elyan to rummage through the storage rooms for a spare chamber-pot. 

He walks slowly back into the room, but still keeps his distance, fidgeting harshly with his hands as he gulps, quietly, but worriedly asking:

“Will he be alright??”

Merlin, still not looking up from Leon and his bag, replies softly:

“He should be ok, but I need to keep an eye on him. I’ll be sleeping in here until he’s better, and I won’t be joining you at all until he’s at least up and walking around. Gaius should be back day after tomorrow, so try not to get injured until then, otherwise go to Gwen, she’s got a pretty good understanding of basic treatment. Shut the door behind you.”

Arthur nods mutely, understanding Merlin’s dismissal, and walking from the room silently. He turns back, quietly saying:

“They’ll be a servant out here to fetch anything you need. Thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin nods distractedly, focused on mixing some sort of paste in a bowl as Arthur sighs, and shuts the door behind him.

It was about two weeks before Merlin moved out of Leon’s chambers, but it was at least a month before he stopped periodically, almost subconsciously, reaching for the knight’s wrist to check his pulse. There had been a few scares, when his pulse was so weak that Merlin could barely feel it; he lost a lot of sleep over those first two weeks, too afraid to close his eyes in case Leon stopped breathing, and too concerned about his friend to let another physician take over.

Leon found it endearing, but didn’t mention it when he noticed Merlin coincidentally bumping into him multiple times a day and finding excuses to touch his fingers to his wrist or neck, even briefly.

He was fine in the end, thanks to Merlin’s thorough treatment, but it was a scary couple of weeks, when having to think about burying Leon was a genuine worry.

(The knight also demanded that Merlin be given a week off from his manservant duties when he was feeling better, which Arthur eagerly agreed to. Though he did spend almost the entire time trailing Leon round like a lost puppy, under the guise of “making sure he didn’t overdo it”.)

3)

Since he had arrived back in Camelot, Elyan had been spending more and more time in the family’s Blacksmith’s.

He felt the need to fill the void that his father had left in the old forge, and he enjoyed returning to his roots; there was something therapeutic about being surrounded by fire and hot metal once again.

But his years away from it all made him a little clumsy, having lost a little of the instinctual caution he had when he was a teenager. Which is what led him to be sat on a bench in the Physician’s chambers, watching with fond amusement as Merlin fretted and gathered various dressings and bandages.

The burn on Elyan’s arm was serious enough to need more than just cold water, but it was definitely not serious enough to warrant such worry from the Warlock.

He finally came to stand between Elyan’s legs, checking over the burn with soft hands after placing everything he had gathered on the table next to him.

Merlin looked up at the knight, and Elyan had to stop himself frowning at the man’s worry, and was that... fear?

He finally cleared his throat, glancing away briefly before saying:

“I uh... I could lessen the pain a little with magic, if you’re ok with that. But I have more than enough supplies to treat it normally if you don’t want me to, it’s really no-”

Elyan cuts him off with a gentle hand on the shoulder and a soft smile:

“It’s fine, Merlin. We trust you, remember? If you think your magic can help, then by all means, go ahead. I trust you.”

Merlin lets out a breath, relaxing as he nods and returns Elyan’s smile with a weak one of his own. He had only told the truth about his magic a few weeks ago, and things were still a little... raw. After what happened to his father, Merlin was expecting Elyan to be one of the least accepting of the sorcery, and he wasn’t wrong at first, but after a few harsh words from Gwen about all the times Merlin had saved her, and about how hard Merlin had tried to save Tom, Elyan did a complete switch, and became one of The Warlock’s most ardent defenders.

Elyan marvelled at the warmth spreading down his arm as Merlin’s eyes glowed gold and he muttered a few incantations. The burn was still there, but it seemed cleaner, and definitely hurt less. Merlin followed up his magic with some burn salve and carefully wrapped bandages, looking up at Elyan with relief in his eyes at the knight’s fond, trusting smile.

He continued his bustling around the chambers under Elyan’s amused watch, returning with a few small tinctures:

“Take one of these a day, starting this evening; it’ll help with the pain overnight. Come back the day after tomorrow and I’ll re-bandage it. Let me know if... uh, you want me to... you know-”

He wiggles his fingers vaguely, and Elyan raises an amused eyebrow at him, slowly saying:

“Re-do the magic?”

Merlin bites his lip and nods slightly. Elyan gives him a wide grin, hopping off the bench and ruffling Merlin’s hair:

“Will do, Merls. Thank you.”

With that, the knight walks cheerfully out of the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving a very happy, slightly less worried Warlock/Physician/Servant behind

4)

A particularly impressive move from Lancelot and a misstep from Arthur is what leads to The King sat on the grass with a belt between his teeth and Merlin stood behind him, one hand reached around and flat on his chest, the other on his shoulder-blade.

Lancelot is understandably freaking out, and Arthur is half focussed on how impressed he is, and half focussed on the stabbing pain in his shoulder.

Merlin moves his hand slightly and Arthur groans around the belt, biting down as the servant mutters an apology:

“Sorry. This is gonna hurt like a bitch but I need you to stay as still as possible, ok?-”

Arthur nods slightly, mumbling something that sounds like “just get on with it”, but it’s hard to understand with a mouth stuffed with leather:

“-Alright, on three, ok? One, TWO-”

On two, Merlin pushes Arthur’s arm back into it’s socket with a sickening pop, and The King groans even louder, squeezing his eyes shut and biting down on the belt in his pain. The knights all wince in sympathy, Leon putting a soft hand on Arthur’s other shoulder as the man breathes deeply.

After a few moments, Merlin straightens the arm, moving it round in a circle to make sure everything is where it’s meant to be, before grabbing the sling he’d had Percival hold, and wrapping Arthur’s arm carefully, letting it hang against his chest.

Arthur finally spits the belt out, grimacing as he flexes his shoulder slightly. Merlin puts a hand back on his shoulder, eyes glowing gold as he mutters a spell. The blond lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding at the blissful numbness spreading from his shoulder, down his arm and across his back, before looking up at an almost hysterical Lancelot.

Arthur chuckles at Lance’s face, shaking his head slightly as he says:

“Very impressive, Lancelot, though if you could save that for enemies, that would be great.”

Lancelot finally bursts, not seeming to have heard Arthur’s praise:

“Ar- Your Majesty I am so sorry, I really didn’t mean to-”

Arthur waves his free hand in dismissal, taking Mordred’s offered hand and standing up, still with an impressed smile on his face:

“Don’t be stupid Lance, like I said, it was very impressive, and with Merlin around there’s no harm done.-”

Merlin grins and blushes at the subtle compliment.

“-Besides, I dole out at least one injury a month, it’s about time one of you got me back. Well done Lance, you beat everyone else.”

He says it with a grin, and Lancelot finally relaxes slightly, raking a hand through his hair as he gives the amused King a weak smile, much to the other knights’ amusement. Merlin steps back in front of Arthur adjusting the sling and speaking forcefully:

“No training at all for a week, no full contact sparring or skirmishes with bandits for two. And I want to check it again before you start.”

Arthur’s face falls indignantly and he whines:

“Oh come on, it can’t be that bad! It doesn’t even hurt that much.”

Merlin scowls:

“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt because I numbed it with magic, prat.”

Arthur looks like he wants to argue, but Merlin just raises an eyebrow (very reminiscent of Gaius), the meaning of “I dare you to argue with me right now” VERY clear.

Arthur backs down, muttering a petulant “fine” under his breath, much to the knights’ amusement.

5)

To say that Mordred was panicking would be a vast understatement.

But to be fair, everyone was panicking.

Everyone thought that the fight had gone rather well, finally surviving a battle with mercenaries injury free, that was until Mordred had tried to stand up, only to find that he couldn’t breath, and his chest hurt.

Tears leaked from his eyes as he lay on the ground, squeezing Arthur’s hand so tightly The King was sure it would bruise; but he didn’t care about that, all he cared about was running his free hand over the younger man’s armour, desperately trying to figure out what was wrong.

Mordred took in shallow, gasping breaths, his vision swimming as the stabbing pain in his chest spiked with every movement. He had been calling out for Emrys in his head, unable to speak, and finally the panicked man burst through the trees, pushing through the crowd of knights and dropping to his knees at Mordred’s side.

He’d wondered off an hour or so ago to collect some herbs for Gaius, and had missed the whole fight, though he’d begun his sprint back when Mordred had called out for him at the start of the battle, pushing himself even faster when it became apparent that the younger man was badly injured.

Arthur immediately looks up at him, but doesn’t let go of Mordred’s hand as he speaks quickly, only just managing to keep the shaking out of his voice:

“He can’t breath properly, I think he got kicked in the chest but there’s no blood or anything, I don’t know what’s wrong with him Merlin, he can’t breath.”

Merlin curses under his breath, wiping Mordred’s hair away from his face as he rushes to say:

“Help me get his armour off, someone grab me my smallest knife and a roll of bandages, now.”

With that, Percival rushes to the dropped medical bag, riffling through it for what Merlin had asked for as Gwaine and Elyan rush to remove Mordred’s armour, and Leon and Lancelot move to stand guard, watching for any more attackers.

Mordred whimpers every time he’s jostled, but Merlin and Arthur hush him, squeezing his hand and stroking his hair. With the focused look on Merlin’s face, Arthur can tell that he’s talking to the Druid through their mental link, so doesn’t say anything, knowing that it’s probably the only thing stopping Mordred from panicking even more.

The armour finally comes off, and Merlin quickly puts his ear to Mordred’s chest, cursing to himself once more as he holds his hand out wordlessly for the knife.

Percival puts it in his hand without hesitation, and Merlin quickly cuts Mordred’s tunic away before hovering the sharp point over the side of his chest, looking up to Elyan and Gwaine still kneeled at his side and saying:

“Hold him down, he can NOT move when I do this.”

They don’t ask what “this” is, trusting that he knows what he’s doing as Gwaine moves to straddle Mordred’s thighs and hold his hips down, and Elyan pushes his shoulders into the floor. Arthur leans over to take both of Mordred’s hands tightly in his own, and without any more hesitation, Merlin pushes the blade down into Mordred’s chest with a soft apology.

Mordred whimpers even more, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, and letting out a pained yelp when Merlin twists the knife slightly. With the movement, there’s a hiss of air, and Mordred takes a deep, gasping breath.

Merlin relaxes slightly, and nods at the others to let go. Gwaine and Elyan move back, but Arthur stays, holding Mordred’s hands and trying to cover the disgust on his face as Merlin holds the knife in place.

Mordred finally opens his eyes, and Merlin gives him a reassuring smile before looking to Elyan:

“Elyan, you’ve got the steadiest hands, I need you to hold this-”

He nods down at the knife, and Elyan’s eyes widen in panic before he gulps and nods his head, carefully taking the knife from Merlin’s hands, and holding it place. Merlin moves to where Elyan had been sat, above Mordred’s head, and he leans down, moving his ear from one side of the Druid’s chest to the other, careful to avoid Elyan’s hands holding the knife.

He listens to each side for about ten seconds each time, moving between them a few times, before finally sitting up and nodding to himself in satisfaction. He grabs the roll from Percival’s shaking hands, once again wiping the hair from Mordred’s forehead and giving him a reassuring smile, before looking back up at Elyan:

“Pull it out when I say go, ok? Straight out, don’t twist it, don’t bend your wrist, just straight out.-”

Elyan nods firmly and at Merlin’s-

“-Go!”

-he pulls the knife out, quickly getting out of the way as Merlin presses one hand over the wound, eyes glowing gold as he mutters a spell. Mordred lets out a breath as he’s relieved form the pain slightly, closing his eyes briefly before Merlin says:

“No, come on Mordred, I need you to stay awake, I need to know that you’re ok whilst I do this alright? You can sleep later, I promise.”

Mordred nods slightly as he opens his still teary eyes, and Arthur leans closer, smiling at him and asking some unimportant question about what he wants for his birthday coming up. Merlin gives the King a grateful smile as he brings his hand away from the bloody wound, glad to see that the spell had worked and the bleeding had slowed considerably.

With the help of Gwaine and Elyan, Merlin gets Mordred into a sitting position, wrapping the bandages tightly around his chest, periodically checking his pulse and breathing with his hand.

He ties it off, letting a breath of relief escape him as he collapses back onto the floor. Mordred is slumped against Arthur, groaning as he desperately tries to keep his eyes open, but Merlin presses a hand to his forehead, eyes once again glowing gold as he mutters:

“Sleep.”

The younger man passes out pretty much immediately, and Arthur supports his weight, giving Merlin a concerned, questioning look. The Warlock meets his gaze, giving him a weak smile and nod:

“Collapsed lung, had to release the pressure. He’ll be fine, but infection is a concern so I need to get him back to Camelot as soon as possible.”

Arthur nods, and with a gesture from him, Leon and Lancelot lean down to pick the younger man up, carefully depositing him on the front of Arthur’s horse, to be taken back to the castle.

Merlin looks around to the others, noticing the shaking that had slowly started in Elyan’s hands as he stares down at the blood coating his fingers. Merlin touches a soft hand to his shoulder, and Elyan gasps, looking up at him quickly with wide eyes. Merlin gives him a smile, hovering his hand over Elyan’s as he murmurs a spell.

The knight looks down again to see his hands completely clean, and he flexes his fingers, before giving Merlin a tight smile, and muttering a quiet thank you.

Everyone mounts their horses, quickly urging them to follow Arthur back to Camelot.

6)

Lancelot was trying his best not to wince, but his wrist really did hurt.

They’d just made camp; Merlin, Lancelot, and Arthur were on their way back from visiting Hunith in Ealdor for a few days.

Originally it was meant to just be Merlin and Lance, but Arthur insisted that he come along for extra protection. All three of them knew it was just an excuse (Merlin was the most powerful Warlock in existence after all) but no one mentioned it. It had taken months and a lot of sleepless nights for Arthur to finally get the magic ban repeal through, and Lance and Merlin knew he needed a few days off, with no worries or responsibilities or titles or stupid crowns or councillors or meetings, so they were happy to have him tag along.

The knight must have sprained it when fixing the barn roof, but was reluctant to say anything; he didn’t want to put a dampener on the mood, and Hunith had been so accommodating, he didn’t want to be a bother. But when Merlin noticed him struggling to remove his saddle-bag with one hand, he raised an eyebrow, and held his hand out wordlessly.

Lancelot went to fake innocence, but Merlin just raised his eyebrow further and crooked his fingers. The knight sighed, putting his wrist in Merlin’s hand with nothing but a sheepish look. The Court Sorcerer ran his fingers over the soft skin there, noting the bruise with a disapproving tut before he mutters a spell.

His eyes flash gold, and Lance flexes his wrist as both the pain and bruise recede. He nods with a smile:

“You’re getting better at that.”

Merlin just huffs and rolls his eyes:

“Yes, well, you knights do insist on giving me plenty of opportunities to practice.-”

Lancelot huffs out a brief laugh, before he quietly apologises. Merlin just shakes his head with a smile:

“-It’ll still be tender for a few days, so don’t use it too much, Physician’s orders.”

Lancelot smirks slightly, and Merlin knows he isn’t going to like what he says:

“Of course, anything you say My Lord.”

Merlin scowls and squeezes the knight’s wrist slightly, muttering-

“I will turn you into a fucking toad.”

-much to Lancelot’s amusement.

Arthur finally reappears from collecting firewood, and raises an eyebrow at Merlin’s scowl and Lancelot’s laughter:

“What are you two up to, or do I not want to know?”

Merlin huffs and stomps off to collect his saddle-bag, and Lancelot clears his throat, still chuckling as he replies:

“Hmm. It would appear that Lord Merlin Emrys Ambrosius, Court Sorcerer of Camelot, Protector of the Once and Future King, Last of the Dragon-Lords, is not all that fond of his fancy new title.”

Arthur laughs, and Lancelot forgets his now long-gone pain in favour of joining in.

7)

This was one of the most serious injuries any of them had seen in a very long time.

Leon had been called in the tent to help Merlin, having been the least tired with the steadiest hands at the time.

Arthur was pacing angrily, Mordred was doing his best to meditate, Lancelot held one of Gwaine’s hands in his own, and Elyan had an arm around his shoulders, as Gwaine himself bounced his foot up and down. At the beginning, he’d tried to hold his tears in, but as the image of a bloody and dying Percival slowly cemented itself in his mind, he gave up, and let them flow.

They’d been in there for hours, and whilst the rest of the knights tried to have faith, the angry curse that Merlin had let out almost two hours ago, closely followed by hurried movements and Leon shakily asking what he needed to do, had not helped their anxieties.

Inside the tent, they were just finishing up. There was blood everywhere, metres worth of soaked bandages strewn around the tent, along with most of Merlin’s medical bag, which had been upturned and spread around for quick access.

Leon was exhausted, having spent hours monitoring Percival’s breathing and pulse with no break, passing Merlin whatever he asked for, and occasionally having to hold bits of his friend together whilst Merlin worked his magic (both literally, and metaphorically). But however tired Leon was, Merlin was a hundred times worse.

He’d drained most of his energy during the fight, and had to dig incredibly deep to pull out enough magic to keep Percival alive whilst he stitched him back together. The blade he’d been stabbed with was imbued with dark magic, and shards had splintered inside the wound. Luckily, no organs had been punctured, but plenty of blood vessels had been nicked, and nothing could be left inside or it would cause likely deadly problems later down the line.

That just meant almost everything had to be done by hand; magic was useful in keeping the knight asleep, and dulling the pain as much as he could, but as far as the actual healing went, Merlin had to focus on keeping his mind sharp and his hands steady.

His face had remained blank, and his voice deadpan through the whole process, and around half a candle-mark in, Leon asked in a whisper:

“How are you so calm? I... I’m trying my best but I don’t know how you’re doing this.”

Merlin doesn’t look up at him as he quietly replies:

“If I panic, he dies. I have to trust that I know what I’m doing, and just get on with it. You’re doing fine, Leon. It isn’t... it isn’t Percival, it’s just another knight-”

Merlin’s voice lowers, whispering his last words to himself:

“-just another patient.”

Leon nods, taking another of many deep breaths, focusing on keeping his hands steady and counting Perci- the patient’s breaths.

It was maybe an hour later, that Leon widened his eyes, looking up at Merlin in a panic; before he can say anything, Merlin feels it as well, cursing loudly to himself and dredging up his last reserves of magic to hold his tools in place (in Percival’s abdomen), moving up hurriedly to be by his chest, where he quickly starts CPR.

Leon takes a deep breath, gulping before says:

“Merlin, what do I... what do I do??”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, focusing on keeping rhythm, and Leon can hear him counting under his breath; he gets to twenty-seven when the knight starts breathing on his own again, and Merlin gives himself enough time to take a fortifying breath before going back to the wound and carrying on with what he’d been doing, as if nothing had just happened.

Another hour later, Merlin was putting the last stitches in, satisfied with his work, but by no means... hopeful.

And half a candle mark after that, the knight had been thoroughly cleaned and bandaged, tightly.

Leon (shakily) and Merlin (blankly) cleaned all of the Physician’s tools, and packed away all the detritus; they needed to keep Percival’s environment as clean as possible. He’d tried to force himself to do more, but Merlin’s energy had almost completely abandoned him, and Leon had convinced him to give it a rest; the longer he tried to force it, the longer it would be before his magic built up enough to be useful again.

Merlin finally exited the tent, drenched in blood, leaving Leon to keep an eye on Percival whilst he went to update the others.

When he set foot on the leaves, everyone’s head whipped up. Arthur had given up his pacing, and Mordred had abandoned his meditating, but Elyan, Gwaine, and Lancelot were all still huddled together; though everyone jumped up quickly when they set eyes on Merlin.

They looked at him expectantly, desperately, and Merlin met Arthur’s gaze first:

“You need to go sit with him, Arthur-”

He’s interrupted by a pained cry from Gwaine, and Arthur’s grief-stricken face. A request for the King to go sit with an injured man... that could only mean one thing in their minds. Merlin held his hands (still bloody) up placatingly:

“-he stopped breathing once, but we got him going again. If he makes it cleanly through the night then his chances shoot up, but if he gets an infection before morning then... there won’t be much I can do. Someone needs to go in with Arthur to take over from Leon, he’s exhausted-”

Mordred takes a step forward, a concerned look on his face as he softly says:

“You’re tired too, Merlin, you should sleep.”

Arthur nods, but Merlin waves him off, muttering:

“I’m fine.”

Everyone notices the bleariness of his eyes, and the shaking that had just begun in his hands, but they don’t say anything. They had been expecting this, it happens every time there’s a serious, life threatening injury. Merlin can compartmentalise for as long as needs to, but shock usually hits an hour or so later, when everything catches up to him. With how serious this injury had been, with how exhausted Merlin is, and how covered in blood he is, they aren’t surprised that it’s hitting a little sooner than normal.

Arthur nods at Elyan, and the knight takes that as his cue to go into the tent. Leon walks out a moment later, almost as covered in blood as Merlin, and breathing deeply, tears in his eyes as he heavily sits down. Lancelot wraps him in a blanket cleaning his hands wordlessly with a wet cloth before pushing him to the floor and telling him to get some sleep. Leon closes his eyes and is gently snoring within seconds; Lancelot goes back to Gwaine, forcing the man to look away from the still fairly bloody Leon as he whispers reassurances to him.

As this is happening, Arthur walks slowly to Merlin, putting a soft hand on his shoulder and gently saying:

“What do you need, Merlin? Right now, what do you need?”

Merlin’s eyes had been getting wider and wider as he stared down at his hands, covered in blood and now shaking violently. He looks up in shock at Arthur’s touch, seeming to have forgotten that he wasn’t alone:

“I.. uh, I need two people with Percival at all times, monitoring his breathing, pulse, and temperature. I need... need his pupils checked every ten minutes or so, and I need someone to count how many rolls of bandages I’ve got left so I can figure out how often I can afford to change them and.... and I-”

He looks back down to his hands, gulping, and Arthur can tell that Merlin is really not with it as he continues:

“-I need to go... go and wash my hands.... excuse me.”

With that, he stumbles off in the direction of the stream they had been taking water from. Arthur gestures at Mordred to follow the Warlock, before exchanging short nods with Lancelot, and going into the tent.

Mordred grabs a cloth and a spare tunic, before following Merlin’s trail. When he catches up to him, the older man is knelt at the side of the stream, scrubbing his hands viciously in the water. Mordred sits slowly besides him, gulping before quietly saying:

“Emrys? Merlin?”

Merlin hums in acknowledgment, but doesn’t look up, and Mordred huffs quietly, leaning over to take Merlin’s hands with a quiet:

“Let me.”

Merlin tenses only slightly before he fully relaxes, and the two men move to sit cross-legged, facing each other. Mordred dips the cloth he bought in the stream, and carefully wipes the blood from Merlin’s hands and arms. The Warlock sits absolutely still, and Mordred can tell that he isn’t really... present. He tilts Merlin’s head up, and his eyes seem to come into focus slightly as the Druid cleans away the blood on Merlin’s cheek and temple.

Mordred puts the cloth to the side, picking up a spare tunic and offering it to the other man:

“I thought you’d like to change.”

Merlin looks down to the offered fabric, and it takes him a few moments to process what Mordred had said before he nods slowly, and takes the tunic. He stands on wobbly legs, and Mordred quickly follows him, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. 

Mordred looks away as Merlin changes. It wasn’t that he really cared, but Merlin was usually incredibly careful to hide his scars from people, (though everyone was aware that they existed, having caught glimpses here and there) but he was far too out of it to realise what he’d done. Mordred refused to take advantage of Merlin’s shock just to satiate his own curiosity about the marks marring his mentor’s skin.

He looks back to see Merlin just stood there blankly, bloody tunic dumped on the floor and hands still shaking slightly. Mordred sighs, he’s been warned about this, but he’s never seen it this bad before; it would seem that the last few hours had finally caught up to Merlin. The Druid takes a few careful steps forward, gently laying his hands on Merlin’s shoulders as he speaks to him in his mind:

“Merlin? You with me?”

His body doesn’t move at all, but Mordred can see his jaw twitch as he gets-

“I’m... I’m with you.”

-from the link. He sighs again, pulling Merlin into a hug; one hand running through the other man’s hair, the other hand firmly in the centre of his back, acting as an anchor, trying to keep Merlin in the here and now. It takes a few moments, but Merlin returns the hug eventually, burying his face in the crook of Mordred’s neck, and holding him tightly round the middle, breathing deeply.

Merlin takes a deep breath as he feels Mordred’s magic probing him for injuries and soothing his headache and exhaustion. In all the rush of Percival almost dying, Merlin hadn’t checked in with himself, and is surprised when Mordred finds, and heals, a bruised rib, and a cut on the back of his leg. Mordred doesn’t have nearly enough energy to be of any help to Percival, but he can heal Merlin’s aches and pains.

Merlin pulls back from the hug, giving Mordred a brief, teary smile before he croaks out:

“I need to go back to Perci-”

He’s cut off by Mordred harshly shaking his head and placing a hand on the side of Merlin’s neck:

“No, you’re exhausted Merlin, you need sleep. Arthur and Elyan are looking after Percival, but you and Leon both need at least a few hours of rest.-”

Merlin looks annoyed, like he wants to argue but is too tired to come up with a retort, and Mordred continues:

“-I promise, I will wake you up if anyone needs anything, but you’re of no use to Percival exhausted. Merlin, you’re about to keel over, and you don’t have any magic reserves left, I’ve given you a little of mine to start you off, but you need sleep.”

Merlin looks at him, his gaze assessing, though sleepy. He gulps, sagging slightly as he whispers:

“You promise you’ll wake me?”

Mordred gives him a weak smile:

“I promise.”

With that, Mordred picks up the bloodied cloth and tunic, tucking them under one arm as he pulls Merlin’s arm over his shoulder, semi-dragging the Warlock back to camp. He lays him down next to Leon, and the knight, in his sleep, reaches out and pulls him close.

Mordred lays another blanket over the two of them, before traipsing over to sit with Lancelot and Gwaine, where he finally lets his tears fall.

+1)

If Merlin knew how ridiculously they’d act, he would have hidden his injury and just dealt with it himself.

Unfortunately, Merlin had mistakenly assumed that Camelot’s seven best knights (one of whom was also King), would be able to be a little more composed.

He sat on a large rock, one arm hanging limply at his side, dripping blood onto the floor, as he stared at the knights. Mordred and Percival looked close to tears, Gwaine looked close to vomiting, Leon and Lancelot were just about managing to stay calm (but Merlin could see the panic in their eyes), Elyan was desperately riffling through Merlin’s bag, muttering something along the lines of “what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the-” , and Arthur was hovering directly in front of Merlin, biting his lip and breathing deeply as he offers reassurances to Merlin.

Merlin is half distracted by the pain, and half trying not to laugh at everyone’s panic. He’d both treated AND had so much worse than an arrow to the shoulder; don’t get him wrong, it was serious-ish, but it did not warrant this level of panic from seven of the Kingdom’s most fearsome warriors.

Elyan finally bustles over, hands full of random medical equipment, at least half of which are definitely not needed right now, but Merlin holds in his chuckle and doesn’t say anything. Arthur turns to the knight, gesturing everyone to gather close as he says, trying to keep the shaking out of his voice:

“Ok, do we take it out? Or do we break off the shaft and leave the head in?? I can’t fucking remember...-”

He trails off, and Merlin rolls his eyes, walking quietly to the remainder of his medical bag, and pulling out what he needs as he sits back on his rock. Gwaine glances back at him, but looks away again quickly as his face goes a little green and he mutters:

“Oh my Gods there’s so much blood.”

Merlin huffs and rolls his eyes; there really isn’t that much.

Leon looks to Merlin, and is the first to notice the man calmly sat there, treating his own injury. He lets out a very undignified yelp, stalking over and pulling the bandages and alcohol from Merlin’s hands and giving him a stern look:

“No, absolutely not, you’ve lost too much blood, you’ll make it worse, we’ll do it.”

Merlin rolls his eyes again, and gestures to the panicking group behind Leon incredulously as he says:

“This really isn’t a big deal, you lot are making a fuss out of nothing, I’ve had so much worse; can I have my stuff back now??”

Leon huffs, and Lancelot walks up to stand next to him, a concerned frown on his face:

“No, we’ll do it. Just... just talk us through it? It’s about time we had to stitch you up, I knew we’d need to eventually.”

Merlin stares at him for a few minutes, before sighing and shaking his head:

“Fine. Only you and Leon though, everyone else is too... jittery, for my peace of mind. They’re allowed no where near the arrow, or the needle and thread.”

At that, Gwaine goes even more green, mumbling a a quiet-

“Oh Gods, he needs stitches.”

-as he turns away. Merlin just scoffs slightly, and gestures Leon and Lancelot closer:

“Check the arrow for weakness, if it’s fully intact and feels strong, just yank it out. If it snaps, you’re going to have to dig the head out with a knife.”

Leon pales slightly, but nods, stroking his hand up and down the arrow far to gently to actually be able to tell anything. Merlin rolls his eyes:

“For pities sake-”

With that, he lifts his hand up, and pulls the arrow out in one quick motion, thankfully the head along with it. Gwaine promptly turns around and throws up in a bush, Percival running soft circles over his back distractedly as he stares in disgust at the bloody arrow in Merlin’s hand.

Leon gasps and Lancelot lets out an inhuman screech as he clamps a hand over the wound. Mordred whimpers and Arthur lifts a slow hand to cover his open mouth. Elyan blows a harsh breath out, stumbling back slightly and dropping all the things he had been carrying, much to Merlin’s annoyance.

Lancelot angrily looks to Merlin as Leon’s shaky hands try to thread a needle:

“Why?? Why would you do that Merlin? We have to be careful, we have to... we have to treat it properly.”

Merlin clears his throat, wincing slightly at the pain:

“You were being too careful. Let me put it this way, the longer you take, the more likely I am to get an infection and die a horrible death, all from a very simple, easy to fix wound.”

Merlin can vaguely hear Gwaine vomiting again in the background.

Leon takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as he mutters to himself:

“Just another patient.”

Merlin remembers what he’d said all those months ago on Percival’s almost-deathbed, and rolls his eyes; this was hardly of the same magnitude, but if it helped Leon thread the damn needle, then he wasn’t going to say anything. The First Knight looked up to Lancelot, showing him that it was ready, and Lancelot looks to Merlin:

“What next, we clean it, right?”

Merlin nods amusedly, and gestures to the glass bottle of alcohol that Leon had taken from him, and a clean cloth:

“It’s gonna sting like hell but keep going alright? Wash it out properly, then put pressure on it until the bleeding slows, then stitch it up. You know how to do stitches?”

Lancelot shakes his head, but Arthur steps forward and nods, taking the needle from Leon as he says:

“I do, I’ll do it.”

Merlin takes a deep breath a nods, and with that, Lancelot cleans out the wound. Merlin hisses in pain, clenching his hands tightly as Lancelot mutters apologies and the other knights crowd closer. Leon strokes a soft hand up the Warlock’s back, Arthur has a hand on his (uninjured) shoulder, Mordred was whispering reassurances through the mental link, Elyan stood by with bandages and clean cloths, and Gwaine gave Merlin his best smile, despite still looking a bit sick with Percival at his side, holding him up.

Finally it comes time for stitching, and Lancelot swaps places with The King, Merlin one again rolling his eyes as the blond takes a deep, fortifying breath. He finally starts the stitches, and compared to the alcohol just moments earlier (and the Serket sting, and the Dorocha attack, and the fireball, and the poison, and the and the and the...) it’s a tickle. 

Merlin starts making a mental list in his head of all the things he’ll need to replace from his bag next time he gets to the market, which had apparently been the wrong thing to do, because a few minutes later Arthur is slapping him gently on the cheek and calling his name. Merlin turns to look at him incredulously:

“What??”

And Arthur heaves a sigh of relief:

“There you are, we thought we’d lost you.”

“Lost me? It’s an arrow to the shoulder, I’m fine! I was just thinking about all the bloody shopping I’m going to have to do, because you’ve given me at least two extra stitches, and used way too much alcohol and bandages! Honestly.”

Arthur is a little taken aback at Merlin’s outburst, but starts laughing after a few moments of shock, everyone else joining in, slightly hysterically. Merlin looks around at them, bewildered:

“Look, I know I... go into shock or whatever when someone almost dies but this... this is too much. You’re all ridiculous, and next time, I’m treating my damn self.” 

Leon finally breaks out of his giggles, ruffling Merlin’s hair slightly:

“We’re just glad you’re ok, Merlin.”

Merlin rolls his eyes fondly, giving the knights a reassuring smile:

“I am ok, I’m absolutely fine. Honestly, seven of Camelot’s finest warriors all hysterically panicking over an arrow to the shoulder. Gods, I hope you know I’m telling Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen about this, and they WILL laugh at you.”

Arthur turns on him quickly, pointing a finger in Merlin’s face as he flushes:

“You absolutely will not.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking dangerously:

“Try me.”

~

THE END!!

Ok so this one was one of my favourite prompts ever and I’m so grateful @semideadpanda sent it in, so thank you!!

If anyone wants to extend this or write it out properly, then go for it!!