Chapter Text
Merlin stumbles out from behind the tree once the bandits have been dispatched. His leg’s throbbing where one of the bandits sliced him in the calf before he could drop a branch on him, but he’s otherwise uninjured.
“There you are, Merlin. Finally finished hiding behind trees?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You can tend to Galahad’s wound then.”
Merlin glances at Galahad. “But–”
“Now, Merlin.”
He sighs. “Yes, sire.”
Galahad’s lying against a tree, a pained grimace on his face. Merlin hides his limp as he walks over, not really sure why. He narrows his eyes as he kneels down beside him, examining his arm. “It’s just a graze and you know it.”
“I told you. I’m going to keep harassing you until you agree to an archery competition.”
“Fuck off.” He never should’ve let Galahad see him practicing. Still. He can show the knight up. He wants to humiliate him, Merlin knows it, and that won’t happen. “Maybe.” Galahad smirks and Merlin pulls the bandage tighter than it needs to be.
As he stands up, Arthur says impatiently, “you done?”
“Yep.”
“Good. Now that that’s sorted, we can get on with the hunt. Can you ride, Galahad?”
“Yes sire, it’s only my arm.”
“Let’s go then. Merlin, I want the campsite ready for when we return.”
Merlin opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. It’s not like Arthur will let him off if he tells him his leg’s injured anyway, not surrounded by his father’s knights. “Yes, Arthur,” he mutters. Arthur gives him a nod and the knights mount their horses, riding off.
Except Sir Leon. He only leads his horse out of the clearing by the lead rope. Merlin doesn’t understand why but his head’s fuzzy and the thought slips away. He shakes his head to clear it. Maybe he should do some chores first. Before he tends to his leg. Yes, that would be best. He’ll just... collect some firewood.
Merlin stumbles out of the clearing, shivering. He’s sure it wasn’t this cold earlier. In the back of his mind, he remembers something Gaius once taught him about blood loss but he can’t reach the thought.
What was he doing? Oh. Firewood. He bends down to pick up a likely-looking branch. Is the world supposed to spin like that? He doesn’t think it is. He tries to reach out with his magic to see what’s wrong with the world but it slips from his grasp. Black spots dance across his vision, spreading until he can’t see a thing.
There’s a thud, sounding like it’s coming from far away. That’s the last thing he knows.
He wakes slowly, groggily, to see someone above him. As his vision swims into focus, he spots ginger curls.
“Le’n?”
He looks relieved. “Yes, it’s me. How are you feeling?”
“Ugh.”
Leon sighs. “You’re an idiot. Honestly. Why would you try and collect firewood before tending to your obviously bad cut?”
“Di’n’t seem too bad.”
“That’s because you’re an idiot. I thought you were supposed to be apprentice to the court physician.” Merlin opens his mouth and Leon takes the opportunity to push a stick in it. “Bite down on this.”
“Mm?” Merlin asks, confused.
“I’ll have to cauterise it. You’re bleeding too much to make it back to Camelot otherwise.”
“Mm.” He watches Leon pick his sword up from where it’s balancing over the fire.
“Ready?” Merlin nods the best he can. “On three. One.” Leon presses the red-hot sword to his calf and he bites down hard, screaming. Eventually the burning agony dies down and he forces his jaw to unlock, dropping the wooden stick that’s now held together by a sliver of bark.
“That tastes disgusting,” he pants.
“Well, glad to see you’re still your normal self. Just let me bandage it.” Leon reaches for a clean bandage, tying it carefully around Merlin’s leg. “So. Have you agreed to Galahad’s challenge yet?”
“How d’you know ’bout that?”
“It wasn’t hard to work out. Besides. He’s collecting bets.”
“That bastard. You’ll share your winnings with me, right?”
“Obviously. And I stand to win a lot.” He smirks. “I can’t wait to see their faces when you beat him.”
“Sometimes I think you have too much faith in me.”
Leon finishes the bandage. “There. Done.” Merlin tries to get up, but the dizziness is too much and he would fall over if it wasn’t for Leon, who grips his arm, lowering him back down to the ground. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To cook. Arthur ’nd the other knights–”
“No you’re not.”
“But they’ll want–”
“To hell with what they want. They didn’t even notice you were injured. They can wait. Maybe they’ll even feel guilty.”
“Yeah right.” Leon rises. “What’re you doing?”
“Cooking.”
“You can’t cook.”
“Well they can have horrible-tasting stew for once. It won’t kill them. You could’ve died, Merlin, if I hadn’t noticed you limping. They deserve a bit of disgusting food for a bit.”
“But–”
“No. They do.”
Merlin smiles slightly, giving in. “What’re we goin’ to eat?”
“Arthur’s breakfast. It’s much tastier than anything I can cook.”
“You’re right.”
“You’re not meant to agree with me!”
Merlin chuckles and they fall silent for a time. He closes his eyes, listening to the sounds of the knight rustling around the clearing, gathering up herbs and preparing cooking equipment for when the rest of the party return with their catch. He feels exhausted, wrung out. Blood loss like this will do that to you, he supposes.
“Leon?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”