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It was an accident as most things of this nature were. Arthur and Merlin. Merlin and Arthur. Off they had gone to conquer yet another magical beast and bring back the heroic tale of how they fought it and saved the people of Camelot and her interests. That was the plan. Do as they usually did.
Routine never really was Arthur’s specialty. Things had gone wrong. Terribly wrong. The beast had perished but right along with it, Arthur had been pierced by a stray bandits arrow. Merlin made quick work of the bandit thrashing magic around like the snap of a whip and unleashed an abrupt and profound rage like that of fire woods crackle in the midst of being set ablaze. Unfortunately, Arthur doesn’t remember much of anything, including passing out. He really didn’t remember that.
The next time he wakes his manservant is by his side with a deep crease of panic and worry plaguing him and Arthur can’t help but think that the expression should never cross his face again. It’s not meant to be there, not ever. “Please. Please you mustn’t leave me like that again. Promise me, Arthur. Promise.” Every vocal cord in his throat fraying with a bleeding desperation that Arthur had only ever heard dying knights use. Frigid hands make way to the arrow, snapping most of the longer side off but ultimately refusing to pull it all the way out.
Arthur grabs at one of Merlins hands and links them together, his voice rough and calloused with exhaustion “Of course, Merlin. I shall never leave your side. Never. I vow to you with all the loyalty in Albion” He placed forward a soft smile to his Manservant - no - his friend. His loyal insufferable companion who’d held him together threw thick and thin.
“You bloody idiot” his voice grieved with watery tears and relief “you could have died!”
“Yes, I am aware.” Arthur swallowed thickly while still slumped against the great trunk of a tree “However, I didn’t did I? I could never leave you, Merlin. Heaven knows what you’d do without me” his friend shifts and grabs for a disinfecting herb salve in his satchel with his free hand.
The raven-haired man laughs something quiet and small “how are you such a prat even right after you get shot?” Merlin looks at his king as though he were a mystery, something he could never truly fathom. An enigma wrapped in a riddle.
“It’s something like my specialty. I’m sure you’d agree” his tongue feels weighted and talking is more chore than choice. His breathing grows shallower by the minute and the corners of his vision blur as if he were much too drunk.
“Any other time, yes, I’d love to agree but right now we need to go home and get you to Gaius.”
Home. What a funny word.
“No, no. I think I’d like to stay here a bit.” Arthur squeezes Merlin's hand “Just me and you. No Camelot. Just us. Just for a bit.” Arthur feels ragged and tired. Like every inch of his strength was sapped out of him and wrung threw a rag. When did his eyelids get so uncomfortably heavy? The dark spots in his vision feel comforting. Comforting in the same way he found comfort in seeing Merlin start up a fire in his room's hearth after an exhausting hunt. The same comforting an evening of banter with Merlin brang.
“-rthur?”
“Arth-”
“-ake up!”
“Plea-”
“Arthur!”
“so loud” Arthur grumbled in a half-drunken sounding slur
“Please. Please stay awake” This was bloody terrifying. Merlin was saying please. How bad was it? Then again he did just get shot. Huh. That was probably important, blood loss and all that.
“Merlin?” he near whispered
“Yes?”
His voice rung low and gravely “stay with me” he said. Arthur felt the fingers intertwined with his own tighten.
“Always.” Merlin sounded so horribly choked, things must really be bad. He’d rarely ever seen Merlin cry, the most memorable being for that of the death of Balinor.
“ ‘m I gonna ever see Cam’lot ag’n?” he found that forming words became ever more the struggle. Every effort he took to continue the conversation was abruptly shadowed by a searing level of exhaustion that made concocting simple comprehensible sentences together near impossible.
“You better stay alive long enough to see it again or so help me I’ll kill you myself. You hear me Arthur Pendragon?”
Arthur can’t help but smile, Merlin unmistakably resembles Hunith. He could see her sweet worrying and complete care carried on threw her son and that was something he’d need to thank her for next time - if next time ever came. “y‘sound like y’r mum” he supplies a pained tired laugh that ends up as more of a cough bringing up spots of blood and the swimming taste of copper in his mouth. The deep crimson inevitably dribbles down his chin and onto his clothes but all Arthur can care to think is that’s not good, and the laundress will bloody kill me. His head is thick with cotton but courtesy of a life in court and Merlins nagging, manners come first.
A fabric is fleetingly pulled across his chin and disappears as quickly as it came. “Yes, and we’re both going to see her again after this? You hear?” Merlins' voice comes threw clear and quiet but his tone is something gentle and ever so delicate, as though he were talking to a fragile blooming flower. Oddly enough Arthur has seen Merlin talk to flowers before. He had thought it was rather charming if he was honest with himself and now that he was lying where he would lay still for the rest of time he supposes that yes, he can be honest with himself now.
Arthur hums in response, logistically he knows he might not even make it back to the castle. If he does die at least he’ll die with Merlin by his side. He had a lot to thank Merlin for now that he thought about it, like for the questing beast, for exposing Valiant, for helping with the great dragon, for trying to heal his father despite the persecution his father held for Merlin’s kind. He owed Merlin so much, more than he could ever try to pay back but as things would have it he lays on the forest floor dying before he can even get the chance to voice any of his thanks. What of his kingdom? There is no heir to inherit the kingdom. What will happen to his people? The nobles would fight tooth and nail for even a shred of royal power-
“-ot gonna die” a voice - Merlin - cuts in.
Arthur isn’t a bloody idiot. He knows what wounds like these lead to, he knows he won’t make it a single mile back.
“Don’t say things like that” the man at his side calls back. The world grows quiet, not even the forest interrupts the silence, and then the world speaks again “-rthur? - you with m-” the words are brought in broken and fractured, and if he was in his right mind maybe he could figure out what they mean but as life would have it he’s seemingly at the end of his rope. He hears them more as contorted sounds rather than words with meaning.
“ake - Arthur? Arthur, please.” The voice is desperate and it trembles with every further word and it makes every nerve and muscle in the king's body twist and ache because he hates it. He knows that that voice isn’t supposed to sound like that - it’s supposed to sound like honey and peaches, like liquid sunshine and a warm summers day, like the carefully crafted night sky, like the wonderfully carefree lapping of waves on the shoreline, it shouldn’t ever sound broken like that so long as Arthur was there to keep it sweet and velvety. Then again, he wasn’t exactly capable of keeping it warm and sweet any longer now, was he?
As it turns out death isn’t all too scary, it has its charms. It’s not cold and harsh like the poets would presume. It doesn't feel like a iron casted brutal bombarding battle but rather a warm hug of nothingness. There isn’t any responsibility for anything, it’s just him and him alone. The thought would seem terrifying but he finds it calm. So clear. So refreshing. But it’s empty, there’s just him. Just Arthur. There isn’t anyone else, no Merlin, no Gwaine, no Percival, no Elyan, no Lancelot. He’s utterly alone.
The calm warm doesn’t last long. Before he knows it he’s pulled back with an intense fiery force that is so much more than just an embrace back to life. It’s much more intimate than a hug, and yet it’s not quite a kiss of unlimited affections either.
The breath returns to his lungs and never before has he found the forest's crisp and fresh air to be cause for such joy. He’s taken all too much for granted, he ought to start being thankful this second time around. His hand is introduced to a small squeeze. The king opens his eyes with caution to the bombardment of color and light and yet he can’t seem to care because Merlin’s there. Merlin is there and he’s by his side just like he had promised. The raven-haired man looks at him with a stained smile, his stark sky blue eyes clouded with deep seeded relief.
It’s so stupid and yet Arthur's eyes water all the same because Merlin is there. He’s there where he’s supposed to be, by Arthur’s side. He squeezes back and gifts him a tired smile. The arrow Arthur notices is no longer settled in his chest. He’s rather sore where it had once resided but the agony is no more. Arthur once more turns his attention to Merlin, and there’s no doubt in his mind that once everything was over he would take Merlin on a picnic and smother him with his affections. If he was too coward to act on his temptations the first time, he’d do it with his second chance at life. It would be entertaining to see how Merlin tried to make up an excuse to how Arthur had survived a mortal blow.
Magic or not, Merlin would always be Merlin. Stupid Merlin who held a sunshine bright smile. Merlin who talked to flowers, Merlin who liked strawberries, Merlin who protected Arthur from meaningless enchantments to noblemens daughters, Merlin who was always by Arthur’s side. Merlin who looked at him with kind admiring eyes when he thought that Arthur wouldn’t notice.
Arthur noticed, he always did. Every time he did his hand was forced to wage a war and was bound to fight a heated battle with the urge to kiss his best friend. As things would have it, Arthur doesn’t have the resolve to neglect his wants this time around. He does what he’s wanted to do since the first year he’d known Merlin. He pulls his free hand forward and cups the mans cheek, sparing enough time that Merlin could pull away if that was what he so desired. The blond tilted his head while he leaned forward for wish of a better angle, the kiss itself was sweet and soft and everything Arthur had always wanted. Merlin hadn’t been opposed at all, rather he pulled both of them in until they were forced to be pulled away breathless.
“You idiot” The raven haired man laughed softly as though he couldn’t quite believe what happened.
“Yes. Your king is an idiot.”
"I ought to get that in writing,"
"Merlin?"
"Yes, sire?"
"Shut up."