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“They’ve infiltrated our defenses, sir!” some lower captain said to the general, but Arthur had stopped paying attention.
This can’t be happening. After all the precautions he took. After all the plans he made. After endlessly double checking their stronghold. After repeating to himself countless times that out of the many bases Camelot’s army had, this was the safest. It was supposed to be the safest.
“General, what do we do?” asks the same captain. He looks completely frazzled by the looks of it, but who wouldn’t be when the enemy somehow snuck past their impassable defenses and invaded a place each man considered safe. A place where Arthur felt he could let down the many walls he always kept up.
Arthur hears the general let out a grunt and both him and the captain wait for his father to reply.
“How far have they gotten?” Ever the pragmatic General Pendragon was. Find out how much is lost and see if anything could be gained.
“Up to the med-bay, sir,” says the captain, and Arthur stops breathing.
The aftermath was terrible. So many men were lost, and with the med-bay in ruins, finding a place to tend to the wounded was hard. Even harder when the head medic was the one in the worst condition.
Merlin lays on the shittiest cot Arthur has ever seen, but with all the beds being nothing but ash, it’s the best thing the uninjured medics can provide for the wounded. It seems someone had wiped all the blood that had covered Merlin's face when Arthur found him. It’s an improvement to the deep scarlet he saw before, but the paleness and how empty Merlin’s cheekbones appear only unease him.
His body was crushed between the ground and some large pillar, and Arthur couldn’t breathe. He could hear himself shouting for Merlin, he could see his body move towards the limp body, but it all felt distant and far away.
His face was wet and bloody when Arthur went to hold it tenderly in his hands. There was a giant scar on his chest, but it was hard to discern if the cut was deep or not.
Arthur shook off the memories and sat down next to Merlin. He looked at peace as if his body wasn’t under steel pillars a day ago. Arthur wonders if this is how Merlin feels whenever he tends to Arthur's injuries. If he feels the gut-wrenching pain every time he looks at the body sleeping peacefully. If he feels like he is teetering off the edge of screaming or crying because it wasn’t long ago that Merlin’s blood was coating Arthur's hands.
He’s screaming. He knows he’s screaming. Merlin is motionless and still on his lap and it takes both Leon and Elyan to pull him away from the body, so Merlin can be properly tended to.
But Arthur didn’t let himself go without a fight.
Footsteps crunch on the gravel and, by the sound of it, Gwaine sits next to Arthur. He’s quiet but his eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is pulled inward.
It doesn’t take long for Arthur to let everything go.
“This place wasn’t supposed to be breached. There wasn’t”— Arthur licks his lips (were they always this dry?)— “there wasn’t supposed to be anything like this happening. I made sure of it. I planned for it. I...but now I…”
His throat feels like it’s collapsing on him. He can’t see anything, it’s all too blurry. He can’t breathe anymore and all Arthur can hear is his own voice, harsh and unforgiving while flashes of Merlin's bloody face. This is all his fault. If only he had known more. If only he planned more. If he had only known not to trust—
“Hey, Arthur.” It's strange that Gwaine’s voice can get this soft when all Arthur’s known is the boisterous one, but it does it’s job and snaps him out of the dark spiral his mind was headed.
Arthur blinks and looks away from Merlin to Gwaine. The usual suave smile is gone and replaced by a concerned frown. Even his eyes have dimmed, but honestly, who would be happy at a time like this?
Morgana maybe, his thoughts whisper, and Arthur grits his teeth just to push it down and file it under things to freak out and process about later.
“You know, you couldn’t have known about this happening,” Gwaine says in a hushed voice. “No one could.”
Arthur sighs and looks back to the cot. Merlin’s chest rises slowly but it’s steady and that’s all Arthur can seem to hold onto.
“Couldn’t I?” Arthur doesn’t know why he’s arguing, why he’s so defensive about this. “I planned...for everything. For every single outcome. I planned for possible sieges, I planned for a frontal assault, and I even planned for an aerial one!”
“But did you plan for betrayal?”
Arthur shuts up. He can feel Gwaine’s gaze burning holes on the side of his head, but he continues to monitor Merlin and the steady rise and fall of his chest.
This really wasn’t something he wished to talk about now. If not ever, but he knows he can’t ignore what happened. He knows he will have to deal with what Morgana did soon, and whether or not he’ll be emotionally ready won’t matter to Uther.
“It’s not your fault, Arthur.” Gwaine’s looking at Merlin now. “What happened...it wasn’t your fault. So stop beating yourself about something that you couldn’t control.”
It was near midnight when Merlin finally woke up. His voice was rough but his eyes looked startling as always.
“Hey,” Arthur whispers. All he can do is whisper because any louder and he’ll break down.
“Hey yourself.” Merlin coughs, and Arthur hands him a cup of water. Merlin nods his thanks then winces when he gets up to drink it. Immediately, Arthur is at his side, gently pushing him back down on the cot. Merlin grumbles some curses but obliges when Arthur brings the cup up to his lips.
“‘M not a baby, you know,” Merlin croaks out after finishing up the cup.
Arthur attempts a smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace.
“Oh I know,” Arthur says teasingly. “It’s just that you’ve suffered three cracked ribs and severe internal bleeding from an ambush that happened less than a day ago, so maybe that’s why I’m helping.”
Merlin frowns at the bitter tone Arthur ended in. Arthur wants to give out a long sigh, but he keeps it inside. Now, Merlin’s concerned, which he shouldn’t be as he’s the one in critical condition.
“How long have you been awake?” Merlin asks. Always straight to the point, and Arthur can’t help but smile fondly at him.
“Merlin”-- he sighs and shakes his head-- “I'm pretty sure the concerned one should be me here. After all, you were underneath heavy steel for some time.”
“Yeah,” Merlin says, raising a challenging eyebrow as if saying, what about it, clotpole? “and I'm being tended to. However, you"-- Merlin looks Arthur up and down, scanning him for injuries Arthur might be hiding as if he’s still a medic on call rather than the opposite-- “You look like shit.”
“Do I?” Arthur hums. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Arthur knows he’s being difficult. He can tell in the way Merlin curls his fists round the flimsy blanket on his lap, he can tell in the way Merlin tightens his jaw and looks ready to fight him into sleeping off whatever hours he’s lost. Arthur knows this, yet he can’t stop it. He can feel himself seething. After hours of keeping as much composure as he could, Arthur can feel himself on the edge of blowing a fuse. And all because of what?
Merlin huffs at his petulancy.
“Arthur--”
“NO!” Merlin jumps at that. “No, you don’t get to talk to me about my health when you almost died! You don’t get to pretend like I didn't hold your limp body mere hours ago.”
He’s yelling. He can’t stop yelling. Everything he’s feeling is just pouring out and Arthur can’t take a moment to breathe. He can't think.
“I could barely hear you breathing….you were bleeding….so much and all I could do was hold you. That was less than 12 hours ago, Merlin! Of course I look shitty! Or course I’ve barely slept when all I can think about is you dead. All I could even think about was…” Arthur groans in frustration. “I CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT WITH YOU! I can’t- couldn’t think straight because, because you were….”
Arthur collapses next to Merlin’s cot. His fists clenched tightly on the scratchy blanket. He feels hot tears run down his cheeks and sees them hit the blanket. Sort of. Everything is blurry again, and he’s hiccuping.
Arthur hears Merlin sigh softly and feels gentle fingers run through his hair. Arthur holds the blanket even tighter while Merlin hushes him and pulls his head towards his chest. He can hear Merlin’s heart thumping and somehow, that steady beat calms him.
“You were supposed to be safe,” Arthur breathes out, head still planted on Merlin's chest.
Merlin chuckles, but it’s one that doesn’t hold any mirth.
“Dollophead.”