Chapter Text
“What the hell are you doing?” Arthur yelled, pushing Merlin out of the way. The prat looked furious, his eyes narrowed and if there had been daggers around, Merlin was sure he’d be throwing a few in Merlin’s direction.
Never mind that Merlin had had a day, fighting off bandits, keeping the arse safe from his own foolishness when he rushed to overcome men with razor-sharp swords, rocks lacerating Merlin when the wall they’d been hiding under came crashing down. Bruised, a seeping wound that Gaius would have to bandage later once Merlin escaped Arthur’s glare, and all the while pretending to be an idiot.
He was sick of it. “Saving your arse. Or are we going to pretend this is just another pick-on-Merlin day?”
“You could have got killed, you idiot. Rushing those brigands like that. You should have stayed out of the way and let me take care of them.” Arthur flushed, waving his sword around as if still battling his enemies.
“And faced Uther’s wrath when his only son dies and it’s my fault? Not bloody likely,” Merlin shouted, then winced when the wound sent shooting pains straight up his spine. Maybe he should sit down. And then did.
“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice was softer then, and worried.
Blinking up at him, Merlin didn’t remember exactly why he was perched on rubble. The birds were chirping overhead, and there was the smell of rain in the air, undercut by the taste of iron in Merlin’s mouth. A hint, too, of bowels voided and unwashed skins coming from the pile of bodies nearby.
Arthur must have been on quite a tear, although Merlin distantly thought he should feel smug, too. But maybe later. Once they returned home.
But for now, there was a patch of grass just over there and Merlin could really use a nap.
And the last thing he remembered was Arthur’s anxious face and a plea to stay awake. But he didn’t.