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Dizziness forced Merlin to press a palm against the stone of the corridor to stay upright. He breathed through the world wobbling around him. Squeezing his eyes shut did nothing to stop it. Leaning forward, he press his forehead to the cool stone. It felt like heaven; and it helped draw his attention away from the burning pain of the arrow lodged in his shoulder.
Huffing out a breath, he pushed himself up and started up the next set of never-ending staircases in this godforsaken castle. He gave up on standing upright almost immediately and decided to crawl, good hand pressed against the stone of the stair two or three ahead of the one his feet were on. He still listed to the side, but that was probably just the blood loss — maybe a partially collapsed lung. His diagnosis was incomplete without a full assessment, and he couldn’t do that on his own, hence crawling up the stairs.
When he finally got to the right floor, it felt like someone stuffed cotton in his ears and down his throat. He was desperately thirsty. But he forced himself to stand again now that he was near respectable company, and he stumbled down the corridor as well as he could when seeing double.
The knight (knights?) at the door to Arthur’s chambers reached out and pushed it open for him. He got a concerned once-over as he passed.
He heard the guard(s) gasp when he (they?) saw his back.
Merlin quickly shut the door so the king wouldn’t hear.
Arthur sat at his desk, golden head bent over grain reports. He didn’t look up, just waved an absent hand in greeting and scrawled something out on the parchment in front of him.
The table was as good a place as any to prop himself up, Merlin figured, so he made his way over. He pressed his good hand into the top and let his hip lean against the edge. The chair in front of him offered a secondary support if he collapsed. Satisfied with his positioning, he cleared his throat. “I have to tell you something.”
The vibration of his voice in his chest sent pulsing aches through his entire back.
“Can it wait?” Arthur asked, still not looking up. “I’m busy.”
Merlin carefully shifted so his front faced Arthur more fully. The arrow hadn’t gone all the way through, so Arthur couldn’t see the head or the shaft where he sat. It would be simple for Merlin to shake his head, deny the issue, and back out of the room. He could do it — it happened often enough before he revealed his magic.
But he promised, after that yelling match, to come to Arthur if he needed help or got hurt. And the arrow currently taking up residence in his shoulder counted as being hurt. And needing help, because Merlin couldn’t reach it to tear it out. After he vanished part of his kidney last year, Gaius made him promise not to use magic on things like this again. And Merlin was trying very hard to keep his promises lately.
“It’s urgent,” Merlin decided.
Arthur sighed, dropping the handful of documents he’d been holding and throwing the quill onto the desk. He slapped his hands down dramatically and lifted his head to look at him. “Okay, fine. What’s so important you had to interrupt me?”
As soon as Arthur saw him, alarm flashed across his face. The quick once-over told him nothing, but he seemed to catch the fact that this might actually be urgent.
“I’ve been shot,” Merlin said with a grimace, shifting so Arthur could see the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his back.
“Why didn’t you lead with that?!” Arthur yelped, bursting out of his chair. He went pale when he got closer and probably saw the blood sticking Merlin’s tunic to his back. Then, he was reaching out to drag Merlin carefully closer.
“You told me to come to you,” Merlin reminded him, in case he forgot. He didn’t seem like he had, but Merlin also didn’t want Arthur to think he was being overdramatic. If he had a choice, he would have crawled his way to Gaius’s chambers and passed out in his own bed, safe and sound, ready to be found whenever Gaius checked on him — probably sometime tomorrow morning. The only thing that brought him here was his promise. And he needed Arthur to know that.
“I did. And I meant it,” Arthur snapped back, carefully shuffling Merlin around the room.
Merlin let his king lead him where he wanted and was confused when they ended up in front of the bed. The soft blankets made a veritable nest. The pillows stacked at the top looked heavenly. Really, it was rude for Arthur to show off his nice bed when Merlin’s was hard and uncomfortable and all the way down the millions of staircases he crawled up to get here.
“Look, I’m going to get the guard to get Gaius. But you look about two seconds from passing out. You can’t sit in a chair with that in your back, but you can lay on your stomach,” Arthur said, waving him onto the most decadent bed in all of Albion.
Hesitating, Merlin glanced at Arthur. Was he serious? “I’ll get blood on it.”
“I get blood on it all the time,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get it cleaned later. Lay down, Merlin.”
Carefully, and with a steadying hand from Arthur, Merlin managed to get onto the bed and comfortable enough on his front. He went a bit boneless with relief. Arthur left to have the guard at the door call for Gaius. But the guard, Merlin heard, had already sent for him due to the arrow sticking out of his nephew’s back.
Huh. Merlin wasn’t used to people noticing those kinds of things.
Letting his eyes fall closed, Merlin felt through his body with his magic. The ache in his shoulder ran through his lungs, and he could feel a nick in the tissue there. He might be able to heal it, but he didn’t think he’d remain conscious afterward. And he doubted Arthur would be very happy if he passed out.
“Merlin?” a gentle hand pressed against his good shoulder.
Merlin forced his eyes open.
Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, next to his hip. “You know, you could stand to be a little more annoying about an injury like this. Maybe scream or something instead of just waiting for me to look up.”
“Why?” Merlin asked, frowning. “It’s just an arrow.”
The twitch of a muscle in Arthur’s jaw betrayed his annoyance, though he kept his voice remarkably even. “Yes, and you’re in pain. That’s important for me to know. Otherwise, how am I supposed to help?”
Blinking long and slow, Merlin puzzled through that. His brain felt like mush, and he had a hard time untangling the knot of Arthur’s words. “But the assassins are dead, so I don’t really need any help.”
“Assassins? As in plural? Where—” Arthur cut himself off and violently shook his head. He muttered something to himself about not getting distracted and focused back on Merlin. “That’s not what I meant. I meant how am I supposed to help treat your injuries if I don’t know about them?”
“Oh. Well, Gaius usually just makes me strip once a week so he can check me,” Merlin admitted, relaxing a little further into the bed. The blanket under him was feather-soft, and the warmth of the room was starting to get to him.
Maybe Arthur wouldn’t mind if he took a small nap, just a few minutes.
“I’m going to start if you’re going to be difficult,” Arthur muttered. Then, he pulled out the dagger he kept under his pillow in case an assassin ever got past his guards. “It’ll probably be easier for me to cut your shirt off than try to keep it on while we get the arrow head out.”
Grimacing, Merlin complained, “Why do you always ruin my clothes?”
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Arthur promised, sighing. He didn’t wait for Merlin to agree, just grabbed the bottom edge of his shirt and tore up the back.
A shiver ran through Merlin at having a naked blade so close to his spine. It would only take a little slip to cut through the fragile skin. If it was anyone else, they’d already have been thrown across the room, but he couldn’t do that to Arthur. He trusted him, he reminded himself, even as he held himself rigid.
It only took a minute for Arthur to peel the material back. He cut up to the hole where the arrow had hit and peeled that away too. It hurt, the blood sticking the fabric to the wound. Hissing out a pained breath, Merlin knew his shaking wasn’t just from vulnerability.
“You’re okay,” Arthur murmured. His hand was steady when he pressed his open palm between Merlin’s shoulder blades. It was nice, warm and solid. “Gaius will be here soon. He can give you something for the pain.”
“Can’t,” Merlin muttered, letting his eyes fall closed.
“What? Why?” Arthur asked, voice sharper now.
Merlin didn’t bother opening his eyes again. It sounded like too much work. “Gotta finish chores.”
The silence that followed would be unnerving if he couldn’t feel Arthur next to him. His hand never moved. Then, “Your chores can be done later — much later. In fact, you're getting a day off. Because, right now, you need to rest.”
“Delegation tomorrow,” Merlin reminded him, because he knew that he would forget. He planned on reminding him later, before bed, but the assassins found him first. The first one was easy to deal with. He hadn’t expected Merlin to have magic. And his neck broke when he fell from the parapets. The second, Merlin hadn’t seen until after the arrow hit.
“Are you being difficult on purpose?” Arthur muttered. He tensed when the door opened, and Merlin forced his eyes open just long enough to see his uncle shuffling in.
“No. But ’m gonna pass out,” he told Arthur.
The questioning noise Arthur made was the last thing he heard.
Merlin woke with the first rays of sunlight. They crossed his face, impossible to ignore. He needed to get up anyway. The delegation was arriving soon, and he hadn’t finished getting the guest rooms ready. He needed to talk to Gwen too and make sure the cook knew that one of the visiting ladies didn’t eat meat. Then, he needed to track down Gwaine and see if he would act as a second set of eyes on Arthur during the feast.
Not to mention the tear in Arthur’s favorite blue shirt he needed to mend and the boots that needed polishing and the cloak he needed to pick up from the lower town.
Even just thinking the list made him tired.
But he pried his eyes open anyway. His shoulder hurt and his lungs hurt and his head hurt and his eyes hurt. He groaned when the sunlight, which wasn’t actually that bright, burned against his retinas.
“Merlin?” Fingers slid through his hair.
Merlin jerked upright, panic flashing through him. He scrambled backward and hissed in pain when his arm collapsed under him with sharp pain. He only stopped when he almost tipped off the soft surface he’d been sleeping on. His hand met empty air; and he quickly balanced himself on the edge.
“Shit, stop it!” The order froze him where he was.
Breathing quickly, Merlin curled his bad arm into his chest and stared blankly at Arthur. He was knelt on the bed, his hands up in a gesture of surrender, pale blue eyes wide and exhausted. The dark circles around them hadn’t been there last time Merlin had seen him. Neither was the sharp desperation.
“It’s me, Merlin. You remember me, right?” Arthur said slowly. He was highlighted all around by the golden dawn, the window fully open behind him. He looked heaven-sent, even exhausted.
“Duh,” Merlin shot back, shaking his head slightly. How could he ever forget Arthur?
Relief slid through Arthur’s tense shoulders. He dropped his hands to his sides like they were too heavy to hold up. Then, he very carefully sat down among the pillows — because they were perched on a very familiar bed. The soft fabric under Merlin’s knees and hand were familiar and foreign all at once. He made this bed every day. He folded the blankets and fluffed the pillows and smoothed out the comforter. But he’d never been in it before. “Do you remember what happened yesterday?”
Tilting his head, Merlin felt the muscles in his shoulder pull and grimaced. It only took a second to drag the memory forward. It was hazy, a weird flash of moments one after another in no particular order, but he got the gist.
“Oh, yeah, the arrow,” Merlin said, mind flashing to the assassins.
Shit, he also needed to go figure out what to do with the bodies. Gods, he hoped no one walked past the one that hit the ground near the parapets. That would be traumatizing. At least the other one looked like he’d just collapsed where he stood. Tearing the life out of someone wasn’t exactly easy or pleasant, but it was the fastest way to put a stop to a fight. And Merlin learned, over the years, to end things quickly when he’d been shot.
Merlin reached up with his good hand to feel the bandages wrapped around his chest, curious. He could tell the arrow was gone now, though the ache remained.
“Don’t touch it, you moron,” Arthur groaned, leaning forward and swatting at his hand gently. “Come on, you need to lay back down. Gaius is going to be here in a bit to change the bandage, and we can get you some more pain medicine. He wanted you to drink some water if you woke up.”
That made sense, at least. He was thirsty, his throat dry and his stomach empty. He felt shaky like he had before he passed out, the blood loss still affecting him. But there were other things he needed to focus on.
“Where’s Gwen?” Merlin asked as he slowly eased his way down onto the bed. He groaned softly as he landed lightly on his stomach, just close enough to Arthur to feel his warmth. Honestly, he could live in this bed for the rest of his life. It was really unfair that the nicest beds were reserved for the lords and ladies of the court.
“Why do you need Guinevere?” Arthur demanded, voice tight.
Light fingers brushed along his back; but Merlin didn’t even twitch this time. Arthur wouldn’t let anyone else touch him without permission, so it had to be Arthur’s fingers. And Arthur wouldn’t hurt him. He hadn’t even tried when he found out about the magic.
“I need to talk to her about the luncheon,” Merlin told him, words half-muffled in the feather down he buried his face in. “And about the shirt. She’s quick at mending in a pinch.”
When Arthur was quiet too long, Merlin rolled his head just enough to peek at him. Arthur’s hand had settled between his shoulder blades, warm and strong and with enough pressure to be a warning.
“I thought we decided you’re resting and not thinking about work?” Arthur murmured, but the low tone of his voice held a dangerous edge. It wasn’t quite pointed at Merlin, he didn’t think, but he wasn’t sure who it was pointed at.
“Did we?” Merlin asked, honestly not sure. That sounds like something he would agree to after being shot. And it would be nice, if he wouldn’t hear about the disaster of the delegation’s visit for the rest of his natural life from both Audrey the cook and Arthur.
“I very distinctly remember telling you you’re not working today,” Arthur said.
“Work doesn’t stop for one measly arrow wound, your highness.” Merlin had worked through two — no, three! — arrow wounds at this point. His bicep had been fine, it was just a cut. The one on his calf was a bit harder since he had a limp, but he’d managed. The wound on his thigh was the most severe, but he still got through a full patrol with the Knights right after! It was barely worth noting, really. As long as Gaius got the arrow out — and he had — it was fine.
“It does now,” Arthur told him, which didn’t make much sense.
“Need to talk to the cook and Gwaine too,” Merlin said, shifting a little to move his good arm out from under him. He tucked it under his head and ignored the ache in his other shoulder from the movement. The interconnected muscles in his back all hurt. No matter how careful he was, any movement would, at least a little.
“If I call Gwen, will you tell her everything you’re worried about and let her handle the delegation?” Arthur asked, sounding exhausted.
Merlin hummed. “If she promises.”
“She will,” Arthur said like he could just declare it; and it would be fine.
“Sure,” Merlin said, letting his eyes fall closed again.
“Stay still,” Arthur told him, rolling off the side of the bed.
Merlin listened as he padded across the room. He didn’t have his boots on, each step a soft brush of bare feet. He pulled the door open with a low creak and spoke to the guard outside. Their voices were a low murmur Merlin didn’t bother listening to. He just let himself drift a bit and only twitched slightly when fingers ran through his hair again.
“Gwen will be here soon. After you talk to her, you will rest,” Arthur told him. He moved to sit on the bed against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. He was a warm line of heat that Merlin shifted toward until his good arm pressed against his thigh. He let himself have the small comfort, aware it was only on offer for a little while.
“You’re being weird,” he accused.
Arthur never had a problem with Merlin working before. In fact, he regularly gave him shit for not working enough. It was something they argued about even after Merlin admitted his magic. He wasn’t sure why Arthur was trying to stop him now.
The low noise he got in return told him Arthur did not want to talk about it.
So, Merlin dug his nose into the blanket that smelled vaguely of Arthur — the sharp sting of metal, lavender from his laundry, and healthy male sweat — and shut his eyes again. He didn't expect him to speak again. At least, not for now.
“You’re hurt, and it’s upsetting me,” Arthur said quietly, surprising him. It sounded like someone tore it from his chest, guttural and pained.
Merlin frowned, brows drawing together. He took a second to consider that.
It wasn’t like Arthur didn’t get upset when Merlin was hurt. He regularly killed bandits who grabbed him, oftentimes with extreme prejudice. He once beheaded a man after he tried to put his hands on him while they were being held captive in Cenred’s dungeons. And he insisted on Gaius treating him first in those instances, patting him down like he thought he’d secretly broken a bone.
But there were times where Merlin could barely keep his eyes open, limped through the day, and dropped unconscious at night when Arthur didn’t even seem to notice.
Maybe that was the key.
Arthur couldn’t really care about things he didn’t notice, could he? The arrow had been dramatic, so it upset him more than the usual. He could have probably ignored Merlin favoring his arm or wincing when he lifted things, but he couldn’t ignore an arrow shaft sticking out of his back.
“It was only a light shooting, Arthur,” Merlin said, confident in his assessment. He relaxed now that he could reassure him properly. Soon, he’d realize this really wasn’t that bad. “I know it looked bad, but I’ve worked through worse. Doesn’t even hurt as bad as the serket sting. Or that time Nimueh hit me with that fire ball.”
The noise Arthur made sounded painful.
Alarmed, Merlin struggled upright so he could see his face. He hadn’t meant to hurt him. Why was he hurt?
Arthur immediately jerked like he was going to grab him. “What are you doing, you idiot?”
Ignoring the reprimand, Merlin managed to get himself into a seated position. Arthur’s hands hovered uselessly, like he wasn’t sure what he could touch without causing pain. The wavering edges of his vision told Merlin that Arthur was probably right not to touch him. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t pass out if someone brushed his injury.
“What’s wrong?” Merlin demanded, reaching out to grab Arthur’s shoulder with his good hand. He dug his fingers in so Arthur would understand how serious he was. He ducked his head when Arthur tried to avoid his gaze, unwilling to let it go. “Really. I don’t understand.”
That seemed to finally get through to Arthur, who looked at him. He sighed heavily in response to whatever he saw in his face. His head dropped forward like he might pass out next. Then, he dragged his head back up and rubbed a hand down his face.
“Just… relax a little, please. You’re going to pass out again,” Arthur told him, reaching out to gently manhandle him so he was leaning against his chest. It was actually pretty comfortable.
Merlin melted a bit.
Arthur reached up to gently guide his head down so he could lean it against his shoulder. He didn’t even make fun of him for it. Instead, he said, “I told you, you being hurt upsets me.”
Arthur’s hand pressed against his back, holding him close, which was when Merlin realized he wasn’t wearing a tunic. The bandage around his shoulder cut across his body, but Arthur didn’t seem to care. Then again, Merlin thought he could probably feel his heart beat where his hand was pressed, and the bandages were too thin to block the feeling like a thicker tunic might.
Merlin tried another tactic. “I’m sorry?”
The huff of a laugh, bitter but amused, did nothing to explain what was going on. “Not really what I want to hear. You’re not the one who shot yourself. I want you to be able to come to me with you injuries, and then I want you to listen when I tell you you’re not working and rest until you feel better.”
“But I—”
“No. Your chores aren’t anywhere near as important as your life, Merlin. And you could have died, if the arrow had been any lower or hit the wrong thing or if you didn’t have your magic to heal your lungs,” Arthur said in a low voice that sounded far more hurt than anything so far. His lips brushed Merlin’s forehead; and it took a lot not to flinch. “I know you’re strong and can take care of yourself, but I’m afraid anyway.”
“Afraid of what?” Merlin asked, baffled. He’d never heard Arthur admit to fear, of all things. He knew what it was, of course. Arthur led armies into wars regularly. He’d been captured and beaten and tortured. He was responsible for the entire kingdom of Camelot, and he’d faced things no one else could. He knew fear, intimately.
But he never admitted it.
“That, one day, you’re not going to come home. Or, you will, but Gaius won’t be able to fix whatever happened while you were gone,” Arthur murmured.
The swoop in his stomach — that’s what scared Arthur? — would need to be addressed later.
“I’ll always come home to you, Arthur,” Merlin vowed, digging his fingers into Arthur’s tunic and fisting the soft fabric in his hand.
The arm around him became a band and tightened as Arthur hugged him close. He dipped his head so his jaw pressed against Merlin’s forehead, and Merlin let himself be held with a sigh.
“Alive?” Arthur asked, voice barely loud enough to be heard.
And Merlin gave the only answer he could give. “Yes, alive.”
Because he would crawl home to Arthur through hell itself. Because Arthur worried for him when he was gone. Because he wanted him here.
For the first time in years, Merlin let himself rest, right there, in the arms of his king.