Chapter Text
Merlin thinks his leg is going to fall off. Scratch that, maybe it already did fall off.
It was just yesterday when Merlin had battled with a three-legged, monster horse. And you'd assume he'd have the advantage (having all his legs and whatnot), but alas, no.
Not only did the horse slam him off a cliffside, it also watched as Merlin struggled above the tide of a much too rocky river.
These magical creatures should really start booking their attacks. They always fell on such unfortunate times, always aiming to drive him mad.
Anyway, Merlin defeated it using a spell he'd spent years mastering. Patience.
It took half a day, but eventually he managed to trick the horse into entering a magical stable, owned by this very nice sorcerer who (surprisingly) managed to tame the wild animal.
Now Merlin gets to suffer with the consequences: a torn up calf and a sprained ankle. Neither of which Gaius was able to help him with because the old physician was out in the lower town treating a particularly nasty ailment. And Merlin hasn't had any time to himself to heal, because these needy nobles always schedule their feasts at terribly inconvenient times. The next one being, amazingly, tomorrow.
Oh, how Merlin adored his job.
Merlin sighed and sat at Arthur's dining table. He winced and buried his face into his hands.
The pain really was getting hard to ignore. The cuts were stinging with every movement, and his ankle was aching so badly it might as well have been run over by a cart.
…Maybe he should've–
“Merlin!”
Noooooooooooooooooooo.
“What do you want?” Merlin asked, too tired to sound irritated. The sound of boots clicking drew nearer, until it stopped right beside him.
“I'm sure you're very busy lazing about right now,” Arthur said, voice pratty as ever, “But perhaps you should focus on, oh I don't know, actually doing your job.”
Merlin shot his head up and glared. “That's all I've been doing! I'm just taking a break.”
Arthur's eyebrows raised. “During lunch? When you're supposed to be getting my food from the kitchen?”
Oh.
Merlin rolled his eyes and looked the other way. “Get it yourself.”
Arthur ruffled his hair with a mocking smile, messing it up completely, then walked to his bedside.
“Really, though,” Arthur said. “They've been waiting for you. They're worried you've fallen into a ditch.”
“Tell them I have.”
“Merlin.”
Okay, fine.
Merlin bit his tongue and pushed himself off the table.
Immediately, pain sparked up his left leg as if his calf had been stabbed with a thousand thorns. His ankle burned, and Merlin had to grab the table to stop from falling back down.
Then, miraculously, he took a step.
Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow–
“Merlin?”
Merlin stopped, panting just barely. “Yes, sire?”
Silence. Merlin would turn back to see why, but any movement risked more pain.
“Nothing,” Arthur said. “Don't hurry too much. I don't want my cheese falling onto the floor because of your clumsy feet.”
Merlin huffed a laugh, and then he was out the door.
—
By the next day, Merlin really was done for. If the ache in his ankle was bad yesterday, it was horrid now. The very second he swung his feet over his bed, Merlin knew the feast would today would be a torture trial.
It's not like he had much choice.
Merlin wasn't an idiot, though, as much as Arthur loved to call him one. Yes, he didn't have time to properly dress his wounds, but he still put some cloth around the particularly deep ones. Hopefully his hasty methods would make do for today.
Again, it's not as though he has much of a choice.
The door to the healing chamber creaked open, and Merlin took one last look at his terrible healing job and went off for work.
—
“Boy!”
Again?!
“Pour me more wine!”
The ugly man raised his goblet and tipped it patronizingly.
Honestly, it was a feast not a tavern! And yet Merlin spent nearly half of his time pitching wine into the same noble's goblet. This oaf could probably rival Gwaine himself in a drinking match.
“Of course, sire.”
Merlin poured again to the raised glass, the position irritating his cuts once more.
“You don't have to raise it, you know. If you put it on the table I can serve you more easily.”
The second the words were out of his mouth, Merlin froze. Why, why had he said anything?
“What did you say?” the man asked, eyes full of fury. “Did I order you to speak? Is my duty to make your job easier?”
Merlin put his head down, waiting for the yelling to be over. He shouldn't have even said anything, he knows how these nobles can be. Not everyone was as normal as Arthur (and that's saying something).
“No, sire. I apologize.”
“It's not as though you've been serving me well, either!” the man shouted. He slammed his goblet onto the table, catching the attention of some other nobles.
“You've been utterly and unbearably unhurried! Does Camelot always hire such insolent servants?!”
Merlin didn't reply. He waited as silence consumed the shouting, ready to be dismissed with some common insult.
“As a matter of fact,” the man murmured, “Perhaps I should give you a proper reason to be so slow.”
Before Merlin could have the chance to look up, the noble gripped his wrist and tugged him forward harshly. Merlin stumbled, his ankle on fire.
A force hit his knee then, sending knives through it. Merlin screamed and fell. The cuts on his calf flamed and seared his skin inside out.
Merlin heaved his breaths yet it didn't feel as though any went to his lungs. The man started shouting again, but it was a drowned noise to Merlin's ringing ears.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
Arthur.
Merlin swayed on the floor, vision blurring. His knee hurt so much. His calf must've been scrapped to the bone. Merlin just wanted it all to stop.
Maybe it was his magic that obeyed him. Because the last thing Merlin could register was Arthur's boots, the sound of yelling, and a hand on his shoulder.
Then Merlin's vision blackened, and he collapsed.
—
“–Gods, wake up!”
Cold water splashed his eyes, and Merlin jolted.
The first thing his brain decided to register was searing agony. Oh so lovely.
Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and gasped. This was it. He was going to die from a leg injury. It hurt so, so badly.
Something slipped into his hands. Cold. Merlin gripped it like a lifeline.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the pain ebbed into something more bearable. If it wasn't for the fact that Merlin had been through much worse, he'd probably be writhing violently right now.
Instead of hard marble floors or rough wood, a soft material radiated warmth beneath Merlin. Was he in a bed?
Willing his breath to calm, Merlin pried open his eyes. A tall ceiling blurred into focus. Red and gold accents shone across it.
That's not how his bedroom looks like.
Merlin shot upright, regretting it immediately. The pain in his ankle increased tenfold.
Merlin let out a pathetic noise and fell back, but his back never met the soft material. Something steadied him that felt a lot like… like a hand.
“You look terrible.”
Arthur's hand.
Merlin stared at Arthur, shocked. He looked terrible. Arthur's face was pale, his expression pained and bleak.
“You're one… to talk,” Merlin mumbled. He felt dizzy.
“Yes, I am.” Arthur fumbled with something behind Merlin's back, and suddenly there was a weight to lean on. Merlin took it gratefully.
“Why do… Why? Why do you look like that?” Merlin asked dumbly. He pressed a hand onto Arthur's forehead, the latter's eyes widening.
Arthur wasn't sick. Was it something else? Maybe a worry or…
Arthur took his hand gently and placed it down. “Swing your feet down. Let me take a look.”
What?
Merlin's confusion must've shown, because Arthur groaned, annoyed, and shifted on the floor.
The floor. Arthur was sitting on the floor. Beside Merlin. On Arthur's bed.
What?!
“Arthur,” Merlin said, ears burning. “What are you-”
A hand touched his ankle, making Merlin wince.
“Put your feet on the floor,” Arthur ordered.
“I…”
Merlin kept staring, but Arthur refused to look back. So, Merlin readied himself, and moved his legs off the bed.
Pain. So much. Merlin wished he'd pass out.
Merlin sat still, willing himself to get up.
Arthur seemed to realize. “Don't move,” he said. “Just… sit.”
From this angle, it looked like Arthur was kneeling at Merlin's feet. It was entirely improper in a royal fashion– a prince kneeling to a servant!– but it even felt wrong to Merlin. He respected Arthur far too much for this.
Merlin was about to move to get on the floor and even out their levels when Arthur shot him a glare.
“I just told you not to move!”
Merlin rolled his eyes, caught. He turned his gaze to the bed with a flaming face as Arthur inspected his leg.
The feeling of fabric rolling up caused Merlin to bite his tongue. The small action rubbed at his wounds.
Oh.
Merlin felt Arthur still the same time he did. He glanced back hesitantly.
“What…” Arthur started, horrified. “Where- Merlin, how did you get these?”
It's not as if Merlin could tell Arthur he fought a magical horse, so he just shrugged. “I fell.”
“From where?!”
Then Arthur froze again. His face changed to something more grim. “Did someone do this to you?”
Merlin snorted. “Why would someone want to cut up my leg?”
Arthur didn't look particularly convinced by his words. He looked back down, hand hovering over Merlin's knee, expression entirely worried.
The sight knocked the breath out of Merlin's lungs.
“I fell off a cliff,” Merlin blurted out. He didn't stop even when Arthur's eyes snapped back up to him. “Then I fell into a river. It had lots of rocks. And the rocks weren't particularly kind. But it's not a big deal! I was going to get treated by Gaius after the feast ended, but he's in the lower towns so-”
“So you decided to do nothing?” Arthur snapped. “For goodness sake Merlin, you're the physician's assistant! You could've treated this before it got so bad!”
“I didn't have time,” Merlin said quietly.
“Then you should've told me! Gods, Merlin…”
Arthur unwrapped the cloth Merlin had lousily tied around his calf in the morning. He frowned deeply at the bloody rag.
“I'm taking you to the healing chambers,” Arthur announced. He stood up and reached out for Merlin's hand.
Merlin shook his head in disbelief. “Arthur, people can't see you helping a servant.”
“You're my servant,” Arthur said. “Besides, by now, everyone already knows that I…”
He paused, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Care about you,” he finished with a whisper.
Merlin gaped, heart thrumming loudly. No. No, his ears must be lying to him. How else-
Arthur stretched out his hand again. Merlin glanced at it, then back up to Arthur's face, which was turned to the other side.
He took the hand. What else could he do?
Merlin nearly crashed into Arthur's chest, ankle giving out immediately. Instead, Arthur held him by the shoulders, close enough so that Merlin's nose could brush his jaw.
“Well,” Arthur said. “No walking for you, then.”
There was no time to process as the room swirled into a blob of colour. Merlin yelped, knees taken out from underneath and arms holding his back firmly.
His knee hurt, but didn't sear his skin. The hold was careful and precise.
“Let me down!” Merlin shrieked. “Arthur, let me down!”
“You know, you're not supposed to be giving orders,” Arthur said conversationally. He walked to the door, still carrying Merlin.
“If I could, you'd be in the stocks for the rest of your life,” Merlin threatened. “Put me down!”
Arthur did not put him down.
—
“When is Gaius coming back?” Arthur asked.
Merlin scoffed and buried his face deeper in his hands. “You don't get to know.”
They were in the healing chamber now. Arthur shut the door with his foot and brought Merlin to a cot.
Thank all of Camelot, the halls were mostly empty. It must've been because of the wind down of the feast; the servants were busy tending to the rooms and hall. The only person they bumped into was Gwen.
Fortunately, Merlin could trust Gwen to not spread gossip. But oh, based on her little giggle, she was going to grill him later.
Merlin preferred to not think about the guards at times like these.
“He's arriving today, soon.”
Merlin propped up on his elbows, surprised. “How'd you find that out?”
Arthur waved Gaius's letter at him with a smug smirk.
Right.
Merlin laid back down, mind racing. Arthur just carried him to the healing chambers. Arthur had just carried him in his arms. Like it was normal. Like he didn't mind.
Merlin's face was going to melt off.
Arthur sat on a chair beside him, bowl and cloth in hand.
“What's that for?” Merlin asked. Arthur shot him an unimpressed look.
“It's to clean your wounds,” Arthur answered easily.
So. Wait. Arthur is going to–
Merlin watched, fond and completely lost, as Arthur continued muttering about how Merlin was the ‘physician's assistant’.
He should probably go back and thank that horse for throwing him off a cliff.