Archive of Our Own ^beta

Everything hurts. His head, his stomach, his knees, it seems even the tip of his hair feels sore. Merlin groans as he climbs up the stairs from the kitchens to Arthur’s chambers. When he reaches the top, he has to stop and lean against the wall, breathing heavily. The wound to his side is pulsing. Gaius stitched him up before he had to leave for work, but the injury is still fresh. With a grunt, Merlin pushes himself off the walk and keeps walking. His hands are shaking, making the plate, jug and glass precariously balanced on the breakfast tray rattle. Merlin has to use a little bit of magic to prevent everything from falling. He passes Gwen in the corridor, sending her a tight smile. He wishes he was able to stop and talk to her, but he has to keep his teeth gritted to avoid whimpering. Merlin is certain the injury wasn’t as painful last night when he finally went to sleep.

Obviously, Arthur doesn’t notice anything when Merlin wakes him up. He eats his breakfast while Merlin bumbles around, rearranging the bedsheets, folding clothes, preparing Arthur’s attire for the day. He doesn’t notice Merlin’s agony, but he notices his silence.

“Did something eat your tongue during the night? I’m not complaining, though, the quiet is quite enjoyable.”

Merlin grits his teeth harder, tears pricking at his eyes. Why had he hoped that Arthur would care? He breathes heavily against the physical and emotional sting. With his back towards Arthur, the king can’t see his lower lip quivering. Merlin doesn’t even know why this affects him so much today. It’s nothing unusual for them. Logically, Merlin knows that Arthur cares, that this is his way of showing his concern. But Merlin would appreciate it if Arthur could be honest with his feelings for once, gentle even, perhaps.

“Have you gone deaf as well as mute, Merlin?”

With his hands balled into fists, Merlin turns around, a hollow smile on his lips. “With a voice as loud as yours, sire, there’s no way I wouldn’t hear you.”

Merlin then keeps working around Arthur’s chambers. He knows he should be preparing a bath for the king, or maybe scrubbing the floor. He isn’t sure, though. What he is sure about, however, is that he absolutely can’t do that in his current state. Not without using magic. His head is already spinning from just making the bed. Black spots are invading his vision, everything looks blurry.

And then, something hits the back of his head. A goblet, Merlin deduces from the clinking of metal against the stone floor.

Reflexively, he brings his left hand to his skull rubbing the place where the goblet hit him. But the sudden movement causes the pain in his side to surge. The pain is almost overwhelming. He folds himself in half, falling to his knees. His right hand comes to clutch at the gash right below his ribs. Merlin curses the assassin who managed to injure him. He curses himself for being overconfident and underestimating his opponent. He curses Arthur for being so oblivious to everything around him.

Merlin’s head is spinning furiously, his vision is blurring, the world getting darker and darker. Dimly, he hears Arthur calling his name in a panicked voice. Footsteps hurrying towards him. A hand on his back. Arthur’s voice saying words he doesn’t understand. Merlin’s name again. Then Arthur is gone as suddenly as he arrived. Merlin misses his warmth. This time, he’s incapable of holding back the whimper that wants to escape from his lips. Arthur is talking again. This time his voice seems very far, though. Merlin tries to stay conscious. He still has work to do. Ultimately, he loses the fight. He gives up and lets himself fall into darkness’ welcoming arms.

When he wakes up, Merlin feels very comfortable. The mattress under his back feels like a cloud. The duvet that covers him is warm and soft, not scratchy like his blanket. There are voices talking by his bedside. They’re familiar. Merlin knows he’s safe. He considers going back to sleep, but then his name is called. A hand grabs his, gentle fingers stroking his knuckles.

Merlin opens his eyes. Arthur is looking at him, concern written all over his face. Merlin wants to hug him, tell him that all is fine, and Arthur doesn’t have to worry about anything. Instead, he offers the young king a tentative smile.

Arthur doesn’t smile back, though. “Tell me, Merlin, how did you get stabbed by a poisoned blade?” he asks, his voice somewhere between angry and scared.

Merlin simply shrugs. It isn’t so hard to understand, is it? Maybe Arthur really is a bit dumb, he thinks. In the back of his head, a voice is screaming at him to shut up, to stop and think before talking. He ignores it though. “Because there was an assassin that wanted to kill you and I had to stop him,” Merlin replied matter-of-factly.

Arthur doesn’t seem to find that explanation as logical as Merlin thought he would, though, because the king’s expression morphed into one of confusion. Just when Merlin was about to open his mouth again, the other person in the room cleared they throat, bringing Merlin’s attention to them. It was Gaius, looking sternly at Merlin. His eyebrow was raised high, as if to ask Merlin if he really thought it was wise to tell Arthur about assassins. Now that he thought about it, the voice in the back of his head sounded a lot like Gaius. And maybe he should listen to his old mentor, maybe that could be a good idea. Merlin still feels disoriented, after all. His head feels like it’s been filled with cotton. But what reason could there be to keep Arthur in the dark about vicious assassins trying to murder him?

Arthur is looking at Merlin and Gaius, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It’s a funny look on him, Merlin thinks.

“The druids say I was born to protect you. You’re supposed to be the Once and Future King and apparently, I’m Emrys. And trust me, protecting you is hard work. I have to stop people from murdering you at least twice a week.”

“Twice a week!” Arthur exclaims indignantly. He seems offended that so many people would want him dead.

“At least,” Merlin sighs.

Gaius sighs too, but for a completely different reason. The old man would surely die of a heart attack because of his ward. Merlin was lucky that Arthur didn’t share his father’s view on magic. There’s no way Arthur didn’t know about the legend of Emrys. Uther had been obsessed with finding the warlock that would bring his doom and bring back magic to Camelot. Gaius shakes his head, and discreetly leaves the room. From Arthur’s reaction, Merlin isn’t in danger.

The mattress dips as Arthur sits down next to Merlin. He reclines against the cushions and manoeuvres Merlin so that his head is resting on Arthur’s stomach.

“I’m the Once and Future King?” Arthur asks, and Merlin can imagine the playful smirk gracing his lips.

“Yup,” Merlin replies, “Although to me you’re just a clotpole. But I still love you.”

Arthur chuckles, ruffling Merlin’s hair. “I love you too, idiot.”