A little gift fic for @aini-nufire Hope you enjoy a little cold Lancelot for the holidays. Merry Christmas! ^_^
Read on Ao3
Read on FF.net
~~~~~~~
"How is he doing?" Gwaine asked worriedly as he and Percival came toward the cot, warming themselves by the fire.
"It's getting worse," Merlin admitted quietly, noting Lancelot's still shaking figure, wrapped in heavy blankets and still unable to get warm.
Gaius came over with another cup of mulled wine. "See if you can wake him up to drink some of this," he said.
Merlin crouched by the cot, shaking Lancelot's shoulder firmly.
The knight let out a soft moan and stirred, teeth still clacking. His eyes fluttered but he didn't quite wake up.
"Lancelot, come on, I have something warm for you to drink," Merlin coaxed.
"Here," Percival said, swiftly shucking his belt and mail shirt and going over to the cot. He shifted Lancelot's upper body so that he could sit, propping the other knight up against his chest. "Come on, Lancelot, try to drink some of this at least."
The knight shook uncontrollably against Percival, but when the big knight pressed the cup to his lips, Lancelot did manage to drink a little of it, even if he didn't seem able to wake fully anymore. Merlin wondered worriedly if it had been a bad idea to let him fall asleep in the first place.
"He's so cold," Percival murmured as he set the cup aside and began to rub his hands up and down Lancelot's arms, trying to urge his body to warm up. "I don't think I've ever felt anyone this cold before."
This prompt, just happening to land on @mercelotweek angst day, cried out for a Mercelot fic, so I am squeezing in a cheeky second submission 😉
The sword shattered against the giant winged creature’s side, splintering into fragments that fell to the forest floor. The beast’s head whipped down and it screeched at the man attacking it, its piercing raptor eyes focussed sharply on him as it stretched its wings. The man dropped the now useless hilt of his sword, turning and sprinting away, towards Merlin, as the creature reared.
“Run! Run!”
Merlin scrabbled to his feet, almost tripping on the loose leaf-strewn ground. The man caught Merlin’s arm, his hand warm and strong where it wrapped around his bicep. He pulled Merlin up to his feet and dragged him along with him as he ran towards the cover of the trees ahead of them. Horrible shrieks followed them, along with the pounding of heavy feet, getting closer and closer.
It was so close to them that Merlin felt the rush of air on his back as it swiped its taloned paw after them, just missing him by inches. The other man stumbled slightly, his hand falling from Merlin’s arm, but he kept running. Merlin, with his longer legs was now half a stride ahead of the other man as they ran the last few yards towards a fallen tree, and he could hear the other man panting. Merlin looked back briefly, then wished he hadn’t. The creature was gaining on them.
Continue reading on Ao3, fanfiction.net or below! 👇
Launching himself over the fallen tree, Merlin felt the man’s hand on his shoulder again, before it gripped tight into his shirt. Together they leapt up and over the large trunk. The hand in his shirt pulled him down the other side, and they ducked against the tree, out of the creature’s sight.
It screeched again as it soared over the log, its wings flapping. It flew over them – either not seeing them, or just deciding they weren’t worth it – and soared up into the sky with a few beats of its powerful wings. Merlin craned his neck to follow its flight, to make sure it wasn’t turning around for an attack from a different angle.
When it appeared it wasn’t, he sank back against the tree trunk.
“It’s gone,” he panted, slightly disbelievingly. He looked over at the other man, his gaze flickering over the stunningly handsome face and the low, loosely-laced shirt on the man’s heaving chest. He was a very attractive man. And incredibly brave too. “You saved my life,” slipped from his mouth as he gazed at his rescuer.
The man turned to him, his dark brown eyes scanning Merlin quickly, as if he was checking him for injuries, before flicking up to meet his eyes.
“I’m Merlin.” He held his hand out, and the man reached to grasp it firmly.
“Lancelot,” he supplied. Then his hand slid out of Merlin’s and his head lolled back against the tree trunk behind them. He let out a groan and his eyes rolled and closed.
Concern soared through Merlin’s chest. He leant closer to Lancelot. Lancelot’s other hand fell from his side, revealing a large, rapidly growing bloodstain on his pale blue shirt.
“Oh no…” Scrabbling up onto his knees, Merlin leant over Lancelot, gently tapping his face.
He just groaned, his eyelids fluttering but not opening. Merlin gently slid his fingers underneath the sword belt around Lancelot’s waist, his fingers plucking the leather out of the buckle and unfastening it. He rolled the hem of his shirt up to see the wound. It wasn’t quite as bad as Merlin had feared; a relatively shallow slash just under his ribs. But the edges of the wound looked a little grimy and raw. The creature’s talons clearly weren’t the cleanest.
Wishing he had a waterskin with him to at least try and clean the wound, he carefully brushed away a few grains of dirt from the skin around it. He tried not to notice how tanned and soft Lancelot’s skin was, instead focussing on finding a way to stop the bleeding. If only he’d put his neckerchief on this morning, he’d have a useful makeshift bandage.
Then he remembered his mushroom collecting basket; there was a small cloth in there. He’d dropped it when the horrible creature had attacked him, he could quickly run and fetch it. He was loathe to leave Lancelot alone, even for a minute, but it was either that or take his own shirt off to use and he didn’t think that would be quite the best option.
Scanning the surrounding trees, and the sky, quickly to be sure the beast was nowhere in sight, he pulled himself up to his feet with the fallen log. He climbed over it and ran as fast as could to where his basket was tipped on its side, round little mushrooms strewn out the top. He paused to scoop as many as he could back into the basket – he didn’t fancy having to come out here again if he didn’t fetch enough for Gaius. Almost tripping over on his own feet again, he sprinted back to the fallen tree, Lancelot still slumped against the side of it exactly where he had left him.
Unceremoniously, he dumped the basket, fishing the cloth out of it. He gave it a good shake, and folded it into a careful square.
“I’m sorry, this will probably hurt,” he said. Just because Lancelot was unconscious didn’t mean Merlin wouldn’t talk to him.
He lifted the light shirt again, chewing his lip, then placed the folded cloth onto the wound and pressed firmly. He wasn’t sure how hard to press, he knew pressure was good, but he didn’t want to cause any extra pain. He really needed to pay a bit more attention to Gaius when he was trying to teach him things.
His fingers flexed over the wad of cloth. His thumb brushing just beside it. It took a lot of self control to not let his hand run over the enticing plane of Lancelot’s stomach. His chest was rising and falling heavily, his breathing a little laboured and Merlin frowned.
“Lancelot? Lancelot can you hear me? Can you wake up?” he tried, the hand that was not keeping pressure on the wound lifting to tap Lancelot’s face, his fingertips resting just a little longer than necessary on his lightly stubbled jaw.
Lancelot groaned again, but showed no other indication that he might wake up.
What really bothered Merlin though, was the heat he could feel in Lancelot’s cheeks. He laid his palm on his forehead, flinching back at the heat of it. Was it normal for a fever to set in so soon after an injury? Maybe the beast’s talons were poisoned? Perhaps it was just the pain and shock.
Either way, Merlin wasn’t happy about it. He’d feel much better if Gaius could see Lancelot. He made up his mind; Lancelot was coming back to Camelot with him. There was no way Merlin wasn’t going to repay him for saving his life.
He peeked under the improvised bandage, relieved to see the bleeding had stopped. After dabbing at it once more, he took the cloth away and unfolded it, refolding it so there was a relatively unbloodied patch. Putting it over the injury, he held it in place while he pulled Lancelot’s shirt down to cover it, then very gently wound his belt back around him, using it to secure the bandage and keep it where it should be.
“There,” he said, patting Lancelot’s chest reassuringly. “We’ll get you to Gaius and he’ll fix you up.”
Another groan and Lancelot’s eyelids flickered, revealing just a tiny slither of deepest brown irises that slid towards Merlin.
“Thank… you,” he murmured, the words barely forming more then a breath, a wince etched into his face.
“You’re welcome. It’s alright,” Merlin soothed, patting his shoulder and trying to catch eye contact before Lancelot’s eyes slid closed.
But Lancelot drooped again, his chin falling to his chest, his dark hair flopping on his forehead. Merlin tenderly pushed it back, catching himself before he started running his hands through the lovely waves of dark hair.
“Right, let’s get you back then.”
He undid his own belt, looping the handles of his mushroom basket over the belt before refastening it, the basket now bumping against his hip. Then stood up, chewing his lip as he surveyed Lancelot. He wasn’t strong enough to lift him… he’d have to use magic to carry him, and just hope he stayed unconscious and wouldn’t see it.
He hooked his hands under Lancelot’s arms and pulled him up, muttering a spell as his lifted him onto his shoulder. Settling his magically reduced weight across his back, he started back in the direction of Camelot.
What exactly was Gaius going to say, he wondered? He’d sent Merlin out to collect mushrooms and here he was coming back with an injured new friend.
ALSO 4 with merthur (I can't remember if it was a group hug one or not so if it's a group hug let's have just everyone hugging one another. That hug game is strongggg with them)
Hihi ok here we go finally did it
I ignored my science quiz for this 💕💕💕
Fic under cut [Also posted on my Ao3]
Arthur took a deep breath as he sunk onto the couch, exhaustion settling from the long day. Merlin had been at work all day, and Arthur had been left for the first time on his own at the house since rising from the lake.
He never wanted to do it again.
It was awful.
Arthur didn’t want to admit it, still hanging onto his pride, but he needed Merlin. Gods, he needed him, so much.
The King—who was still unused to the fact he was no longer that—looked around the main living room with a grimace. It was a mess… How had he managed to fuck it up so bad?
Merlin was going to send him back to Avalon.
Maybe he should.
He didn’t belong here… In this world, this time…
Arthur’s shoulders jumped when the handle rattled as the front door was open, then, he froze.
Merlin was home.
His eyes darted around the room again, in horror, taking in the extent of the mess. That box—the television, Merlin called it—was broke, it was making a weird scratching sound and the screen was all fuzzy. Merlin’s favourite vase was shattered, and the…the phone, he thought it was called, was in the fish tank [Arthur still didn’t understand that]. It had made a loud noise while he was trying to examine it and he stumbled back, knocking over the vase, and launched the phone across the room on startled instinct.
That wasn’t even broaching the topic of the kitchen…
He felt his heart rate pick up pace, as Merlin’s footsteps grew louder as he walked from the entry hall to the main living room. He was going to be so furious. Arthur didn’t know if he could handle it.
He just came back…
He didn’t need the only person he had left angry with him.
He didn’t mean to destroy the house; he’d never been alone here before!
Maybe he should have never been alone in the first place.
He didn’t belong here.
“Arthur!” Merlin gasped as he finally entered the room, his voice displaying his shock just fine without Arthur having to look at him. “Arthur, what on earth—"
“Don’t ask…” Arthur cut him off with a mutter, dropping his head into his hands, from where he still on the couch. His shoulders drooped in disappointment, knowing Merlin would surely tear into him for destroying the house. Like Arthur once had in Camelot when Merlin destroyed his room.
He should never have done that.
This felt awful.
He didn’t belong here.
A soft sigh broke the silence, followed by nearing footsteps. “Oh, love…” Merlin murmured, as he sat down next to Arthur on the couch.
Arthur dropped his hands to his knees and looked at Merlin, biting his lip. The tender look on his face made Arthur’s anxiety ease a touch, but not his insecurity, which still raged within him as the television continued to make that awful fuzzy, scratching sound.
“It’s okay to be mad at me,” Arthur finally told him, voice quiet, “I got mad at you for less in Camelot.”
Merlin shook his head, frowning deeply. “Arthur, that was centuries ago, and your anger at me had been you lashing out from the stress load you were under, I’m not mad at you,” he promised, “why would I be mad at you?”
“What you mean why?” Arthur asked incredulously, his eyes widening, “I—I wrecked the house, Merlin! I would be furious if I came home to this! It—your vase, your… phone, and the thing won’t stop screaming, and the food heater melted your bowl and—”
“And you know all of that is fixed with less than a snap,” Merlin reminded him softly, placing a hand over top the one on Arthur’s knee. “What’s really bothering you, Arthur?”
Arthur went silent, staring at their hands on his knee, hesitant. He didn’t like this. Being weak—vulnerable. Yet, Merlin always brought it out of him, somehow.
“I don’t belong here,” he told Merlin, finally speaking the words that had plagued his thoughts since the day after he got back those weeks ago the first time, and he saw how much things had changed. It was like the floodgates opened after that, and he couldn’t stop the words from flowing.
“I—this world, I don’t… I can’t navigate it. I’m no longer a king, and our friends are—and everything has changed so much and I can’t keep up. I feel… Lost, and overwhelmed, and I don’t know what I’m doing… I don’t know why I’m here.” He whispered the last line, dragging his eyes up to look at Merlin’s face. “I don’t belong here, Merlin. I’m the King of Camelot, and Camelot is no more. I’m a—a king without a kingdom. I can’t even leave the house to provide you food without growing overwhelmed. What good am I if I can’t do anything but sit at home, alone, and I can’t even do that without breaking everything.”
“Arthur…” Merlin sighed softly. He bit his lip, as if contemplating saying something, before shaking his head with another sigh. He removed his hand from Arthur’s knee and instead wrapped his arms around the resurrected king, pulling him into a close, comforting hug.
Arthur relaxed in his touch, and rested his head on Merlin’s shoulder before returning the embrace loosely.
“I don’t expect you to adapt to quickly,” Merlin finally murmured after a few moments of them just holding each other. “I have had fifteen thousand years to adapt, I was around as these new things were developing and history was making… You just came back, and you’re not… I shouldn’t expect you to be ready to stay on your own yet. Arthur, this is going to take so much time… You were gone for fifteen centuries, and that’s a lot to process…”
He pulled away from the hug to look at Arthur’s face. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed. It’s okay to not feel like you belong. It’s okay to miss Camelot. You don’t need to try so hard, Arthur, these things—shopping, using the television and phone, the internet, staying home alone, all of it—these things come with and take time. It’s okay to not be able to do these things yet. This world is so new to you, and you’re putting so much pressure on yourself to learn it all when it may take years for you to even start getting used to it.”
“I just…” Arthur faltered, averting his eyes as Merlin moved his hands up to cradle his face.
“You just what?” Merlin prompted.
Arthur sighed and leaned his face into Merlin’s right hand. “I want to be useful again.”
At least in Camelot he had a kingdom to run… Here—he was no one. He could do nothing.
“You are useful!” Merlin insisted, shutting down the voice in his head with the pure sincerity and passion in his eyes as he spoke, “you are useful. You are incredible, and you are alive, and you are useful.”
The sureness of his voice made Arthur want nothing more than to believe it. Merlin’s eyes scanned his face for a moment before he sighed and sat back, letting his face go as he dropped his hands to his lap.
“Would it help…” He began, “if I taught you how to use the kitchen? The stove, and everything, not just how to heat things up like I did before. If I taught you how to really cook.”
Arthur thought about it for a minute. He’d never really cooked before, not even in Camelot, except on rare occasions…
This wasn’t Camelot, though, and… He could provide for Merlin, he could feed him, and he could—he could be useful in a new way. Arthur stared at his husband, biting his lip as he contemplated the offer. Then, he nodded.
He needed this.
He needed to do something.
“It would,” he confirmed, “I think it would.”
Merlin smiled faintly and nodded back. He stood up and stretched a bit before taking a deep breath. Arthur watched as his eyes glowed golden and the room put itself right again, as if Arthur had never ruined it in the first place.
“There, all right again,” Merlin hummed, clapping his hands together before looking to Arthur, “I’ll call in and tell my supervisor my family emergency has yet to resolve, and tomorrow… I will have groceries delivered, and we can begin your cooking journey.”
He paused, and sat back down by Arthur again, leaning his head on his shoulder. “Does that sound good?”
Arthur took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as a faint smile tugged at his lips. He may not belong in his time, but he certainly belonged here, he decided as he leaned his head against Merlin’s gently.
Hey! So... me again! I’ve recently been watching call the midwife bc I’m British and it’s a good show, and I was just wondering if you had any canon au fics where Merlin has to be a midwife or look after a baby (not a kid!fic tho!) and Arthur is just in the background like ???? Merlin can children???? Or anything along those lines where Merlin is soft with children and Arthur finds it cute/endearing/hot.
hi again, you wonderful person! I’ll have to admit, I struggled with this ask a bit— there aren’t many fics that have these wonderful tropes you described, which is a complete CRIME within itself— but I did find a few treasures.
babe in the woods— shadecat— 20k— Mature
babe in arms— La_Temperanza— 1k— General Audiences
Our Very Own— nyargles— 2k— Teen and Up Audiences
Tilted— fuzzytomato— 9k— Teen and Up Audiences
If any of you see any fics of this description help me out and let us know!
“Arthur!” Merlin dashed back into the prince’s bed chamber when he heard the retching.
Arthur was half out of his bed, one foot on the floor, the other still tangled up in his sheets. His hands were fisted so tightly in the blanket that his knuckles had gone white, and he was bent at an uncomfortable angle over the side of the bed.
Merlin rushed to him, leaping back just in time as Arthur emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor. Skirting around to pool of sick, Merlin grabbed Arthur as he sagged forwards. One hand on his chest and one on his back, he lifted Arthur’s torso upright to get a good look at his face.
It was ashen, a green tinge around his lips, and a sweat had broken across his forehead. His eyes watered as he lifted one arm to rub the end of his sleeve across his mouth.
Continue reading on Ao3, fanfiction.net or below! 👇
“Arthur? I’ve got you.” Merlin desperately tried to remember everything Gaius had ever taught him about vomiting. “Tell me how you feel.”
“Merlin, I –” But before he could say any more, his stomach jerked and he clamped his lips together, one hand pressing hard against his mouth.
He heaved, his hand quivering where it was pressed over his mouth and Merlin ducked down to retrieve the empty chamber pot from under the bed, holding it in front of Arthur as he moved his hand aside and retched. Rubbing Arthur’s back as he gagged and spluttered, he watched him carefully for any other worrying signs. He wasn’t happy about the way he could feel Arthur’s heart pounding, or the temperature of his skin radiating through his shirt.
Arthur groaned as his stomach stopped spasming. He clutched Merlin’s arm for balance, swaying as he leant back away from the chamber pot.
“Tell me how you feel,” Merlin asked as calmly as he could manage.
Arthur spat into the pot and wiped his mouth on his sleeve again.
“I felt a little queasy, but it felt better when I lay down and” – he paused to force down another retch, his jaw clenched and his fingers digging into Merlin’s arm – “and then my stomach…” He clenched his hand into a fist to demonstrate the feeling. “I couldn’t stop it.”
Merlin rubbed his back again as he panted for breath, hiccoughing and groaning. The panic was rising in Merlin’s chest as he helped Arthur back into the bed, scooting him across to the far side from the mess on the floor and propping pillows behind him. The hand clamped on Merlin’s arm was clammy and Arthur’s face had a sickly sheen across it, drained entirely of colour.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised before running to the door.
Outside Arthur’s room, Merlin let the panic overwhelm him. Arthur had been poisoned, he was sure of it. He dashed along the corridor until he bumped into another servant. Merlin grabbed her arm, making her drop her basket of laundry.
“Fetch Gaius! Quickly, the prince is ill,” he ordered and the maid gasped and hiked up the hem of her skirt to run off.
Merlin’s feet skidded as he turned around and sprinted back to Arthur. He could hear him throwing up again as he burst through the door.
He was by Arthur’s side in a split second, patting his shaking back. When Arthur flopped back onto his pillows, Merlin placed a hand on his forehead, chewing his lip at the temperature.
He fetched a goblet of water from Arthur’s dining table, bringing it over and helping Arthur sip it, trying to ignore the way Arthur’s hands shook.
“Come on, Gaius,” he muttered under his breath, looking over his shoulder towards the door every few seconds. He was already running through spells in his head, trying to decide the best one he could use if Arthur suddenly took a turn for the worse.
Arthur had vomited several more times by the time Gaius arrived, and had reached a point where there was nothing left for his stomach to expel. Merlin held him up as he shuddered weakly with each dry heave.
“Are you alright, sire?” Gaius hurried to the bed, stopping briefly to examine the sick Merlin hadn’t cleaned up from the floor yet. He frowned then bustled around to Arthur’s side, carefully lifting the prince’s face to peer at him.
“What’s wrong with me, Gaius?” Arthur groaned then ducked his head to retch again.
“Has he been poisoned?” Merlin hissed over Arthur’s bent head, still steadying Arthur’s torso.
Gaius gave a half shake of his head, still concentrating on Arthur; testing the temperature of his forehead and looking in his mouth when he’d finished vomiting, leaning him backwards and feeling across his stomach.
“Is your stomach painful?”
Arthur shook his head. “Doesn’t hurt, just churning… can’t stop –” He clamped a hand to his mouth again but managed to swallow forcefully before anything came up.
“Did you have chicken for dinner tonight?” Gaius suddenly asked.
Arthur screwed up his face, rubbing his hand over his lips and nodding.
Gaius hummed in acknowledgement to himself as he examined the contents of the chamber pot that Arthur was still cradling in this lap. Arthur wrinkled his nose in disgust. After taking one more look at Arthur’s face, Gaius wiped the prince’s brow and gave him a sympathetic smile.
“I do not believe it is poison,” Gaius reassured them. Merlin let out a gust of breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. “It seems,” Gaius continued, “that some of the chicken at the feast this evening wasn’t adequately cooked. You are the fourth person I have seen being sick tonight, sire.”
“I’ll be alright?” Arthur asked groggily.
“Perfectly fine in a day or two.” Gaius patted his arm comfortingly. “Merlin, give him two spoonfuls of this every few hours, it will help.” He pulled a little bottle of apple cider vinegar from his medicine bag and placed it in Merlin’s palm. “And make sure he drinks lots of water.”
Arthur groaned and flopped backwards into his mound of pillows, his face still looking a little green, and Merlin patted his shoulder.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/2
Fandom: Merlin (TV)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Characters: Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin (Merlin)
Additional Tags: Resurrected Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), weird second person writing style, Confused Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Immortal Merlin (Merlin), I’m Bad At Tagging, Albion Party, GREEN TEAM 💚, Merthur Reunited, Could Be Platonic If You want, lots of feels
Series: Part 1 of Albion Party 2021
Summary:
You wake up, at the edge of a lake. No memories. Coming back to life. A man shouting your name. He feels right. He feels like home. You can’t remember why.
Lancelot woke violently, wrenching his mind from the nightmare with a yell. He could still hear Gwaine’s terrible screams echoing in his head; despite being safely away from their torturers and back in Camelot, he’d never be free from that torture.
He dragged his eyes open as a hand gripped his uninjured one. Merlin was perched on the side of his bed, leaning over him with a worried smile. He pushed Lancelot’s sweaty hair off of his forehead, cupping the side of his head.
“Gwaine?” Lancelot rasped, trying to push himself upright.
“He’s alright,” Merlin soothed, continuing to stroke Lancelot’s hair, effectively holding him down on the bed at the same time. “He’s getting better every day.”
With a barely contained whimper, Lancelot sagged back into his pillow.
Continue reading on Ao3, FF.net or below! 👇
He knew Merlin had cast as many healing spells on Gwaine as he could. He’d wanted to do more but Gaius had cautioned him against trying, not wanting Arthur to get suspicious if Gwaine healed too quickly. The best he could do was make sure there’d be no lasting damage.
“I need to see him,” Lancelot asked, coughing against his dry throat. Merlin’s mouth turned down at the corners as he very slowly helped his friend to sit up, holding a cup of herby smelling water to his lips. Lancelot sipped it, tasting the familiar bitter tang of willow bark.
They had been back in Camelot for three days, holed up in the physician’s chambers to recover from their awful ordeal. Lancelot was in Merlin’s room, the familiar surroundings helping to calm him whenever his mind wandered back to the torture cell. Merlin sleeping on the floor beside the bed also helped. Gwaine was on a cot in the main chamber so he was never too far from Gaius if needed. Lancelot hadn’t had a chance to see him since they’d been brought back.
“Gaius says you shouldn’t be up yet,” Merlin started, putting the empty cup back on the bedside table.
“Please, Merlin.”
Lancelot’s chest constricted and suddenly he found it hard to breathe. He needed to check on Gwaine. He needed to see for himself that his friend was alright. That the injuries he had suffered under torture were healing. That his beautiful gregarious spirit had not been broken.
Before he knew it, he was gasping, panicking, overwhelmed by the memory of Gwaine’s screams, the sound of his bones breaking and his shoulders dislocating as the crank of the Rack turned. Merlin’s bedroom faded out of his sight as blackness swarmed over his vision. He moaned, tears spilling from his eyes, pain washing over him as if he could still feel the torturer’s tools on him.
He thrashed, trying to get away, to get to Gwaine, to…
“Lancelot!”
Warmth spread across his chest, a friendly, comforting warmth that reminded him of safety, and home. He latched onto the feeling, pulling himself back like a drowning man kicking for the surface. His eyes focussed onto two golden pools of light in front of him and gradually he managed to break through the darkness in his mind enough to see they were Merlin’s eyes.
“Hey, hey, Lancelot, it’s alright.” Merlin had a hand on Lancelot’s chest, magic radiating from it, grounding him.
Lancelot gulped, a sob breaking free from his trembling lips. Merlin gently pulled him to his chest, mindful of his heavily bandaged torso and splinted left hand.
“Merlin,” Lancelot breathed into the soft red neckerchief his face was buried in. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Merlin said fiercely. “Do you think you’re strong enough to get up?” Lancelot nodded shakily. “Come on, I’ll take you to see Gwaine.”
Putting an arm around Lancelot’s back, Merlin helped him scoot to the edge of the bed. Wincing, he swung his legs over and put weight on his aching feet. He swayed slightly, but Merlin’s strong hands on his back and chest held him up as he took a deep breath and stood.
Ever so slowly, and leaning heavily against Merlin, he limped to the steps and down out of Merlin’s room. Gwaine’s cot was beside Gaius’s workbench, and Lancelot almost fell as he tried to hurry towards it. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying when he saw Gwaine.
His face was a mess of bruising, one side of his beard shaved away so a poultice could be spread over a large slice down his jaw. There were bandages wrapped around his head. And even more over his torso. Both of his arms, which had been dislocated at the shoulders, were bound down over his chest to hold the newly realigned joints still, one strapped with splints to correct a break as well.
Gaius was mopping Gwaine’s sweaty brow but looked up when Merlin helped Lancelot closer to the bed.
“Lancelot!” The physician quickly got up from his chair, beckoning for Merlin to lower Lancelot down into it instead. “Why are you out of bed?”
“He needed to see Gwaine,” Merlin said and Lancelot caught him giving Gaius a meaningful look.
“He is strong, he will recover from this,” Gaius said confidently, his hand gently patting Gwaine’s chest.
“L’nce…” Gwaine’s eyes cracked a little open and he groaned heavily, trying to roll to his side to face Lancelot. Gaius held his chest, preventing him from moving and he screwed his eyes back up in pain.
“Try not to move, my lad,” he said quietly.
Lancelot reached forwards, his own hand landing on the opposite side to Gaius’s, his frantic fingers tracing the edge of a bandage. Gwaine gave an exaggerated wince and a groan and Lancelot withdrew his hand quickly.
“Gwaine! I’m sorry, did I –” he began, worry thick in his voice but he broke off when a tired grin spread across Gwaine’s bruised face.
“Got ya,” he said wryly, his voice hoarse but tinged with mirth. His eyelids peeled open again, and Lancelot could have wept at the spark he saw in the green eyes. Merlin gave a slightly watery chuckle beside Lancelot.
“I’ll get you some more tincture for the pain,” Gaius said, smiling down at Gwaine then giving Lancelot’s shoulder a squeeze as well.
“How are you, Gwaine?” Merlin asked, sinking to his knees beside Lancelot’s chair, his elbows resting on Gwaine’s bed.
“’ve been better.” He kicked one leg sluggishly, hissing in pain. “You, Lance?”
Lancelot frowned and shrugged. “About the same.”
He tentatively reached a hand out again, letting it hover over Gwaine’s hand, which was tucked under his chin due to his arms being strapped to his chest, but this time not touching.
“Please,” Gwaine whispered, nodding slightly against his pillow as best as he could.
“I don’t want to hurt you again.”
“I was messing with you, Lance. It didn’t hurt,” Gwaine said with a hint of bravado. Merlin scoffed, clearly seeing straight through his lie. “Alright, it did hurt, but not that much,” he conceded.
Lancelot didn’t move his hand until Gwaine tried to lift his own fingers, brushing one against Lancelot’s palm. The tips of his fingers were carefully bandaged, covering the raw skin where his nails had been ripped from them, the same as Lancelot’s own hands. He curled his fingers gently around Gwaine’s and Gwaine gave him another lopsided grin, wincing as it pulled the cut on his jaw.
“Glad we got out of there,” he said roughly. “Not our best quest.”
Lancelot couldn’t stop the small snort of laughter that broke from him, even as tears welled in his eyes again. “That’s putting it mildly.”
He felt Merlin’s hand pressing warm against his lower back as he ducked his head to wipe the tears from his face.
“We’re gonna be alright?” Gwaine asked, a small shake in his voice, like he was worried about the answer, his eyes flicked to Merlin, then up to Gaius as he came back over with a small cup.
“You should both make a full recovery,” the physician assured him.
Lancelot chewed his lip. Recovery could not come soon enough, for he wanted nothing more than to see Gwaine up and about, swinging his sword or playing a joke on Arthur. To give him a hug without the worry of hurting him. And for himself; he hated being stuck in the physician’s chambers, unable to do anything. Unable to be useful to his king and his friends.
Lancelot relinquished his hold on Gwaine’s hand as Merlin slid a very careful hand underneath Gwaine’s head, apologising when he groaned and screwed his eyes shut in agony. He lifted him fractionally, enough so that Gaius could spoon the pain relieving potion into his mouth, letting just a tiny amount trickle between his lips each time. Gwaine winced with every swallow, but by the time he’d finished the cupful the pained creases in his brow had eased a little and his breathing was less haggard.
“Thank you,” he muttered to Gaius. “Don’t s’pose I can have some ale now?”
Gaius gave him a look that was half fondness and half reproach, going back over to his workbench and stirring something.
“I have some poppy laced wine for you later, Gwaine, but it’ll send you to sleep, so I’ll give it to you after the king has been down to see you.”
“Arthur’s coming?” Lancelot asked, trying to straighten in his chair.
“As soon as he’s finished his council meeting,” Merlin said with a nod. “In fact I’d better go and tell him you’re both awake, he’ll want to wrap the meeting up and get down here.”
“Merlin, no,” Lancelot protested weakly. “Not if he’s busy. His duties are more important.”
Merlin gave Lancelot a look that said he was being too self-deprecating as he bounced to his feet.
“You’re two of his favourite knights – not that he plays favourites, of course,” he added with a grin, already halfway to the door, calling back over his shoulder. “He’ll want to be down here to see you both. He’s been to check on you several times in the last two days, but you’re usually asleep.”
Lancelot pulled a face; he didn’t feel like he’d slept at all, what with the nightmares, and the pain, but Merlin was gone before Lancelot could argue.
“You alright, Lance?” Gwaine’s quiet voice drew his attention back down to his friend and Lancelot gave him a weary smile.
“Better now I know you’re recovering.”
He shifted his hand up to the side of Gwaine’s face, letting his fingertips push the hair away from his cheek. Gwaine rolled his head towards Lancelot, effectively trapping his fingers under his head so his cheek was cupped by his palm. It stung fiercely where his nail-less fingers pressed against their bandages and down into the pillow, but Lancelot wasn’t going to move. He let his thumb rub over the shell of Gwaine’s ear where it poked out under his bandages. And for the first time since they had been captured he felt content in the knowledge they were safe.
Arthur screamed, kicking at the wall in front of him. Several crows startled from the battlements to his side, flapping into the dusky sky with screeching caws. His shoulders drooped as he put his hands on the top of the wall, his head falling forwards. Merlin hovered behind him, unsure whether to offer support or just let Arthur get it all out.
In the courtyard below them were the many bodies of victims to the immortal army, laid out in rows and covered by white sheets. Hundreds of guards, knights, servants and citizens. Innocent people who had been murdered by Morgana’s army.
Arthur had been standing up here, staring down, watching as more were brought out, for the best part of the day, since Gaius had told him he was too injured to help carry bodies himself. With each new one, he seemed to sag a little more.
Continue reading on Ao3, FF.net or below! 👇
Now the courtyard was quiet, all living souls had gone back into the palace and only the dead were there, the white sheets stark in the gloom of nightfall.
Merlin couldn’t look down at the bodies. He had spent most of the day with Gaius, tending to the wounded, and had only left them when Leon had come to find him; told him Arthur was up on the battlements by himself, screaming to the sky and refusing Leon’s support.
Merlin let his gaze roam the sky, the bright crescent moon visible over the last dying rays of orange sunset. He had yet to interact with Arthur, just being a silent reassuring presence behind him, but ready at any second to go to him if he needed it. He could see his whole body trembling, the hurt and tension building in the set of his shoulders, the tightness of his fists.
Then Arthur screamed again, punching the wall, his knuckles scraping the stone until blood coated his hands. Merlin grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back, away from the wall, but Arthur struggled against him. He twisted and fought, his bloody fists flying, ragged yells ripping from his throat.
“Why?” he shouted. “Why?!”
He wrenched himself free from Merlin’s grip, giving the wall one last fierce kick before dropping to his knees, his forehead pressing against the stone as he bowed his head.
“Arthur…” Merlin spread his hands across Arthur’s back, rubbing soothingly.
Arthur gave a rough sob, the breath catching in his throat and Merlin’s heart clenched in response. His shoulders shook beneath Merlin’s hands.
Collapsing to the side, Arthur turned and rested his back against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest.
“How could she betray us like that?” It was whispered and Merlin didn’t think he was supposed to respond. Arthur dropped his head into his hands, probably to try and hide the tears that had sprung to his eyes. “She’s lived here since she was ten, she’s like a sister to –” He stopped, his head jerking up to glare out at nothing. “She is my sister…”
“I’m so sorry, Arthur.” Merlin knelt before him, his hands stroking up and down his arms comfortingly.
“How could she betray her family?”
Merlin couldn’t reply to that. He’d known the betrayal was coming, the great dragon had warned him often enough. But Arthur didn’t seem to want a reply; he just covered his face with his hands again, groaning, letting all of his emotions from the last day crash out of him in noisy tears.
Merlin could do nothing but grip his arms, holding him steady as he came apart at the seams. It was so rare for Arthur to be so openly vulnerable with his emotions and Merlin’s heart was aching for him, wanting nothing more than to make everything better.
When Arthur finally lowered his hands from his face, Merlin captured them and tugged them towards himself.
The knuckles on both of them were badly bruised and cut from the force with which he had punched the wall. Merlin let them rest in his lap as he reached up to undo the knot of his neckerchief. Once it was off, he didn’t even hesitate before ripping the cloth into two pieces.
He lifted one of Arthur’s blood covered hands, wiping away the blood carefully with the end of one of the strips of neckerchief. Once it was as clean as he could get it without any water, he folded the scrap into a thin strip and wound it tightly over Arthur’s knuckles and around his palm, tying the ends and tucking them in neatly.
Arthur stared desolately down at his wrapped hand, tears glistening on his cheeks.
“Your neckerchief?” he whispered, his eyes flicking up to Merlin’s throat.
“I needed to wrap these, Arthur,” Merlin told him softly, his thumb rubbing over the fingers of Arthur’s other hand as he cleaned the blood from it as well.
“I…” He gulped, his chin dropping to his chest again. “Thank you, Merlin.”
“Of course.” Merlin wrapped the second hand, tucking the ends of his ripped neckerchief in again, then lifted it to his lips, placing a kiss over the bandage.
He held tight to Arthur’s hands, squeezing them between his own as Arthur struggled to regain his composure.
“I just don’t understand. I loved her… I still love her…” He looked up and met Merlin’s eyes. “Is that stupid? To love someone who’s betrayed you?”
“It’s not stupid, Arthur,” Merlin whispered, kissing his hand again. “Your heart is so full of compassion; it’s what makes you the great man you are. The great king you will be.”
“I can’t… I don’t know…” Arthur stopped, cutting himself off and sighing. He pulled one hand from Merlin’s grip, rubbing the back of it under his nose and wiping his cheeks.
“I know,” Merlin said firmly. He gave him an encouraging smile, which was shakily returned.
Arthur drew in a deep breath, pulling his strength and resilience over himself like a cloak. He shook his head, resting it backwards on the wall behind him, staring up at the moon. Merlin continued to press kisses over his knuckles, getting a small watery smile from Arthur.
After a minute or two, Arthur took another deep breath and hauled himself to his feet. His barriers were back up, his emotions hidden beneath the royal exterior. He slapped Merlin on the shoulder, wincing as his hurt knuckles flexed.
“Come on.” He held a hand out and pulled Merlin up too, throwing an arm around his shoulders. But if he held on just a little tighter than usual, Merlin wasn’t going to comment.
