The episode is set after Merlin’s magic reveal. Merlin has just defeated an evil sorceress attacking the squad.
None of the knights see what happened, but they all freeze as they see Merlin drop.
Was it a curse from the sorceress? Was it an overuse of his powers? Was he somehow injured? What should they do???
Lancelot starts chest compressions despite the fact that Merlin has a normal pulse and is entirely breathing on his own, but a bitch ain’t taking chances.
Elyan and Leon have no fucking clue what supplies is needed but they’ve seen Merlin use herbs so goddamit they’re gonna collect every herb in the fucking forest.
Gwaine is wailing like a widow and tearing at his hair like the beautiful ride or die bastard he is.
Arthur is putting on a brave face except for the fact that it does not look brave at all and he is precisely two blinks away from crying and holy fucking shit why has no one fixed his Merlin yet.
Percival is...well actually no one has any clue what Percival is doing until he announces his findings.
“Huh, other than the bruise on his forehead, his only injury seems to be to his right ankle.”
That finally silences the room.
“His...his ankle?” Arthur asks, staying strong like a true knight and only crying a little.
“Yes, his right ankle. You know, the one he steps forward with when he puts his hand out to do magic.”
Lancelot finally stops chest compressions at that to stare at the ankle in question.
“Percival...” he asks slowly, “where is Merlin’s right shoe?”
“It wasn’t on him when Arthur lifted him so I took a quick look before we left the clearing. It was laying beside him in the grass, buckles unfastened.”
And that’s when the last hour’s events all come together.
Merlin was not cursed. Merlin was not drained of power. Merlin was not somehow horribly injured.
Merlin, the most powerful dollophead in all the five kingdoms, had stepped forwards to use his magic against the sorceress and - luckily after he unleashed the spell that vanquished her - tripped on his unfastened boot and fucking KNOCKED HIMSELF OUT.
“A-Arthur?” comes the confused groan of the dollophead in question.
And Arthur laughs. He laughs until the tears of worry become the tears of love and relief and second chances and the insanity only Merlin could bring about.
“Oh Merlin,” Arthur laughs, sinking to the ground to cradle the other man’s bruised head, brushing his fingers against a soft cheek.
“For all you claim it’s your destiny protect me, I swear you’ll be the death of me.”
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