Chapter Text
Tied up in a bedroll, tied to a horse that’s tied to Arthur's horse. Merlin had been in a lot of strange and compromising, rather embarrassing situations in his life. But this takes the fucking cake!!!
Between the annoyance, the sharp pull at the wound, and the nauseating swaying of the horse, he wonders if he's actually reached hell.
If they ever want to execute another sorcerer, they should do this!! It's enervating and cheap. No need for tons of firewood, just let them suffocate in their own vomit on the back of a horse when they do eventually throw up.
"Merlin, are you still there?"
He can see hooves approaching; he knows it's Gwaine's horse, he recognises the white socks of the beautiful mustang. "Merlin?"
With all the strength left in his body, he snaps his head up to only meet what he guesses is Gwaine's leg "No, Gwaine, I've run off. Didn't you see me sprinting into the fucking bushes over there?!"
Normally his mates would snort or laugh at his remark, though now no one even peeps. They're silent, thinking probably, which Merlin thinks is so much worse.
The worst part about all of this is that the wounds still feel wet and bloody, and he hates the feeling of it; he can still smell it too, and it isn't helping with the nausea.
Gwaine stays quiet, and while Merlin can't see him anymore, he knows he's there if the creaking of the saddle was anything to go by.
Just hanging there isn't going to help anyone, so he starts squirming, starts pushing against the bedroll trying to get his arms free.
Another horse approaches on his other side, but Merlin can only hear this one. "Merlin, please stop; you're going to hurt yourself." Percy, of course.
He ignores him, just keeps squirming and pushing against the restraints. Deep somewhere in his chest, he feels a flicker of his magic, but it isn't even enough to grab, not enough for him to tap into and free himself out of this horrible position.
"Merlin," Percy tries again; he can feel him pull at the other side of the bedroll, trying to keep him steady. "Fuck off, Percy!"
Now he does hear some sound from his friends. A gasp, to be precise, one he couldn't care less about. "Merls—"
"No!!! You can bitch and moan when you're swaddled in a bedroll like a fucking child!!!"
He doesn't think he's ever sworn so much in his entire life. Percy doesn't answer him this time; Arthur does "Easy when you act like a child."
A loud clap of thunder spooks the horses, and with one very ungraceful yelp Merlin hits the mossy ground, still wrapped up like a caterpillar.
Hooves trample away beside him, whinnying and steering themselves away from the thunder that is approaching dangerously fast. With one fell swoop, he's up in someone's arms; Leon, he quickly figures out by the knight's sword.
He hears yelling and orders flying past him. He catches a "Fuck!" Gwaine yells, "The horses!" Percival groans, and Elyan is suddenly holding onto him, turning him over so he can see both him and Leon.
"Carry your friend like a bag of meat, why don't ya!!" And it satisfies him to see Leon's little wince.
"Now put me down!" He screeches again, fighting Leon's firm hold from the inside out. Though the first knight doesn't falter, he just starts moving after Arthur barks some more orders.
The sun burns down on his face; his already sweaty and bloody hair has now been covered in more sweat and dirt, and oh, Merlin longs for a bath and to hit someone as well.
What exactly happened? No clue, no one told him. They just started walking through the dark forest. He figures the thunder spooked the horses and they ran off, which is bad… Because that means they're left without their camp supplies or first-aid kit.
The sun went from low to high to low again, and the storm follows them like a little puppy trailing after its owner. Multiple times throughout their trek, Arthur had turned, only to make a surprised face at the storm still being there.
"It should've passed on by now," Elyan murmurs at some point, falling into a comfortable pace next to Leon.
"Merlin h—"
"If you're going to ask me how I am," The man sneers, twisting back so he can see the young knight ", I will burn your portions of food every time we go out hunting from this moment foreward."
New snickers travel through the company; everyone laughs, all except for Arthur.
"I do think it's still Merlin, sire. Maybe we should—" "No." The prince simply states, swatting some branches out of their way, "Like Leon said, no one just returns from the dead." And right about now, Leon —and his arms— are really starting to regret those words.
Relief comes quickly, because by the time the moon has risen, Arthur orders them to stop in a little cave. It isn't big, but big enough to fit them and a fire if they huddle together. The moment Leon places Merlin down on the ground, up against the tree, he feels like he can breathe again.
Everyone moves, using everything they can find to create at least a bit of a camp feeling. They avoid him; each pair of eyes skims over him as if he's actually still dead. A sharp rock pushes into his back; it pinches but relieves the tension in his muscles. It's as if they're only now just relaxing, unclenching from the hardened state they'd been in just a bit ago.
After minutes of watching his friends dart around in search of wood and other materials to start up their very makeshift camp, Gwaine finally stops. He hovers by the entrance, light eyes being the first to find his. He looks so small next to the lanky vines that swerve up the side of the rocks. "Merls."
Merlin doesn't answer, just keeps staring. A part of him doesn't want to answer. Not after his friends had dragged him through the woods and strapped him to the back of a horse like some piece of field-dressed deer.
"Merls?" He blinks up at his friend who's now only inches from him. His skin is blotchy from crying, tear tracks burned into the skin beneath his eyes, and it breaks something in Merlin.
The anger swirling inside him dissolves in an instant, making room for a very empty feeling that has nowhere to go. It's as if something is missing; maybe it had been taken when he’d left? Whatever had been there left a hole.
Did they take his humanity? Did they carve his soul out of his chest to collect and stock it somewhere up on a shelf in the heavens?
The truth is, he doesn’t know. And it terrifies him.
Looking into Gwaine's eyes, his best friend… He can see himself reflected; the anger, fear, the helplessness threatening to crush them.
Yet as much as he can feel the urge to cry overtake him, his tears don't come. Instead he hunches foreward into Gwaine's shoulder. "I'm tired." He sounds worn-out. Broken. His lips barely move as he speaks; they just rest against Gwaine's shirt that smells of sweat and blood.
"I'm sorry." He replies, strong arms wrapping around him. They trace down and back up his back in comforting motions. It reminds Merlin of when his mother would soothe him as a child, and he can't help but smile at that. "It's okay, I understand."
He does. He really does. If it had been Gwaine in his position, a possible threat toward Arthur, he's sure he would've done the same. He is certain of that.
Clanging alerts them that the others have entered the cave again. Gwaine turns slowly; Merlin just looks up through the strands of his matted hair.
Arthur is at the front, chest heaving as if he just ran a marathon, though his eyes don't look as determined as they normally do. "Merlin."
The tears come in an instant, shoulders shaking at the sheer power of hurt. Arthur is next to him in a second, calloused hands pushing the dark hair out of his face "Heyhey, breathe, Merlin, breathe." He murmurs, lips pressing to his bloodied forehead.
"It's me, Arthur, I swear!" He cries between his broken sobs. The thing he wants most in the world right now is to grab into that obnoxious red tunic and actually feel the blonde against him. "I wouldn't hurt you, never, not even if I were cursed I-I wouldn—wouldn't Arthur, please."
Those blue eyes look at him with so much pity, and that's when Merlin realises. He knows. Arthur knows.
"Y-You." He stammers, hauling his entrapped body back, "You know it's me, then why—"
The knights move closer; one by one they sit down around them, forming a little circle. "We don't know what happened, Merlin." Elyan tries, holding out his hand to touch the man too. He quickly decides against it when Merlin shoots him a glare "But it's me!!" The cave echoes his panicked voice; everyone looks away, all but one "Arthur, you know no one has taken over my body, so why?"
"We don't know if they have," The prince sighs, not once thinking about moving his hands away from Merlin's face. It's so intimate that in normal circumstances Merlin's face would burn red and he'd be stammering like a child who just learned to speak. Now, though, he doesn't care; if he had his way, Arthur would be even closer.
"We don't know what happened," Leon says "We don't know if maybe some part of you is forced to follow other orders."
"But I wouldn't!" Merlin bellows, begging Arthur to believe him "Arthur, I'd never, I would never, you know this!"
"I know you wouldn't hurt me." The prince says, fingers trailing away from his face, down to hang by his side.
Would Arthur have taken his hand if it hadn't been tied into the fucking bedroll? Would he have hugged him? Maybe done something neither of them could ever return from?
"Then why?"
A darkness washes over those pale blue eyes, as if he is remembering something. It has to be out of another world, Merlin thinks to himself, because in this one, Merlin is right there, right in front of him. Arthur's lips part slightly, tongue darting out to wet his lips in anticipation. "I'm afraid you'll hurt yourself."
Himself? Why would that matter? Merlin wants to scream at them. It doesn't matter if he dies or gets hurt; that's never what this has been about. Everything, his life, his power, all of it has all been for Arthur, always has, always will be.
"If you were Morgana, who would you hurt in your body? Me or you?" Arthur doesn't even give him the time to wrap his head around the question, let alone voice it; he just keeps going, eyes wildly studying the frown growing between Merlin's eyebrows. "What would torture me most? If she hurt me or if she hurt you."
The answer gets lost in the soft drumming of the first evening rain falling against the stone and vines. The storm outside rumbles softly, as if humming along with Arthur's statement.
With short movements that are sure to hurt his neck, Merlin shakes his head "That doesn't matt--"
"Don't." The prince warns him, "Tomorrow we will reach Avalon, you'll go into its waters and with some luck, whatever bad thing that happened gets washed off. We will forget this happened and live on."
There's so much at the very same time, so many promises and hurtful words.
Like... Forget everything? Does that also mean Arthur won't ever hold him as he'd done on the battlefield?
Is he saying he'll back away, won't ruffle his hair anymore or tease him?
Or does he mean before everything? Does he expect them to go back to whatever was before this because... Merlin doesn't think that's possible, at least not without giving yet another part of his already lost soul to Arthur Pendragon.
"Alright." He agrees, and suddenly everyone's heads have snapped back around to them. It's sweet that they decided to look away in the first place. The attempt to give privacy for their little intimate moment was nice, but when this is all over, Gwaine will definitely pester him about this.
"I'll follow you wherever."
And Arthur smiles.
The trip to Avalon isn't as long as Merlin had thought. They were indeed closer to the lake than he'd thought, which was great for his back because all the carrying around really had taken a toll on his joints.
They haven't let him out of his compromised situation just yet, but at least now he doesn't mind it as much. He still makes a comment here and there, but this time it's a little lighter.
A few hours back, the storm had finally eased up. The rumbling had drifted away with Merlin's bad mood and made room for the warm rays of the golden sun.
"Is this better?" Gwaine asks as he rushes to shuffle Merlin in his arms. "Yes, thanks, Gwaine." He smiles back, eyes not once leaving the lake as they get closer and closer.
Only a little bit longer and he'll be untied. Part of him is afraid of what he'll find under there; he also really needs to pee.
"We're here." Arthur finally says, stopping close to an old oak. Its dancing leaves give them enough shadow to rest under; it's also high enough for the little fire —that will inevitably be lit— not to start a forest fire.
Merlin is all giddy with excitement, almost squirming out of Gwaine's arms. "Merls be careful!" Elyan chirps worriedly, grabbing towards their friend so he won't faceplant into the grass.
Still, he doesn't stop squirming "Come on! I'm so done with this!!" Laughter erupts around him, and it's the best thing Merlin's ever heard. It's all easy again, and he loves it. His friends start pulling at the cords, with each one that loosens his lungs stutter to take in more air. Goddamn, he hadn't even felt how much his ribs hurt!
Apparently whatever he's feeling is visible because Percy is at his side in an instant, next to a very concerned-looking Arthur. As the final cord lets go, he sits up in a flash, bones creaking and cursing at him as he does.
The grass tickles the palms of his hands, and the wind blows through his tunic as if to help him get the awful sticky fabric away from his skin. "Finally!" He laughs as he finally breathes again, bits of magic sparking deep in his chest.
Moving his legs was harder than he'd thought; his joints aren't really agreeing with what's happening, so as he tries to stand up, his knees buckle almost immediately. And just as fast, five pairs of hands are holding him upright. "Easy now," Leon says.
Slowly, with measured steps, they move over to the water.
The very moment the cold touches his bare feet, he lets out a content little moan. They wade deeper, each knight letting go as they move deeper and deeper until it's just Arthur and Merlin on their tippy toes.
The water is so nice, as is the feeling of Arthur holding him tightly. The prince is staring at him, as if waiting for a horrible moment to follow. "I'm alright, Arthur." He promises quietly, giving Arthur that special little smile he only gives every so often.
Arthur loves h—it. He loves Merlin's smile. A smile he thought he'd lost forever only twenty-four hours ago.
"Hold onto me." His friend insists before ducking down into the water. And Arthur would be an absolute idiot if he were to ever let go.
When the boy comes back up, his dark hair is still dirty, something they can salvage closer to the shore.
"Come on." He says, guiding them back, Merlin in front so he can keep his eyes on him at all times. The knights are waiting for them in the more shallow end, shirts already off, trying to drown each other. Elyan comes up sputtering, hands angrily wiping at his eyes as the other laugh. They smile at the two coming back from the deep, but no one dares to splash them or threaten to.
Arthur and Merlin settle at the very shore, close enough so Arthur can scoop up water to wash the grime and blood away. The water at their feet colours a deep dark red, and Merlin gets lost somewhere between the colour and the memories. Arthur can tell; he always can.
"Move closer." He instructs, Merlin blinks awake, head tilting as he tries to figure out what the blonde wants. "Come on," Arthur says again, carefully pulling the raven-haired deeper into the water. He reaches for the bloodied tunic only to be stopped by sharp nails and big begging eyes.
"It's okay, you don't have to," Merlin assures him, lips pursing into thin lines.
He's never seen Merlin this nervous about anything before. "I want to." And the man just gapes, wondering if he might've heard it wrong. "No, Arthur, I—" He stops. Perhaps he's already realised he's going to lose this fight anyway. "Just... No questions... please? Not now."
He sits there, hunched in on himself, fingers twisted into the tunic to keep it in place. Arthur just nods "No questions... for now." As for now, that's enough.
Slowly the ruined tunic gets peeled off, only revealing far more than the stab wound Arthur was expecting. There are slashes, gashes, burns, stings, cuts, everything Arthur would normally see on a very decorated and very dead soldier.
And even though his face shows the hundred of thoughts running through his mind, the questions almost streaming off of his lips like a waterfall, he keeps his promise.
He just scoops water into his hands and softly lets it run over the scars. Fingers ever so softly wiping the blood and dirt away. Somewhere during it, Merlin has leaned in closer, eyes resting at the amazing feeling of Arthur's warm hands and the cold water.
Arthur is focused, so focused he hadn't even heard the knights surrounding them again, and just as Percy is about to ask something, he stops him with a firm look. They seem to understand and just settle down, close to them.
Merlin's eyes flutter open at another pair of hands exploring the marks on his skin. Gwaine is sitting a little bit further away; he has to really stretch his arms to reach him, but he handles him with just as much care as Arthur. "So beautiful day isn't it?" He says so matter-of-factly, forcing a snort out of the raven-haired "Yes, Gwaine, it's a beautiful day." And he means it; he really does.
And finally, because it isn't inevitable, Percy speaks up, "You scared the hell out of us, Merlin." And yes, he knows; he even scared the living daylights out of himself.
"Especially the whole coming back to life thing." Arthur is ready to smack Gwaine up the head, but Merlin stops him. "I know, I'm sorry. If it makes you feel better, it really freaked me out too."
"And yet you don't seem that troubled by it."
All eyes snap to the eldest knight. He continues, eyes sharp and wary, "You were afraid; I saw it. And yet here you are, laughing, still afraid, yes. But Merlin, none of us would've acted as you did, and we're the very best knights of Camelot, trained in combat and used to dealing with horrifying situations."
Murmurs rise up from around him; only Arthur stays deadly quiet.
"You seem.. used to life-shattering situations, and if I'm right, that's exactly where you got those." All eyes move back to him at once, to study a butcher's artwork etched into his body.
Merlin smiles easily and yet heavy "Who would I be if I couldn't protect the people I love? What meaning does my life have if I can’t?" It isn't as much a question as it is a statement. "What meaning does the breath in my soul have if I can't serve the person I care about most?"
Now all eyes snap to Arthur, and stay there. Stay to watch the horrible way in which his facade crumbles into little unfixable pieces. "I did this?" The little breaths out of his mouth sound like wheezes, low little whimpers torn from the very inside of his being.
"No," Merlin is smiling so brightly it hurts, it fucking hurts, and Arthur hates him for it even if it's a split second.
"I did this for you."
"Merlin, you—"
You don't understand." The boy whispers, eyes travelling somewhere far away as the breeze plays with his drying hair "And I won't tell you." He adds, just in time to stop the cascade of pleads and questions.
"But one day you'll understand, Arthur. One day, which I hope to be in the very distant future, you'll learn the truth. And when you do, I can only hope that you remember that all of it was because I am yours.
Your servant, your protector, your sword.
I hope you'll know that it's because I would rather forget the shape of my own soul than see yours be dimmed by the thing the gods call fate."
And right there between the rolling waves, the soft breeze and smell of newly blooming flowers, Merlin belongs. He belongs to the world, having planted his roots into the earth, and he will stay there until everything around him fades. He'll forever be part of it; his pale face will stay the same white as freshly fallen snow. His hair will be wild like the wheat in a storm and dark like the ashes of a burning fire. His eyes will forever hold the golden light of the sun and the blues of the oceans.
And right here, right now, Arthur begs the gods to also let him belong to himself. "When the time comes, and it will," he says softly —yes, softly, yet sure of every single word ", I will remember. And I will show you, prove to you... That I am as much yours as you are mine."
Those golden eyes look at him, proud and loving "I look foreward to it."