Merthur One-shots

The Secrets That You Keep Are Ever Ready (Are You Ready?)

Summary: an injured merlin who doesn’t think he needs help and becomes delirious, protective knights, smart/already accepted magic arthur

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Merlin smiled at the servants as he passed them. 

One step in front of the other, the warlock smiled on, ignoring the growing blood stain beneath his tunic. He was lightheaded, growing more unsteady as he walked through the darkened halls of the castle. He could make it to his chambers, he knew, if he just willed a bit more magic to staunch the flow of the wound. 

He paused in the middle of an abandoned corridor, leaning his head against the cold stone of the wall as he focused his power. His magic flickered sadly, already working overtime to keep him conscious. But, as always, it answered his call. Merlin felt his magic simmer over the injury as he let out a small breath of relief. 

Straightening up, Merlin stumbled his way into Gaius’s workroom, and he did not collapse until he made it to his small room in the back. 

He stared and stared at the ceiling, wondering if anyone else could feel the world spinning. He figured he should worry about that, but his magic prickled his mind then—reminding him to sleep. 

So, Merlin relented, and he fell instantly into a restless slumber. 

Waking up with a gasp, the warlock shot up in his bed. He narrowed his eyes at the light coming through his window, wondering how on earth he got here. The last thing he remembered was reading the threat against Arthur that was hidden in the king’s letters and thinking how to stop it…but the rest of the day came back blurry. He shook his head. The day needed to start—even if Merlin couldn’t remember what he did the day before, even as that thought slightly terrified him.

He moved to the edge of the bed, swinging his feet over, and he tried to stand up. The minute his feet touched the ground, the room swayed, and he came crashing back onto his cot. Merlin groaned at the searing pain in his abdomen. Lifting his tunic, he gently prodded the bruised area that covered most of his torso. 

His answer was solved, then. He must have found the threat and eradicated it, and this was his gift for doing so. Grimacing, Merlin slowly got to his feet and limped to his mirror. Looking over to his left, the warlock saw some wrapping he could use to cover the damage. Doing so, rather gingerly, he frowned at the ache. His magic usually smoothed away these pain and bruises quickly—it was why a bruise never lasted more than a few hours on him. Shrugging the thought away, however, figuring it must be taking a bit more power than usual, he threw on his purple tunic and plastered a smile on his face. 

By the time Merlin arrived at Arthur’s door with breakfast, a sweat had broken out against his neck and back. Panting a bit, Merlin shoved the wooden door open revealing an already awoken Arthur staring through the window.

“You’re late.” Merlin heard Arthur grumble.

“Yeah, sorry.” Merlin couldn’t think of a lie that suited him, so that’s all he said.

Arthur turned around. “That’s it? ‘Sorry’?”

Merlin grinned. Arthur rolled his eyes, moving to sit at his desk where Merlin dropped off his food. Arthur watched him tidy up the room for a few moments before blurting out: “Let’s go out.”