Happy Merlin Holidays, riventhorn!

[merlin-hols.livejournal.com]

Title: We Cannot Live Unbruised
Recipient: riventhorn
Author: fuzzytomato02
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 4011
Warnings: some violence and injuries.
Summary: Leon notices things.
Author's Notes: sap and fluff and utter utter sappy fluff. Title shamelessly stolen from Mumford and Sons. Thanks to E, S and A for the help and the beta.
Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein belong to Shine and BBC. I make no profit from this endeavor.


Leon usually enjoyed hunts. They were an escape from the castle, a bonding time with his fellow knights, a time of little stress in which after a good day of tracking and the adrenaline of the kill, they could relax around the fire, drink and laugh and be men without the rigors of titles. He looked forward to hunts, became excited as they drew near each season and he joked with the other knights about who would bring home the biggest prize.

They were on the third day and Leon couldn’t recall, at least in recent memory, a hunt that had been more disastrous and miserable. The sky was overcast, the air breezy and cold and they were accompanied by a constant drizzle that, while never amounting to a driving rain, was just substantial enough to ensure they were all wet for the duration of the day. They had caught little, a brace of rabbits and one stag, and Arthur was pushing them farther and Leon knew it was because he was not going to return with such a slight bounty and risk disappointing the king.

It wouldn’t have been entirely horrible except that morning Merlin had developed a cough.

Leon thought that Merlin was a bit of a hapless idiot but loyal and brave to a fault and Arthur’s shadow in all things from the mundane (scurrying after him, arms loaded with armour) and the impossible (facing down dragons) and he had earned not only Leon’s respect but several of the other knights’ as well. He was an anomaly, thin but certainly not weak, a servant but outspoken and at times disrespectful, a country boy but educated and intelligent enough to work with Gaius, and loyal but cheeky and disobedient. He was horrible at some of his duties especially in the beginning and Leon always wondered if Arthur kept him around just because he was so unlike the others, fascinating in his own odd way.

Theirs was an unusual relationship and it was one that Leon had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to decipher until the point where it had become too complex and he just accepted whatever the situation was that day as normal whether it was soft touches that lingered too long or gazes that smouldered or insults that were biting and roughhousing that left bruises. Besides, it wasn’t his place to question the prince and the value that he placed on his own servant.

Merlin’s cough started while they were packing up the camp that morning and Merlin did his best to stifle it but now, as he rode off of Arthur’s left flank, Leon just behind, it had become chest deep, rattling and constant.

“Merlin!” Arthur finally snapped after a rather painful sounding fit. “Do you think you could stop making noise for at least two minutes?”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin responded, voice barely a croak.

Arthur looked over his shoulder at Merlin, expression unreadable but his eyes travelled over Merlin’s frame, assessing, and was frowning when he faced forward again.

They rode maybe another hour while Merlin did his best to clamp his lips shut as they continued but it was futile, the coughs erupting violently and frequently.

It was early afternoon when Arthur stopped his horse in a clearing, a place where the trees around them were high, their branches creating a canopy and a shield from the rain and a buffer from the wind.

“We’ll camp here,” he announced.

There was a surprised rumble that they would stop so early in the day but Arthur ignored it and instead grabbed the reigns of Merlin’s docile horse and pulled him alongside. Leon knew he should’ve been dismounting and assisting with set-up of the camp but he couldn’t help but watch as Arthur pulled his hunting glove off with his teeth and reached out to place a hand on Merlin’s forehead. Merlin, of course, leaned away and batted at Arthur’s seeking fingers.

“I’m fine,” he insisted though his voice sounded broken and torn and his breathing was noisy.

“Quit being an infant,” Arthur snapped. He grabbed both of Merlin’s flailing arms, and wrapped his hand around Merlin’s wrists to subdue him.

Merlin struggled half-heartedly but didn’t flinch when the back of Arthur’s fingers brushed across his cheek.

“You’re burning up. Why didn’t you say anything?” Arthur demanded.

“Oh, so you could yell at me?”

“I wouldn’t yell at you!”

Merlin gave him an incredulous look.

Arthur flushed, embarrassed or angry, Leon couldn’t really tell. “Go sit down somewhere and if you try to help, I swear I’ll tie you to a tree,” he ordered without any real heat.

Merlin, surprisingly, did as he was told and it was a testament to how poorly he had to be feeling.

Leon dismounted, went about his business with taking care of the horses and laying out bedrolls and gathering wood for the fire. He occasionally cast a glance to where Merlin sat propped against a tree, petulantly, knees to his chest and someone’s oversized jacket swallowing him so he looked more child than man. His face was pale and his cheeks were flushed and had his hands not been clasped tightly around his knees, Leon was sure they would’ve trembled. Merlin caught his gaze and gave him a weak smile that Leon returned before tromping out of the clearing to hunt for dinner for the group.

At one point, as Leon was looking for fresh tracks, he did hear Arthur berating Merlin loudly, his voice carrying through the forest to Leon’s location quite clearly, and despite his better judgment but curious as to what Merlin had done to ignite Arthur’s anger, he craned his neck to peek through the trees. He spied Arthur manhandling Merlin back to his spot, a small pile of wood in Merlin’s arms.

“You are the only person I know who tries to be a better servant when ill than when not!” he said, as he grabbed the armful of wood from Merlin and ordered him to go sit down yet again.

“I’m sorry!” Merlin shouted back with a rasp. “I was only trying to help!”

“You are ill! I’ll not have you collapsing and becoming sicker out of some misplaced sense of duty!”

When Leon returned with dinner, there was a roaring fire and after tossing his catch to a squire to clean and cook, he stretched out near it to dry. Merlin was sitting across from him, looking pale and trembling, until Arthur draped a thick and well-made blanket across his shoulders and thrust a bowl of steaming stew into his hands. He clapped Merlin hard on the shoulder as he walked away and through Leon didn’t mean to, he caught the way Arthur’s fingertips dragged across the soft skin of Merlin’s neck.

Leon awoke, later that night, to Merlin coughing so forcefully that it sounded as if he would gag on his own lungs. He made a move to sit up, to see if Merlin needed anything but stopped when another figure appeared by the glowing coals of the fire and knelt next to Merlin’s bedroll.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, soft, low, affectionate.

He pulled Merlin up, bracketed his body with his arms, and Merlin collapsed against Arthur’s body, head lolling against Arthur’s shoulder, black hair plastered to his head in sweat. One of Arthur’s broad, sword calloused hands came up to slowly massage Merlin’s chest.

“Better?” he whispered.

Merlin let out a low appreciative moan and Arthur chuckled into Merlin’s ear.

“Tomorrow,” he continued, “I’ll get you back to Gaius and he’ll pour all kinds of concoctions down your throat and you’ll feel better. Then I’ll make you take a steaming bath and sleep in my soft bed under all those lush blankets. I’ll make you eat soup and drink honey mead for your throat.”

Merlin sighed, the edge of it catching on a cough, but at least he was relaxed.

“That sounds nice,” he slurred, a little sleepily. “M’sorry for ruining the hunt.”

Leon saw Arthur shrug. “It was disastrous anyway.”

----

Leon was in the armoury looking over the practice swords ensuring they were well tested and ready for that day’s practice. He looked over the shields too, made sure none were too far dented for use, and had checked to make sure the straps of his own armour were oiled and strong. He moved behind the rack of spears to complete his inspection when he heard the very loud and unmistakable voices of the Prince and his manservant.

“Arthur, you’re still recovering,” Merlin said, his voice strong and firm. “You should not be practicing. It’s too soon.”

“Merlin, if I wanted a nursemaid I would have one a sight better looking than you.”

Leon heard Merlin sputter. “Arthur! You were stabbed!”

“Three weeks ago.”

“In the stomach.”

“I’ve healed.”

“With a poisoned blade that gave you a fever that almost killed you!”

Leon sucked in a breath, the incident vivid in his mind’s eye, the irate visage of the visiting lord, the prince stepping before the king, the blade sinking deep in Arthur’s side while Leon had stood, impotent, and unable to protect his liege. He also clearly remembered Merlin’s face, stricken, blood spraying across his hands as he lowered Arthur to the ground and cradled his head in his lap while the others had restrained the noble. It had been chaos and for days Arthur had lain sick with fever while Gaius and Merlin worked diligently on an antidote. It was far too close a situation to the Questing Beast and Leon wouldn’t want to live either of those again. He was certain that Merlin did not want to either.

“Merlin, you are overreacting. I’m perfectly capable to return to training with the knights and if you would stop hovering…”

“Fine!” Merlin’s voice was exasperated. “Don’t listen to the apprentice to the court physician.”

They entered the armoury and Leon hid behind the row of spears. Arthur was pale, eyes shadowed and bruised, body thin and atrophied and he moved stiffly as he looked over the practice swords. Merlin trailed behind him, brow furrowed, lips twisted.

“Arthur, just a few more days rest and then you can start back with light…”

“The issue is settled, Merlin!” Arthur snapped, as he continued his inspection, back turned rigidly to Merlin. “I have been in bed too long and I need to show my knights and my people that no foreign dignitary with a poisoned dagger will keep me from my duties.”

“No one thinks you’re weak, Arthur. The opposite, actually. Most men would’ve died. If it hadn’t been for Gaius…”

Arthur turned around quickly, staggered for a step, and swatted Merlin’s helping hands away. “Don’t you think I know that? If it hadn’t been for Gaius…if it hadn’t been for you…” He swallowed and looked away and the air between them was tense, heavy for a moment. “These swords look good.”

Merlin nodded, head bowed, lips shut.

Arthur left the armoury, Merlin just behind him and as they left, Leon heard Merlin’s voice fade. “I’ve scrubbed your mail and I just need to check the straps on your left vambrace…”

Merlin did not attend the knights’ practice and Leon was surprised not to see him there. He wondered if Arthur’s stubbornness and his refusals had put Merlin in a sulk or if the young servant didn’t want to see all his hard work in nursing Arthur back to health put to a violent test. Whatever the reason, Leon was unnerved not to see Merlin in his usual spot, leaning against the post, watching with sharp blue eyes.

Arthur looked worse for wear, the armour looking almost too big, swallowing, as he tried to work smoothly back into the routine. He was hindered, and he knew it. His left side was tender, and he overcompensated, fought to protect it and it made him frustrated, reckless. When one of the newer recruits landed a solid blow to Arthur’s injured side, Leon felt his stomach drop to his toes. Arthur’s face drained of all colour, the grip on his sword loosened but Arthur managed to dispatch his attacker into the mud without falling and with short, painful breaths, walked away from the field. Sweat dripped down Arthur’s face, turned his hair into a limp straw-coloured mess as he struggled to regain his breath.

“That was…” he swallowed, “a good blow.”

Leon thought they’d see Arthur faint but as luck would have it, Merlin came streaking across the field.

“Arthur!” he called as he jogged up. “Your father requests an audience.”

The naked relief on Arthur’s face made Leon blush and he turned away as Merlin took the sword from Arthur’s limp hand and put it back with the others.

“Well, I shouldn’t keep him waiting then,” Arthur said. He gestured to the other knights. “Leon will take over from here.”

Leon stepped forward automatically and began assigning sparring partners. Once finished, he covertly watched Arthur stride through the courtyard, Merlin on his heels, and once they had cleared the main courtyard, Leon breathed a sigh of relief as Merlin ducked beneath Arthur’s arm, draped it over his shoulders and supported the prince the rest of the way. Somehow, Leon knew that despite Merlin’s absence on the field, he’d been close by and watching in that protective way of his and he knew that later, when asked, Arthur would moan about how Merlin was so incompetent that the king hadn’t requested Arthur’s presence after all.

----

Merlin’s magic had fast become the kingdom’s worst kept secret. The knights knew and Arthur knew and Merlin knew Arthur knew but they never discussed it, at least, in Leon’s presence. It seemed to be the one topic that could put both of them in foul tempers. To Leon’s knowledge, Arthur never outright asked Merlin to use his magic, and Leon was sure it was more that he didn’t want Merlin caught rather than any law, but there were times, when facing situations that were beyond dire and out of any natural realm’s control that Arthur would look at Merlin and between them some silent communication would pass and Merlin would disappear for hours or days. When the abnormal storm abruptly stopped, or the invisible attackers became visible or when the opposing kingdom’s sorcerer keeled over dead, they all knew that Merlin had completed his duty.

The wargs were relentless. Each night they appeared and each night they fought to keep the small village safe from them. It became apparent that something evil and dark was driving the creatures and they watched in horror as those that were bitten died slow, miserable deaths despite the local healers’ and Merlin’s attempts. It was horrible and hopeless and Leon fell into his borrowed bed each dawn exhausted and dreaming of coarse fur, fetid breath and poison saliva.

Merlin had left days ago and if Arthur hadn’t been fighting every night, watching villagers, soldiers and knights fall to claws and teeth, Leon knew he would be worried about his missing manservant. Merlin did return, however, exhausted, haunted but alive and with a way to defeat them.

Merlin, bone-weary, collapsed against Arthur’s chest and Arthur grabbed his upper arms to keep him standing. Merlin shivered, hands grasping Arthur’s shoulders.

“I stopped…” he trailed off and took a shuddering breath. “I killed the one driving them. They can be stopped now.”

Arthur grinned, clapped Merlin on the back roughly. “You hear that, men! Tonight will be the last night those creatures plague this village!”

There was a roar of excitement from knights and villagers alike, Arthur’s triumphant joy sweeping through each of them, warming their bellies like good mead and bolstering their resolve. Leon could almost feel his strength restoring from Arthur’s words and from his faith in Merlin.

“Gwaine,” Arthur ordered, “see to our defences. Percival, organize those that are left. Lancelot, oversee repairs to the weapons. Leon…” he trailed off as Merlin’s legs collapsed beneath him and Leon rushed forward to help.

Together, they took Merlin to the prince’s room and gently laid him down on the rickety, wooden bed. Leon could see from the pristine sheets that Arthur hadn’t slept there much himself and Leon wouldn’t have expected anything different. Arthur was wearing himself thin, fighting at night, strategizing through the day and Leon wondered if his own dreams were plagued by wargs or by Merlin’s absence.

Leon was busy pulling off Merlin’s boots and checking for injuries while Arthur and Merlin murmured to each other.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Merlin shook his head. “No, just...I used a lot of magic in a short time…haven’t slept either…” he reached up and with his fingertips outlined the circles around Arthur’s eyes. Arthur caught the hand in his own. “I’ll be fine in a few hours,” Merlin assured.

“I don’t want you near the fighting tonight,” Arthur said, fond yet firm. “You’re too exhausted. Something could happen to you.”

Merlin opened his mouth to protest but Arthur cut him off. “That’s an order that I expect to be followed.”

Merlin frowned back and with his weariness looked more like a kitten than the lion Leon knew he could be. He didn’t say anything, only flopped back onto the pillow and tossed an arm over his eyes.

“We’ll leave you to rest.”

Leon followed Arthur out of the room.

The fighting that night was fierce but the wargs were unorganized, weaker than before, and when one went down on his blade, it stayed down. Their numbers were depleting and through the orange light of the fires, Leon could see knights and villagers rejoicing. They had won and the last of the creatures lay bloodied at Arthur’s feet.

Leon relaxed, let his arms drop to his sides and let out a yell that could’ve rivalled Gwaine’s.

The moment happened so quickly, that Leon was reminded of the incident with the poisoned dagger, and the same feeling of helplessness coursed through him as a crazed warg jumped the defences, ran through the fires and attacked the prince. He yelled and ran toward him but he was too far away.

Merlin wasn’t.

He jumped between them and with his eyes glowing gold and powerful words on his tongue in a sibilant hiss, he threw out his hand, sparks of fire at his fingertips. Leon could only watch as the warg drove through Merlin’s spell and knocked him to the ground.

Leon couldn’t run fast enough.

There was a terrifying moment when he thought Merlin was dead but once the carcass was pulled off of him, Merlin opened his eyes, still ringed with gold. Arthur dropped to his knees beside him, sword on the ground forgotten, much as his audience had been, because Arthur’s hands fluttered over Merlin’s body and he was gasping, sharp and painful.

“Merlin! Merlin! Merlin!”

There was a pool of blood on Merlin’s stomach and Arthur ripped the fabric away to reveal a claw-like gash and started calling for bandages and poultices, almost hysterical in both voice and manner.

Merlin grabbed Arthur’s blood-stained hands as they pressed against the wound and called his name in a mantra not unlike the way Arthur was calling his.

“Arthur! I’m alright. I’m alright! I’m not bitten! I’m not bitten!”

Merlin’s words penetrated Arthur’s haze and he came back to himself with a shake of his head. He deflated then and Leon knew it was exhaustion and elation from it all being over and the relief from the all consuming panic that had encompassed him. Leon stepped forward, as did the other of Arthur’s closest knights and ringed the pair to give them whatever small amount of privacy they could.

Arthur fell forward, his forehead on Merlin’s chest and Merlin petted his hair with bloodstained and tremulous hands.

“I’m alright,” he said, softly. “I’m alright.”

“You shouldn’t have been near the fighting. I ordered you.” Arthur looked up, his blue eyes fierce in the firelight. “I ordered you!”

Merlin looked away and despite the way he bit his lip, let out a pained noise as Arthur shifted.

Arthur’s features softened then and he allowed Gwaine and Lancelot to pry his fingers from Merlin’s wounds.

“Take him to the healers,” Arthur said, voice a little raspy, weary.

“Yes, sire,” Lancelot and Gwaine said in unison as they carefully lifted Merlin from the ground.

Arthur stood and looked around at the carcasses of the dead creatures, the few bodies of villagers and soldiers, the fires that burned bright in the dark and finally up at the sky, where a few stars twinkled in the black. He sighed with his whole body.

“Let’s get these remains on the fires and then we can rest.”

Leon nodded and followed.

Dawn broke while they worked and after much coaxing by everyone, Arthur reluctantly headed off to rest. Leon wasn’t far behind and once all the dead had been properly put to rest and the creatures burned, the fires put out; Leon decided he had earned some much needed sleep and a bath. He was debating the merits of a bath or bed first when he passed through a corridor and heard voices coming from an open door.

“I’m fine, Arthur. Let me tend to you,” Merlin said, his voice apologetic and warm.

“Stitches and bandages don’t usually denote that someone is fine, Merlin.” Arthur countered but Leon heard the splash of water anyway and almost groaned at the thought of hot water on his skin.

He inched forward and found the door that was slightly ajar. He could just make out Merlin, white bandages peeking through the ruins of his shirt and he moved about the room, gathering soap and towels. A fire was happily roaring and a large tub of water sat next to it.

“It’s almost ready, sire.”

“Stop, Merlin. Just stop. Let the servants handle it.”

“I am a servant,” Merlin countered.

“Not now, you aren’t. I should have you sacked and thrown into the stocks and a number of other not pleasant things done to you.”

“Are you quite finished, sire?” Merlin said with a cheeky grin.

“No. You disobeyed a direct order.”

Merlin’s face fell and it took on a shadowed look. “It’s a good thing I did or else you’d be warg food right now.”

“It doesn’t matter. I told you I didn’t want you near the fighting. It…it was…it was hard, with you gone this time and I…I will not lose you. Not to…not to my father, or sickness or magic.”

Merlin moved out of Leon’s line of sight and he imagined Merlin sitting next to Arthur, taking his hand and running those long fingers over Arthur’s cheek or his wrist as Leon had seen Merlin do countless times when he thought no one was looking.

“Arthur,” he said in a breath, “now you know how I feel when you go out and fight without me.”

Arthur huffed. “It’s my duty to Camelot.”

“And it’s my duty to you!” Merlin responded vehemently. “I will not lose you to Questing Beasts or poisoned daggers or wargs!” He took a breath and his voice dropped. “You’re everything, Arthur.”

Leon’s throat choked as he heard the earnestness in Merlin’s tone and heard Arthur whisper back something just as sincere and devoted. There was a sound of a whimper and then the soft, wet sounds of kissing and Leon knew if he looked, he’d see the prince and his sorcerer locked in a desperate embrace, hands twined in hair, bodies flush, as they poured out their frustrations and anxieties and want in hot, open-mouthed kisses. There was a low moan and another whispered endearment and Leon knew that it was time that he stopped listening.

He carried on down the corridor, intent on finding his own bath to wipe away the blood and the grime, content in the knowledge that the unusual relationship that existed between Arthur and Merlin was strong and long-lasting and though sometimes exasperating and inconsistent, it would be there the next day and for many after.