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Arthur wasn’t sure which was worse, the sick feeling in his stomach when he realized that he, a great warrior, was going to die, of something as plainly stupid as falling from his horse, or the sick feeling of realizing that he wasn’t, right on the tail of that first realization.
He wasn’t quite unconscious. He was immobile, and in quite a bit of pain, and in danger of slipping out of life when Merlin’s words caught him in a web of sliding golden syllables, and wrapped around his spine to tug the bones back into place. It hurt, a bit, but what hurt worse was knowing that his servant, his friend, had put his fate entirely into Arthur’s hands without even knowing it. Merlin’s words, accented with power and confidence, could have ended his life as surely as they’d saved Arthur’s. Because they had saved Arthur’s life; he could twitch a finger now, and did, and he thought he could move freely, but he didn’t, because if he moved, he’d have to act, and what the hell was he to do now?
Merlin’s next words, spoken in a soft, quavering voice that sounded inches from tears, saved them both. “You’re okay, Arthur, you’re going to be okay.” His hand moved through Arthur’s hair, over his forehead, across his cheeks, tender and careful. “You’ll always be okay, as long as I’m here. You’ll wake up, and you’ll be okay, I promise.”
Then there were more of those sorcerous words, and Arthur felt as though he’d been wrapped up tight in blankets; if he hadn’t listened to Merlin rambling on about his studies in physicking as he cleaned dozens of times before, he might have panicked when he realized the magic was preventing him from moving, but he knew as well as Merlin that injuries to the back should be kept immobile, so he stayed as calm as he could be, under the circumstances.
Arthur fell into a daze, and forced himself to keep his eyes mostly closed so Merlin could work without knowing his patient was awake. He watched through his eyelashes as Merlin fashioned a stretcher out of a horseblanket and some long sticks, and then lit a fire, far larger than any camp would need. It burned with an abundance of smoke, dark and thick, that rose up in a great column, for all that the wood had seemed dry and well-seasoned moments ago.
Then Arthur had to squeeze his eyes shut again, because Merlin was turning back to him. Seconds later, he felt those cool, soothing hands back on his head. “Someone will see the smoke, and come, hopefully the rest of the patrol. I told you we shouldn’t have split up, but when do you listen?” Merlin’s voice was still soft, barely audible, and Arthur knew Merlin was speaking to hear his own words, and not because he thought Arthur could hear him. “I wouldn’t bother waiting, except I can’t exactly float you back to Camelot, now, can I? But the knights can carry you, and Gaius will look you over. I’m almost sure you’re fine, but I won’t risk it; my healing spells are better now than they once were, but it’d be just like you to prove me wrong even though it’d be all the worse for you, you dollop head. Gods only know why I put up with you.”
Merlin snickered, a bit, and said “And when I don’t feel like my heart will beat its way out of my chest for worrying over you, I’ll be sure and tease you for running yourself straight into a branch. See if you can call me the clumsy one after this!” Merlin’s voice deepened, and took on a cultured, arrogant tone. “If you ever speak of this again, you’ll be in the stocks ‘til your back is in worse shape than mine, Merlin,” Merlin said, and Arthur was glad of Merlin’s spell, because if he could have moved, he would have grinned, or laughed, and given himself away. “Yeah, I know, but you still have to say it, don’t you? So there. You’ve gotta wake up, or you won’t be able to threaten me, and I won’t be silenced, and I’ll spread that everywhere.”
Merlin tossed another stick onto the fire, though it hardly needed it. “I swear you’re driving me mad. I only ever start talking to myself when you’re injured, did you know? And it was your fault the first time I did, too, because what did I say then? I said, ‘nothing good will come from a place called the Valley of the Fallen Kings,’ and would you care to guess what happened? Hmm. One day you’ll learn to listen to me, and then where will we be? Sitting safe at the castle with you unharmed and unbothered, watching pigs fly into the sunset together, instead of being up to our necks in the week’s latest disaster.”
Arthur realized, all at once, that laughing when you couldn’t physically laugh, left you feeling more than half-drunk, and wondered if his first command after the ban was repealed ought to be making Merlin enchant a pair of wings onto each and every one of the kingdom’s porcine populations.