#by scary i mean. breaking a cold sweat and absolutely freaking out thinking i genuinely made someone upset | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitsandbobsofwriting · 4 years ago

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7 times Merlin shows off his skills as a Physician,

+1 time The Knights have to work together to stitch Merlin up.

TW: Lots of blood and graphic description of injury/sickness.

The patrol had been going perfectly fine, even the small skirmish with a group of bandits was over and done with pretty quickly.

It was when the knights were taking stock of things after the fight that Elyan found Gwaine struggling to stand, leaning his weight against a tree and owlishly blinking his eyes with a look of deep concentration on his face.

Elyan put a soft hand on his back, quietly saying Gwaine’s name. The other knight whips his head up quickly to look at him, and the movement almost toppled him, but Elyan catches him with a hand on each shoulder and raised an eyebrow. Gwaine stares at him with squinted eyes, slurring his words as he slowly says:

“Elyan, mate, I don’t mean to uh... freak you out, but... there’s like... a whole bunch of you.”

It’s then that Elyan finally notices the slow trickle of blood from behind Gwaine’s ear, dribbling down his neck, he keeps hold of Gwaine’s shoulder as he looks behind him:

“Merlin! Gwaine hit his head!”

Elyan looks back around when he hears the knight gasp, to see him looking at him with wide eyes:

“Fuck, did I?? That’s not good, someone should.... should call Merlin.”

Elyan just bites his lip to stop himself from laughing, and nods sympathetically, as if agreeing with him. Gwaine slumps back against the tree and Elyan helps him sit down as Arthur and Merlin finally rush over.

Elyan moves out of the way, and Merlin crouches in front of the injured knight, setting his medical bag next to him as he takes Gwaine’s face in soft hands.

Gwaine gives him a bleary grin as Merlin checks his pupils and huffs:

“You... are very pretty.”

Merlin would have been happy to ignore Gwaine’s nonsense, but flushes slightly when he hears Elyan and Arthur snort behind him. He scowls at them briefly over his shoulder before beginning to clean the wound behind Gwaine’s ear, and checking for any further injury. The other knights gather around, having checked over the bandits for anything of interest, and Percival is the first to speak:

“He’ll be fine, won’t he, Merlin?”

Before Merlin can answer, Gwaine lifts a clumsy hand to pat the physician’s head with a shit-eating grin on his face:

“You know who is fine? This guy, very very fine.”

Merlin chuckles as he blushes, taking Gwaine’s hand and putting it back in the knight’s lap. The others laugh behind him but Merlin ignores them as he works, keeping his gaze on the wound, but speaking to Gwaine:

“Thank you Gwaine, but why don’t you keep your hands to yourself for a few hours?”

Gwaine huffs and pouts, looking very much like a child, but nods when Merlin smiles at him. Merlin finishes up, cleaning his hands as he stands, looking to the knights behind him:

“He’s got a pretty big concussion so he can’t fall asleep for the next twelve hours or so. He might feel nauseous at some point, and his balance will be way off, so I’ll ride with him. We need to keep getting water in him, but other than that, there’s not much we can do until it clears up. He’ll have a banging headache for a few days.”

Arthur nods, trusting Merlin’s judgement and gesturing Leon and Percival forward to help the knight up. Thankfully, they were on the tail end of their patrol and can just ride straight back to the city, but everyone takes great amusement in Gwaine’s slurred and nonsensical flirting with Merlin. That is, until the concussed knight turns his attention to Percival, and devotes his shoddy pick-up lines to the flushed giant, at which point it goes from mildly amusing, to absolutely hilarious.

Everyone worries when Leon doesn’t show up to training.

Gwaine being an hour late? Not a worry. Leon not being early? Definitely a worry.

But when Lancelot sprints back to the training field after being sent to check on him, calling Merlin’s name desperately, everyone’s worry gets vastly amplified.

Merlin runs up to meet him halfway across the field, brow furrowed in worry. Lance rests his hands on his knees for a moment, struggling to speak through his quick breathing:

“He’s... there’s something wrong with him, I... I think he’s sick.”

Merlin immediately starts a quick paced journey back up to the castle, sprinting even quicker than Lancelot in his panic; Arthur and the others follow behind him, having not heard the conversation but turning understandably panicked at Merlin’s reaction.

When they finally catch up to him, he’s sat on the side of Leon’s bed, checking his breathing and pulse with a frown on his face. The knight is practically catatonic, eyes shut tightly, murmuring and twitching in his sleep, drenched in sweat and shivering.

Merlin looks back with a gulp to Arthur, stood by the door with a worried expression:

“I need you to go to Gaius’ chambers and pick up my bag. It’s fully stocked, I re-did it last night and it should have everything I need, but I can’t leave him.”

Arthur’s eyes widen at Merlin’s last words, obviously realising how sick Leon is, but Merlin’s harsh-

“NOW, Arthur!”

-breaks him out of his stupor, and he sprints away in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. The other knights, a breathless Lancelot having finally joined them, go to crowd into the room, but Merlin looks up at them, sternly saying:

“No, everyone out, it’s probably contagious, and with Gaius in the lower-town I do not have enough hands to treat all of you at once. Out.”

They all reluctantly file out of the room, but leave the door open, and Merlin rolls his eyes fondly as they all stand in the hallway, staring at their sick friend with furrowed brows and bitten lips.

Leon mumbles something and shifts in his sleep. Merlin looks back down at him, wiping the sweat slicked hair away from his forehead and rubbing a soft hand up and down his arm. The knight blearily opens his eyes, breaths shallow and rasping as his hand twitches towards Merlin. The younger man gives him a soft smile, hiding his worry as he takes Leon’s hand in his own. Leon relaxes slightly at that, blinking at him confusedly as he mutters:

“Mer...lin? I don’t... don’t feel... great.”

Merlin nods, stroking the back of Leon’s hand as he softly replies:

“I know, Leon, I’ve got you. You’ll be fine in no time, alright? Just go back to sleep.”

Leon nods slightly, and closes his eyes again, trusting Merlin’s words. His hand goes limp in Merlin’s once again and the physician swallows worriedly.

Arthur finally runs back in with Merlin’s bag clutched tightly in his hands. He’s breathing deeply, and at Merlin’s gesture, gently chucks the bag to him from the middle of the room, retreating again to stand by the door.

Merlin turns his attention back to Leon, rummaging through his bag, as Arthur asks, the concern clear in his voice:

“What else do you need, Merlin?”

Merlin doesn’t looks up at him as he pulls various supplies out form his bag, checking Leon’s breathing periodically:

“I need a few changes of clothes, a patient pallet brought up from Gaius’ chambers, a constant supply of cold water and clean cloths, and a spare chamber-pot; he’s almost certainly going to throw up at some point.”

Arthur nods, going out to speak to the knights. He sends Percival and Gwaine to the physician’s chambers to bring back some of Merlin’s clothes and a pallet, sends Mordred to talk to the steward about having a servant outside Leon’s chambers constantly so Merlin could have whatever he needed, whenever he needed it, and sends Elyan to rummage through the storage rooms for a spare chamber-pot.

He walks slowly back into the room, but still keeps his distance, fidgeting harshly with his hands as he gulps, quietly, but worriedly asking:

“Will he be alright??”

Merlin, still not looking up from Leon and his bag, replies softly:

“He should be ok, but I need to keep an eye on him. I’ll be sleeping in here until he’s better, and I won’t be joining you at all until he’s at least up and walking around. Gaius should be back day after tomorrow, so try not to get injured until then, otherwise go to Gwen, she’s got a pretty good understanding of basic treatment. Shut the door behind you.”

Arthur nods mutely, understanding Merlin’s dismissal, and walking from the room silently. He turns back, quietly saying:

“They’ll be a servant out here to fetch anything you need. Thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin nods distractedly, focused on mixing some sort of paste in a bowl as Arthur sighs, and shuts the door behind him.

It was about two weeks before Merlin moved out of Leon’s chambers, but it was at least a month before he stopped periodically, almost subconsciously, reaching for the knight’s wrist to check his pulse. There had been a few scares, when his pulse was so weak that Merlin could barely feel it; he lost a lot of sleep over those first two weeks, too afraid to close his eyes in case Leon stopped breathing, and too concerned about his friend to let another physician take over.

Leon found it endearing, but didn’t mention it when he noticed Merlin coincidentally bumping into him multiple times a day and finding excuses to touch his fingers to his wrist or neck, even briefly.

He was fine in the end, thanks to Merlin’s thorough treatment, but it was a scary couple of weeks, when having to think about burying Leon was a genuine worry.

(The knight also demanded that Merlin be given a week off from his manservant duties when he was feeling better, which Arthur eagerly agreed to. Though he did spend almost the entire time trailing Leon round like a lost puppy, under the guise of “making sure he didn’t overdo it”.)

Since he had arrived back in Camelot, Elyan had been spending more and more time in the family’s Blacksmith’s.

He felt the need to fill the void that his father had left in the old forge, and he enjoyed returning to his roots; there was something therapeutic about being surrounded by fire and hot metal once again.

But his years away from it all made him a little clumsy, having lost a little of the instinctual caution he had when he was a teenager. Which is what led him to be sat on a bench in the Physician’s chambers, watching with fond amusement as Merlin fretted and gathered various dressings and bandages.

The burn on Elyan’s arm was serious enough to need more than just cold water, but it was definitely not serious enough to warrant such worry from the Warlock.

He finally came to stand between Elyan’s legs, checking over the burn with soft hands after placing everything he had gathered on the table next to him.

Merlin looked up at the knight, and Elyan had to stop himself frowning at the man’s worry, and was that... fear?

He finally cleared his throat, glancing away briefly before saying:

“I uh... I could lessen the pain a little with magic, if you’re ok with that. But I have more than enough supplies to treat it normally if you don’t want me to, it’s really no-”

Elyan cuts him off with a gentle hand on the shoulder and a soft smile:

“It’s fine, Merlin. We trust you, remember? If you think your magic can help, then by all means, go ahead. I trust you.”

Merlin lets out a breath, relaxing as he nods and returns Elyan’s smile with a weak one of his own. He had only told the truth about his magic a few weeks ago, and things were still a little... raw. After what happened to his father, Merlin was expecting Elyan to be one of the least accepting of the sorcery, and he wasn’t wrong at first, but after a few harsh words from Gwen about all the times Merlin had saved her, and about how hard Merlin had tried to save Tom, Elyan did a complete switch, and became one of The Warlock’s most ardent defenders.

Elyan marvelled at the warmth spreading down his arm as Merlin’s eyes glowed gold and he muttered a few incantations. The burn was still there, but it seemed cleaner, and definitely hurt less. Merlin followed up his magic with some burn salve and carefully wrapped bandages, looking up at Elyan with relief in his eyes at the knight’s fond, trusting smile.

He continued his bustling around the chambers under Elyan’s amused watch, returning with a few small tinctures:

“Take one of these a day, starting this evening; it’ll help with the pain overnight. Come back the day after tomorrow and I’ll re-bandage it. Let me know if... uh, you want me to... you know-”

He wiggles his fingers vaguely, and Elyan raises an amused eyebrow at him, slowly saying:

“Re-do the magic?”

Merlin bites his lip and nods slightly. Elyan gives him a wide grin, hopping off the bench and ruffling Merlin’s hair:

“Will do, Merls. Thank you.”

With that, the knight walks cheerfully out of the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving a very happy, slightly less worried Warlock/Physician/Servant behind

A particularly impressive move from Lancelot and a misstep from Arthur is what leads to The King sat on the grass with a belt between his teeth and Merlin stood behind him, one hand reached around and flat on his chest, the other on his shoulder-blade.

Lancelot is understandably freaking out, and Arthur is half focussed on how impressed he is, and half focussed on the stabbing pain in his shoulder.

Merlin moves his hand slightly and Arthur groans around the belt, biting down as the servant mutters an apology:

“Sorry. This is gonna hurt like a bitch but I need you to stay as still as possible, ok?-”

Arthur nods slightly, mumbling something that sounds like “just get on with it”, but it’s hard to understand with a mouth stuffed with leather:

“-Alright, on three, ok? One, TWO-”

On two, Merlin pushes Arthur’s arm back into it’s socket with a sickening pop, and The King groans even louder, squeezing his eyes shut and biting down on the belt in his pain. The knights all wince in sympathy, Leon putting a soft hand on Arthur’s other shoulder as the man breathes deeply.

After a few moments, Merlin straightens the arm, moving it round in a circle to make sure everything is where it’s meant to be, before grabbing the sling he’d had Percival hold, and wrapping Arthur’s arm carefully, letting it hang against his chest.

Arthur finally spits the belt out, grimacing as he flexes his shoulder slightly. Merlin puts a hand back on his shoulder, eyes glowing gold as he mutters a spell. The blond lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding at the blissful numbness spreading from his shoulder, down his arm and across his back, before looking up at an almost hysterical Lancelot.

Arthur chuckles at Lance’s face, shaking his head slightly as he says:

“Very impressive, Lancelot, though if you could save that for enemies, that would be great.”

Lancelot finally bursts, not seeming to have heard Arthur’s praise:

“Ar- Your Majesty I am so sorry, I really didn’t mean to-”

Arthur waves his free hand in dismissal, taking Mordred’s offered hand and standing up, still with an impressed smile on his face:

“Don’t be stupid Lance, like I said, it was very impressive, and with Merlin around there’s no harm done.-”

Merlin grins and blushes at the subtle compliment.

“-Besides, I dole out at least one injury a month, it’s about time one of you got me back. Well done Lance, you beat everyone else.”

He says it with a grin, and Lancelot finally relaxes slightly, raking a hand through his hair as he gives the amused King a weak smile, much to the other knights’ amusement. Merlin steps back in front of Arthur adjusting the sling and speaking forcefully:

“No training at all for a week, no full contact sparring or skirmishes with bandits for two. And I want to check it again before you start.”

Arthur’s face falls indignantly and he whines:

“Oh come on, it can’t be that bad! It doesn’t even hurt that much.”

Merlin scowls:

“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt because I numbed it with magic, prat.”

Arthur looks like he wants to argue, but Merlin just raises an eyebrow (very reminiscent of Gaius), the meaning of “I dare you to argue with me right now” VERY clear.

Arthur backs down, muttering a petulant “fine” under his breath, much to the knights’ amusement.

To say that Mordred was panicking would be a vast understatement.

But to be fair, everyone was panicking.

Everyone thought that the fight had gone rather well, finally surviving a battle with mercenaries injury free, that was until Mordred had tried to stand up, only to find that he couldn’t breath, and his chest hurt.

Tears leaked from his eyes as he lay on the ground, squeezing Arthur’s hand so tightly The King was sure it would bruise; but he didn’t care about that, all he cared about was running his free hand over the younger man’s armour, desperately trying to figure out what was wrong.

Mordred took in shallow, gasping breaths, his vision swimming as the stabbing pain in his chest spiked with every movement. He had been calling out for Emrys in his head, unable to speak, and finally the panicked man burst through the trees, pushing through the crowd of knights and dropping to his knees at Mordred’s side.

He’d wondered off an hour or so ago to collect some herbs for Gaius, and had missed the whole fight, though he’d begun his sprint back when Mordred had called out for him at the start of the battle, pushing himself even faster when it became apparent that the younger man was badly injured.

Arthur immediately looks up at him, but doesn’t let go of Mordred’s hand as he speaks quickly, only just managing to keep the shaking out of his voice:

“He can’t breath properly, I think he got kicked in the chest but there’s no blood or anything, I don’t know what’s wrong with him Merlin, he can’t breath.”

Merlin curses under his breath, wiping Mordred’s hair away from his face as he rushes to say:

“Help me get his armour off, someone grab me my smallest knife and a roll of bandages, now.”

With that, Percival rushes to the dropped medical bag, riffling through it for what Merlin had asked for as Gwaine and Elyan rush to remove Mordred’s armour, and Leon and Lancelot move to stand guard, watching for any more attackers.

Mordred whimpers every time he’s jostled, but Merlin and Arthur hush him, squeezing his hand and stroking his hair. With the focused look on Merlin’s face, Arthur can tell that he’s talking to the Druid through their mental link, so doesn’t say anything, knowing that it’s probably the only thing stopping Mordred from panicking even more.

The armour finally comes off, and Merlin quickly puts his ear to Mordred’s chest, cursing to himself once more as he holds his hand out wordlessly for the knife.

Percival puts it in his hand without hesitation, and Merlin quickly cuts Mordred’s tunic away before hovering the sharp point over the side of his chest, looking up to Elyan and Gwaine still kneeled at his side and saying:

“Hold him down, he can NOT move when I do this.”

They don’t ask what “this” is, trusting that he knows what he’s doing as Gwaine moves to straddle Mordred’s thighs and hold his hips down, and Elyan pushes his shoulders into the floor. Arthur leans over to take both of Mordred’s hands tightly in his own, and without any more hesitation, Merlin pushes the blade down into Mordred’s chest with a soft apology.

Mordred whimpers even more, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, and letting out a pained yelp when Merlin twists the knife slightly. With the movement, there’s a hiss of air, and Mordred takes a deep, gasping breath.

Merlin relaxes slightly, and nods at the others to let go. Gwaine and Elyan move back, but Arthur stays, holding Mordred’s hands and trying to cover the disgust on his face as Merlin holds the knife in place.

Mordred finally opens his eyes, and Merlin gives him a reassuring smile before looking to Elyan:

“Elyan, you’ve got the steadiest hands, I need you to hold this-”

He nods down at the knife, and Elyan’s eyes widen in panic before he gulps and nods his head, carefully taking the knife from Merlin’s hands, and holding it place. Merlin moves to where Elyan had been sat, above Mordred’s head, and he leans down, moving his ear from one side of the Druid’s chest to the other, careful to avoid Elyan’s hands holding the knife.

He listens to each side for about ten seconds each time, moving between them a few times, before finally sitting up and nodding to himself in satisfaction. He grabs the roll from Percival’s shaking hands, once again wiping the hair from Mordred’s forehead and giving him a reassuring smile, before looking back up at Elyan:

“Pull it out when I say go, ok? Straight out, don’t twist it, don’t bend your wrist, just straight out.-”

Elyan nods firmly and at Merlin’s-

“-Go!”

-he pulls the knife out, quickly getting out of the way as Merlin presses one hand over the wound, eyes glowing gold as he mutters a spell. Mordred lets out a breath as he’s relieved form the pain slightly, closing his eyes briefly before Merlin says:

“No, come on Mordred, I need you to stay awake, I need to know that you’re ok whilst I do this alright? You can sleep later, I promise.”

Mordred nods slightly as he opens his still teary eyes, and Arthur leans closer, smiling at him and asking some unimportant question about what he wants for his birthday coming up. Merlin gives the King a grateful smile as he brings his hand away from the bloody wound, glad to see that the spell had worked and the bleeding had slowed considerably.

With the help of Gwaine and Elyan, Merlin gets Mordred into a sitting position, wrapping the bandages tightly around his chest, periodically checking his pulse and breathing with his hand.

He ties it off, letting a breath of relief escape him as he collapses back onto the floor. Mordred is slumped against Arthur, groaning as he desperately tries to keep his eyes open, but Merlin presses a hand to his forehead, eyes once again glowing gold as he mutters:

“Sleep.”

The younger man passes out pretty much immediately, and Arthur supports his weight, giving Merlin a concerned, questioning look. The Warlock meets his gaze, giving him a weak smile and nod:

“Collapsed lung, had to release the pressure. He’ll be fine, but infection is a concern so I need to get him back to Camelot as soon as possible.”

Arthur nods, and with a gesture from him, Leon and Lancelot lean down to pick the younger man up, carefully depositing him on the front of Arthur’s horse, to be taken back to the castle.

Merlin looks around to the others, noticing the shaking that had slowly started in Elyan’s hands as he stares down at the blood coating his fingers. Merlin touches a soft hand to his shoulder, and Elyan gasps, looking up at him quickly with wide eyes. Merlin gives him a smile, hovering his hand over Elyan’s as he murmurs a spell.

The knight looks down again to see his hands completely clean, and he flexes his fingers, before giving Merlin a tight smile, and muttering a quiet thank you.

Everyone mounts their horses, quickly urging them to follow Arthur back to Camelot.

Lancelot was trying his best not to wince, but his wrist really did hurt.

They’d just made camp; Merlin, Lancelot, and Arthur were on their way back from visiting Hunith in Ealdor for a few days.

Originally it was meant to just be Merlin and Lance, but Arthur insisted that he come along for extra protection. All three of them knew it was just an excuse (Merlin was the most powerful Warlock in existence after all) but no one mentioned it. It had taken months and a lot of sleepless nights for Arthur to finally get the magic ban repeal through, and Lance and Merlin knew he needed a few days off, with no worries or responsibilities or titles or stupid crowns or councillors or meetings, so they were happy to have him tag along.

The knight must have sprained it when fixing the barn roof, but was reluctant to say anything; he didn’t want to put a dampener on the mood, and Hunith had been so accommodating, he didn’t want to be a bother. But when Merlin noticed him struggling to remove his saddle-bag with one hand, he raised an eyebrow, and held his hand out wordlessly.

Lancelot went to fake innocence, but Merlin just raised his eyebrow further and crooked his fingers. The knight sighed, putting his wrist in Merlin’s hand with nothing but a sheepish look. The Court Sorcerer ran his fingers over the soft skin there, noting the bruise with a disapproving tut before he mutters a spell.

His eyes flash gold, and Lance flexes his wrist as both the pain and bruise recede. He nods with a smile:

“You’re getting better at that.”

Merlin just huffs and rolls his eyes:

“Yes, well, you knights do insist on giving me plenty of opportunities to practice.-”

Lancelot huffs out a brief laugh, before he quietly apologises. Merlin just shakes his head with a smile:

“-It’ll still be tender for a few days, so don’t use it too much, Physician’s orders.”

Lancelot smirks slightly, and Merlin knows he isn’t going to like what he says:

“Of course, anything you say My Lord.”

Merlin scowls and squeezes the knight’s wrist slightly, muttering-

“I will turn you into a fucking toad.”

-much to Lancelot’s amusement.

Arthur finally reappears from collecting firewood, and raises an eyebrow at Merlin’s scowl and Lancelot’s laughter:

“What are you two up to, or do I not want to know?”

Merlin huffs and stomps off to collect his saddle-bag, and Lancelot clears his throat, still chuckling as he replies:

“Hmm. It would appear that Lord Merlin Emrys Ambrosius, Court Sorcerer of Camelot, Protector of the Once and Future King, Last of the Dragon-Lords, is not all that fond of his fancy new title.”

Arthur laughs, and Lancelot forgets his now long-gone pain in favour of joining in.

This was one of the most serious injuries any of them had seen in a very long time.

Leon had been called in the tent to help Merlin, having been the least tired with the steadiest hands at the time.

Arthur was pacing angrily, Mordred was doing his best to meditate, Lancelot held one of Gwaine’s hands in his own, and Elyan had an arm around his shoulders, as Gwaine himself bounced his foot up and down. At the beginning, he’d tried to hold his tears in, but as the image of a bloody and dying Percival slowly cemented itself in his mind, he gave up, and let them flow.

They’d been in there for hours, and whilst the rest of the knights tried to have faith, the angry curse that Merlin had let out almost two hours ago, closely followed by hurried movements and Leon shakily asking what he needed to do, had not helped their anxieties.

Inside the tent, they were just finishing up. There was blood everywhere, metres worth of soaked bandages strewn around the tent, along with most of Merlin’s medical bag, which had been upturned and spread around for quick access.

Leon was exhausted, having spent hours monitoring Percival’s breathing and pulse with no break, passing Merlin whatever he asked for, and occasionally having to hold bits of his friend together whilst Merlin worked his magic (both literally, and metaphorically). But however tired Leon was, Merlin was a hundred times worse.

He’d drained most of his energy during the fight, and had to dig incredibly deep to pull out enough magic to keep Percival alive whilst he stitched him back together. The blade he’d been stabbed with was imbued with dark magic, and shards had splintered inside the wound. Luckily, no organs had been punctured, but plenty of blood vessels had been nicked, and nothing could be left inside or it would cause likely deadly problems later down the line.

That just meant almost everything had to be done by hand; magic was useful in keeping the knight asleep, and dulling the pain as much as he could, but as far as the actual healing went, Merlin had to focus on keeping his mind sharp and his hands steady.

His face had remained blank, and his voice deadpan through the whole process, and around half a candle-mark in, Leon asked in a whisper:

“How are you so calm? I... I’m trying my best but I don’t know how you’re doing this.”

Merlin doesn’t look up at him as he quietly replies:

“If I panic, he dies. I have to trust that I know what I’m doing, and just get on with it. You’re doing fine, Leon. It isn’t... it isn’t Percival, it’s just another knight-”

Merlin’s voice lowers, whispering his last words to himself:

“-just another patient.”

Leon nods, taking another of many deep breaths, focusing on keeping his hands steady and counting Perci- the patient’s breaths.

It was maybe an hour later, that Leon widened his eyes, looking up at Merlin in a panic; before he can say anything, Merlin feels it as well, cursing loudly to himself and dredging up his last reserves of magic to hold his tools in place (in Percival’s abdomen), moving up hurriedly to be by his chest, where he quickly starts CPR.

Leon takes a deep breath, gulping before says:

“Merlin, what do I... what do I do??”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, focusing on keeping rhythm, and Leon can hear him counting under his breath; he gets to twenty-seven when the knight starts breathing on his own again, and Merlin gives himself enough time to take a fortifying breath before going back to the wound and carrying on with what he’d been doing, as if nothing had just happened.

Another hour later, Merlin was putting the last stitches in, satisfied with his work, but by no means... hopeful.

And half a candle mark after that, the knight had been thoroughly cleaned and bandaged, tightly.

Leon (shakily) and Merlin (blankly) cleaned all of the Physician’s tools, and packed away all the detritus; they needed to keep Percival’s environment as clean as possible. He’d tried to force himself to do more, but Merlin’s energy had almost completely abandoned him, and Leon had convinced him to give it a rest; the longer he tried to force it, the longer it would be before his magic built up enough to be useful again.

Merlin finally exited the tent, drenched in blood, leaving Leon to keep an eye on Percival whilst he went to update the others.

When he set foot on the leaves, everyone’s head whipped up. Arthur had given up his pacing, and Mordred had abandoned his meditating, but Elyan, Gwaine, and Lancelot were all still huddled together; though everyone jumped up quickly when they set eyes on Merlin.

They looked at him expectantly, desperately, and Merlin met Arthur’s gaze first:

“You need to go sit with him, Arthur-”

He’s interrupted by a pained cry from Gwaine, and Arthur’s grief-stricken face. A request for the King to go sit with an injured man... that could only mean one thing in their minds. Merlin held his hands (still bloody) up placatingly:

“-he stopped breathing once, but we got him going again. If he makes it cleanly through the night then his chances shoot up, but if he gets an infection before morning then... there won’t be much I can do. Someone needs to go in with Arthur to take over from Leon, he’s exhausted-”

Mordred takes a step forward, a concerned look on his face as he softly says:

“You’re tired too, Merlin, you should sleep.”

Arthur nods, but Merlin waves him off, muttering:

“I’m fine.”

Everyone notices the bleariness of his eyes, and the shaking that had just begun in his hands, but they don’t say anything. They had been expecting this, it happens every time there’s a serious, life threatening injury. Merlin can compartmentalise for as long as needs to, but shock usually hits an hour or so later, when everything catches up to him. With how serious this injury had been, with how exhausted Merlin is, and how covered in blood he is, they aren’t surprised that it’s hitting a little sooner than normal.

Arthur nods at Elyan, and the knight takes that as his cue to go into the tent. Leon walks out a moment later, almost as covered in blood as Merlin, and breathing deeply, tears in his eyes as he heavily sits down. Lancelot wraps him in a blanket cleaning his hands wordlessly with a wet cloth before pushing him to the floor and telling him to get some sleep. Leon closes his eyes and is gently snoring within seconds; Lancelot goes back to Gwaine, forcing the man to look away from the still fairly bloody Leon as he whispers reassurances to him.

As this is happening, Arthur walks slowly to Merlin, putting a soft hand on his shoulder and gently saying:

“What do you need, Merlin? Right now, what do you need?”

Merlin’s eyes had been getting wider and wider as he stared down at his hands, covered in blood and now shaking violently. He looks up in shock at Arthur’s touch, seeming to have forgotten that he wasn’t alone:

“I.. uh, I need two people with Percival at all times, monitoring his breathing, pulse, and temperature. I need... need his pupils checked every ten minutes or so, and I need someone to count how many rolls of bandages I’ve got left so I can figure out how often I can afford to change them and.... and I-”

He looks back down to his hands, gulping, and Arthur can tell that Merlin is really not with it as he continues:

“-I need to go... go and wash my hands.... excuse me.”

With that, he stumbles off in the direction of the stream they had been taking water from. Arthur gestures at Mordred to follow the Warlock, before exchanging short nods with Lancelot, and going into the tent.

Mordred grabs a cloth and a spare tunic, before following Merlin’s trail. When he catches up to him, the older man is knelt at the side of the stream, scrubbing his hands viciously in the water. Mordred sits slowly besides him, gulping before quietly saying:

“Emrys? Merlin?”

Merlin hums in acknowledgment, but doesn’t look up, and Mordred huffs quietly, leaning over to take Merlin’s hands with a quiet:

“Let me.”

Merlin tenses only slightly before he fully relaxes, and the two men move to sit cross-legged, facing each other. Mordred dips the cloth he bought in the stream, and carefully wipes the blood from Merlin’s hands and arms. The Warlock sits absolutely still, and Mordred can tell that he isn’t really... present. He tilts Merlin’s head up, and his eyes seem to come into focus slightly as the Druid cleans away the blood on Merlin’s cheek and temple.

Mordred puts the cloth to the side, picking up a spare tunic and offering it to the other man:

“I thought you’d like to change.”

Merlin looks down to the offered fabric, and it takes him a few moments to process what Mordred had said before he nods slowly, and takes the tunic. He stands on wobbly legs, and Mordred quickly follows him, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder.

Mordred looks away as Merlin changes. It wasn’t that he really cared, but Merlin was usually incredibly careful to hide his scars from people, (though everyone was aware that they existed, having caught glimpses here and there) but he was far too out of it to realise what he’d done. Mordred refused to take advantage of Merlin’s shock just to satiate his own curiosity about the marks marring his mentor’s skin.

He looks back to see Merlin just stood there blankly, bloody tunic dumped on the floor and hands still shaking slightly. Mordred sighs, he’s been warned about this, but he’s never seen it this bad before; it would seem that the last few hours had finally caught up to Merlin. The Druid takes a few careful steps forward, gently laying his hands on Merlin’s shoulders as he speaks to him in his mind:

“Merlin? You with me?”

His body doesn’t move at all, but Mordred can see his jaw twitch as he gets-

“I’m... I’m with you.”

-from the link. He sighs again, pulling Merlin into a hug; one hand running through the other man’s hair, the other hand firmly in the centre of his back, acting as an anchor, trying to keep Merlin in the here and now. It takes a few moments, but Merlin returns the hug eventually, burying his face in the crook of Mordred’s neck, and holding him tightly round the middle, breathing deeply.

Merlin takes a deep breath as he feels Mordred’s magic probing him for injuries and soothing his headache and exhaustion. In all the rush of Percival almost dying, Merlin hadn’t checked in with himself, and is surprised when Mordred finds, and heals, a bruised rib, and a cut on the back of his leg. Mordred doesn’t have nearly enough energy to be of any help to Percival, but he can heal Merlin’s aches and pains.

Merlin pulls back from the hug, giving Mordred a brief, teary smile before he croaks out:

“I need to go back to Perci-”

He’s cut off by Mordred harshly shaking his head and placing a hand on the side of Merlin’s neck:

“No, you’re exhausted Merlin, you need sleep. Arthur and Elyan are looking after Percival, but you and Leon both need at least a few hours of rest.-”

Merlin looks annoyed, like he wants to argue but is too tired to come up with a retort, and Mordred continues:

“-I promise, I will wake you up if anyone needs anything, but you’re of no use to Percival exhausted. Merlin, you’re about to keel over, and you don’t have any magic reserves left, I’ve given you a little of mine to start you off, but you need sleep.”

Merlin looks at him, his gaze assessing, though sleepy. He gulps, sagging slightly as he whispers:

“You promise you’ll wake me?”

Mordred gives him a weak smile:

“I promise.”

With that, Mordred picks up the bloodied cloth and tunic, tucking them under one arm as he pulls Merlin’s arm over his shoulder, semi-dragging the Warlock back to camp. He lays him down next to Leon, and the knight, in his sleep, reaches out and pulls him close.

Mordred lays another blanket over the two of them, before traipsing over to sit with Lancelot and Gwaine, where he finally lets his tears fall.

+1)

If Merlin knew how ridiculously they’d act, he would have hidden his injury and just dealt with it himself.

Unfortunately, Merlin had mistakenly assumed that Camelot’s seven best knights (one of whom was also King), would be able to be a little more composed.

He sat on a large rock, one arm hanging limply at his side, dripping blood onto the floor, as he stared at the knights. Mordred and Percival looked close to tears, Gwaine looked close to vomiting, Leon and Lancelot were just about managing to stay calm (but Merlin could see the panic in their eyes), Elyan was desperately riffling through Merlin’s bag, muttering something along the lines of “what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the-” , and Arthur was hovering directly in front of Merlin, biting his lip and breathing deeply as he offers reassurances to Merlin.

Merlin is half distracted by the pain, and half trying not to laugh at everyone’s panic. He’d both treated AND had so much worse than an arrow to the shoulder; don’t get him wrong, it was serious-ish, but it did not warrant this level of panic from seven of the Kingdom’s most fearsome warriors.

Elyan finally bustles over, hands full of random medical equipment, at least half of which are definitely not needed right now, but Merlin holds in his chuckle and doesn’t say anything. Arthur turns to the knight, gesturing everyone to gather close as he says, trying to keep the shaking out of his voice:

“Ok, do we take it out? Or do we break off the shaft and leave the head in?? I can’t fucking remember...-”

He trails off, and Merlin rolls his eyes, walking quietly to the remainder of his medical bag, and pulling out what he needs as he sits back on his rock. Gwaine glances back at him, but looks away again quickly as his face goes a little green and he mutters:

“Oh my Gods there’s so much blood.”

Merlin huffs and rolls his eyes; there really isn’t that much.

Leon looks to Merlin, and is the first to notice the man calmly sat there, treating his own injury. He lets out a very undignified yelp, stalking over and pulling the bandages and alcohol from Merlin’s hands and giving him a stern look:

“No, absolutely not, you’ve lost too much blood, you’ll make it worse, we’ll do it.”

Merlin rolls his eyes again, and gestures to the panicking group behind Leon incredulously as he says:

“This really isn’t a big deal, you lot are making a fuss out of nothing, I’ve had so much worse; can I have my stuff back now??”

Leon huffs, and Lancelot walks up to stand next to him, a concerned frown on his face:

“No, we’ll do it. Just... just talk us through it? It’s about time we had to stitch you up, I knew we’d need to eventually.”

Merlin stares at him for a few minutes, before sighing and shaking his head:

“Fine. Only you and Leon though, everyone else is too... jittery, for my peace of mind. They’re allowed no where near the arrow, or the needle and thread.”

At that, Gwaine goes even more green, mumbling a a quiet-

“Oh Gods, he needs stitches.”

-as he turns away. Merlin just scoffs slightly, and gestures Leon and Lancelot closer:

“Check the arrow for weakness, if it’s fully intact and feels strong, just yank it out. If it snaps, you’re going to have to dig the head out with a knife.”

Leon pales slightly, but nods, stroking his hand up and down the arrow far to gently to actually be able to tell anything. Merlin rolls his eyes:

“For pities sake-”

With that, he lifts his hand up, and pulls the arrow out in one quick motion, thankfully the head along with it. Gwaine promptly turns around and throws up in a bush, Percival running soft circles over his back distractedly as he stares in disgust at the bloody arrow in Merlin’s hand.

Leon gasps and Lancelot lets out an inhuman screech as he clamps a hand over the wound. Mordred whimpers and Arthur lifts a slow hand to cover his open mouth. Elyan blows a harsh breath out, stumbling back slightly and dropping all the things he had been carrying, much to Merlin’s annoyance.

Lancelot angrily looks to Merlin as Leon’s shaky hands try to thread a needle:

“Why?? Why would you do that Merlin? We have to be careful, we have to... we have to treat it properly.”

Merlin clears his throat, wincing slightly at the pain:

“You were being too careful. Let me put it this way, the longer you take, the more likely I am to get an infection and die a horrible death, all from a very simple, easy to fix wound.”

Merlin can vaguely hear Gwaine vomiting again in the background.

Leon takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as he mutters to himself:

“Just another patient.”

Merlin remembers what he’d said all those months ago on Percival’s almost-deathbed, and rolls his eyes; this was hardly of the same magnitude, but if it helped Leon thread the damn needle, then he wasn’t going to say anything. The First Knight looked up to Lancelot, showing him that it was ready, and Lancelot looks to Merlin:

“What next, we clean it, right?”

Merlin nods amusedly, and gestures to the glass bottle of alcohol that Leon had taken from him, and a clean cloth:

“It’s gonna sting like hell but keep going alright? Wash it out properly, then put pressure on it until the bleeding slows, then stitch it up. You know how to do stitches?”

Lancelot shakes his head, but Arthur steps forward and nods, taking the needle from Leon as he says:

“I do, I’ll do it.”

Merlin takes a deep breath a nods, and with that, Lancelot cleans out the wound. Merlin hisses in pain, clenching his hands tightly as Lancelot mutters apologies and the other knights crowd closer. Leon strokes a soft hand up the Warlock’s back, Arthur has a hand on his (uninjured) shoulder, Mordred was whispering reassurances through the mental link, Elyan stood by with bandages and clean cloths, and Gwaine gave Merlin his best smile, despite still looking a bit sick with Percival at his side, holding him up.

Finally it comes time for stitching, and Lancelot swaps places with The King, Merlin one again rolling his eyes as the blond takes a deep, fortifying breath. He finally starts the stitches, and compared to the alcohol just moments earlier (and the Serket sting, and the Dorocha attack, and the fireball, and the poison, and the and the and the...) it’s a tickle.

Merlin starts making a mental list in his head of all the things he’ll need to replace from his bag next time he gets to the market, which had apparently been the wrong thing to do, because a few minutes later Arthur is slapping him gently on the cheek and calling his name. Merlin turns to look at him incredulously:

“What??”

And Arthur heaves a sigh of relief:

“There you are, we thought we’d lost you.”

“Lost me? It’s an arrow to the shoulder, I’m fine! I was just thinking about all the bloody shopping I’m going to have to do, because you’ve given me at least two extra stitches, and used way too much alcohol and bandages! Honestly.”

Arthur is a little taken aback at Merlin’s outburst, but starts laughing after a few moments of shock, everyone else joining in, slightly hysterically. Merlin looks around at them, bewildered:

“Look, I know I... go into shock or whatever when someone almost dies but this... this is too much. You’re all ridiculous, and next time, I’m treating my damn self.”

Leon finally breaks out of his giggles, ruffling Merlin’s hair slightly:

“We’re just glad you’re ok, Merlin.”

Merlin rolls his eyes fondly, giving the knights a reassuring smile:

“I am ok, I’m absolutely fine. Honestly, seven of Camelot’s finest warriors all hysterically panicking over an arrow to the shoulder. Gods, I hope you know I’m telling Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen about this, and they WILL laugh at you.”

Arthur turns on him quickly, pointing a finger in Merlin’s face as he flushes:

“You absolutely will not.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking dangerously:

“Try me.”

THE END!!

Ok so this one was one of my favourite prompts ever and I’m so grateful @semideadpanda sent it in, so thank you!!

If anyone wants to extend this or write it out properly, then go for it!!

Check out This List of things I’m working on, it will likely be #15 next! :)

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