Alive
I had time to write on a gloomy day. This was the result.
Title: Alive
Type: Gen
Rating: PG
Words: 920
Spoilers: Just that there’s a knight named Leon
Summary: “He may well kill you himself for this.”
Disclaimer: I do not own them. I am making no profit.
Merlin felt the rain pound down around him. His clothing was already soaked through and his body was chilled to the bone, but he did not try to move and did not try to escape the relentless torrents. He felt himself sink slightly further into the mud and eyed the nearby stone overhang with a combination of longing and resignation.
The cold water felt almost soothing to the aches of his body though he knew his skin burned beneath it all. He opened his mouth and caught the drops on his tongue, easing the parchedness of his throat, even if just for a little while.
The mud beneath him squelched as his head tilted slightly to catch another drop, and his shoulders sank further into the mire. The sludge clung to his shirt as it clung to his back, and he swore he felt each and every lump and puddle beneath him.
There was a sound; not another clap of thunder but a horn like what they used in the hunt. It echoed off the trees and the stone and rang in his ear enough that he nearly missed the shout of, “I found him!”
Hurried footsteps sloshed through the muck, spattering more onto his face as they skidded to a stop at his side. Mud sloshed over him as the person fell to their knees and gloved hands ghosted over his face and then down his neck and sides. He turned his head away from the attentions, the person’s cloak pouring a small waterfall across his cheek and making it that much harder to see just who it was and what they wanted.
“He’s alive, sire!” a voice called. It sounded like Leon, shouting over the next clap of thunder.
“He damned well better be!” came the retort as another figure strode closer.
Merlin tried to look up at the sound, but found the rain was coming down that much harder now, blinding him with the water that flooded his eyes and poured down his cheeks. Leon raised an arm, bringing a length of fabric from his cloak with it, which served to shield Merlin from the worst of it, or at least his face. “He may well kill you himself for this,” Leon advised.
Merlin tried to smile, not doubting those words, but knew it looked far more like a grimace instead.
Another figure knelt beside him, and another gloved hand brushed across his face before the leather was torn away and replaced with skin that felt warm against his chilled own. He fought the urge to lean into the touch, not sure if he could do much more than lay there as he was for the moment anyway.
“He’s injured, but alive,” Leon was saying, still shielding him from the storm. It was enough that Merlin could see the concern in Arthur’s eyes, and the way that same concern was battling with anger.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Arthur demanded. His words were harsh, but the stroke of his finger across Merlin’s temple was soft. He continued to mutter under his breath, but Merlin caught the occasional word: daft and idiotic and jump and blood and castle walls.
Merlin stopped it all with a simple statement of, “I was saving you.”
Arthur must have seen something in Merlin’s expression, or maybe caught the way Merlin tried to point to the shadowed lump behind him. The prince’s head slowly turned, his entire body freezing when he caught sight of the crumpled form, and the crystal dagger that still glowed faintly blue as it was slowly enveloped in the mud.
He turned back to Merlin, anger gone and replaced by something far more solemn. “A simple warning would not have sufficed?” he guessed.
“Not this time,” Merlin agreed. He would have shook his head, but it was difficult to do in his current position so deep in the mud and would have only resulted in more pain anyway.
“We’re going to have a talk when you’re recovered,” Arthur warned.
Merlin was fairly certain he knew what the talk would entail, and that it would not be limited to his jumping from castle walls and dragging assassins along with him, and that it might have to do with the fact the dagger only glowed after Merlin touched it in an attempt to nullify its magic. Merlin ignored all of that and simple agreed, “Probably.”
“And are you actually going to listen this time?” Arthur tried.
“Probably not,” Merlin admitted, earning him a reluctant smile from both Arthur and Leon.
Arthur glanced over to his knight and ordered, “Let’s get him back to the castle. No use yelling at him in the rain when we can yell at him from the warmth of a good hearth.”
“Yes, sire,” Leon replied and moved to help Merlin to his feet. Head bent close to Merlin’s ear, he whispered, “You did a good job.”
Merlin let Leon support the majority of his weight as he watched Arthur bend over to pick up the dagger with a gloved hand, a burst of lightning highlighting the small tear in his sleeve and the thankfully unblemished skin beneath. With a doleful sigh and a glance to the tear in his own sleeve from where he had wrapped it around the sharp edge of the knife, he said, “Almost not good enough.”
Leon patted him on the shoulder in understanding and helped him back to the castle where Gaius, herbs, and hopefully unconsciousness awaited.
Title: Alive
Type: Gen
Rating: PG
Words: 920
Spoilers: Just that there’s a knight named Leon
Summary: “He may well kill you himself for this.”
Disclaimer: I do not own them. I am making no profit.
Merlin felt the rain pound down around him. His clothing was already soaked through and his body was chilled to the bone, but he did not try to move and did not try to escape the relentless torrents. He felt himself sink slightly further into the mud and eyed the nearby stone overhang with a combination of longing and resignation.
The cold water felt almost soothing to the aches of his body though he knew his skin burned beneath it all. He opened his mouth and caught the drops on his tongue, easing the parchedness of his throat, even if just for a little while.
The mud beneath him squelched as his head tilted slightly to catch another drop, and his shoulders sank further into the mire. The sludge clung to his shirt as it clung to his back, and he swore he felt each and every lump and puddle beneath him.
There was a sound; not another clap of thunder but a horn like what they used in the hunt. It echoed off the trees and the stone and rang in his ear enough that he nearly missed the shout of, “I found him!”
Hurried footsteps sloshed through the muck, spattering more onto his face as they skidded to a stop at his side. Mud sloshed over him as the person fell to their knees and gloved hands ghosted over his face and then down his neck and sides. He turned his head away from the attentions, the person’s cloak pouring a small waterfall across his cheek and making it that much harder to see just who it was and what they wanted.
“He’s alive, sire!” a voice called. It sounded like Leon, shouting over the next clap of thunder.
“He damned well better be!” came the retort as another figure strode closer.
Merlin tried to look up at the sound, but found the rain was coming down that much harder now, blinding him with the water that flooded his eyes and poured down his cheeks. Leon raised an arm, bringing a length of fabric from his cloak with it, which served to shield Merlin from the worst of it, or at least his face. “He may well kill you himself for this,” Leon advised.
Merlin tried to smile, not doubting those words, but knew it looked far more like a grimace instead.
Another figure knelt beside him, and another gloved hand brushed across his face before the leather was torn away and replaced with skin that felt warm against his chilled own. He fought the urge to lean into the touch, not sure if he could do much more than lay there as he was for the moment anyway.
“He’s injured, but alive,” Leon was saying, still shielding him from the storm. It was enough that Merlin could see the concern in Arthur’s eyes, and the way that same concern was battling with anger.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Arthur demanded. His words were harsh, but the stroke of his finger across Merlin’s temple was soft. He continued to mutter under his breath, but Merlin caught the occasional word: daft and idiotic and jump and blood and castle walls.
Merlin stopped it all with a simple statement of, “I was saving you.”
Arthur must have seen something in Merlin’s expression, or maybe caught the way Merlin tried to point to the shadowed lump behind him. The prince’s head slowly turned, his entire body freezing when he caught sight of the crumpled form, and the crystal dagger that still glowed faintly blue as it was slowly enveloped in the mud.
He turned back to Merlin, anger gone and replaced by something far more solemn. “A simple warning would not have sufficed?” he guessed.
“Not this time,” Merlin agreed. He would have shook his head, but it was difficult to do in his current position so deep in the mud and would have only resulted in more pain anyway.
“We’re going to have a talk when you’re recovered,” Arthur warned.
Merlin was fairly certain he knew what the talk would entail, and that it would not be limited to his jumping from castle walls and dragging assassins along with him, and that it might have to do with the fact the dagger only glowed after Merlin touched it in an attempt to nullify its magic. Merlin ignored all of that and simple agreed, “Probably.”
“And are you actually going to listen this time?” Arthur tried.
“Probably not,” Merlin admitted, earning him a reluctant smile from both Arthur and Leon.
Arthur glanced over to his knight and ordered, “Let’s get him back to the castle. No use yelling at him in the rain when we can yell at him from the warmth of a good hearth.”
“Yes, sire,” Leon replied and moved to help Merlin to his feet. Head bent close to Merlin’s ear, he whispered, “You did a good job.”
Merlin let Leon support the majority of his weight as he watched Arthur bend over to pick up the dagger with a gloved hand, a burst of lightning highlighting the small tear in his sleeve and the thankfully unblemished skin beneath. With a doleful sigh and a glance to the tear in his own sleeve from where he had wrapped it around the sharp edge of the knife, he said, “Almost not good enough.”
Leon patted him on the shoulder in understanding and helped him back to the castle where Gaius, herbs, and hopefully unconsciousness awaited.