Five Times Merlin Got Hurt and One Time He Didn't

AN: Hello, everyone! This is the first piece of fanfiction that I have ever written, (although I've read quite a bit, obviously). I am also fairly new to this fandom, I haven't seen anything past the first few episodes of Season 2, so I probably won't include many of the later characters at first because I don't want to accidentally make them seem out of character.

This is going to be a Merlin/Arthur Friendship collection of one-shots, and isn't intended as slash. The rating is T, mostly because I do not wish to mislead anyone. Reviews of any kind are greatly appreciated, because I am a complete rookie at this. That being said, all mistakes are mine. Thank you all so much in advance. Namaste.

I do not own Merlin. All rights go to….someone else. BBC, maybe? Again, not certain who owns it, but it is not I.

1. Training Accident

Merlin sighed and straightened up once more, ignoring the dull ache in his lower back and the sharper pain in his arms and shoulders. Arthur grinned at him in his trademark I'm-better-than-you-and-I-know-it fashion that irritated Merlin to no end whenever he saw it.

"Come on, Merlin! I need actual competition if I'm to excel in next week's combat tournament," Arthur declared, spinning his sword skillfully in one hand while keeping perfect distance from Merlin's fatigued form.

Merlin bit back a sharp retort that would have earned him a week's worth of mucking out the stables and contented himself with a quiet, "Yes, sire."

Arthur frowned at the lack of energy in Merlin's tone; usually Merlin far outmatched him in their verbal sparring matches. Merlin, for his part, was struggling just to stay upright under the heavy armor he was forced to wear when Arthur demanded these torturous training sessions.

He had been awake until ungodly hours of the night, helping Gaius tend to a man who had suffered a bad head injury, and needed to be woken up every few hours to ensure no further damage had been done to his coherency. And then, just as Merlin had been about to lie down and catch a mere half an hour of sleep, Arthur had woken up early and in the mood for spontaneous training practice in preparation for the kingdom-wide combat tournament Uther had declared. It was little more than an opportunity for the knights to show off to each other, but Arthur had surprised Merlin by throwing himself into it, training as hard as his stubborn will and somewhat reluctant manservant would allow.

Merlin was just getting himself back to his base stance and trying to maintain his weak grip on the sword that seemed unrealistically heavy when a strike came at him with speed far too fast for his tired brain to react to. It connected painfully with the armor on his left shoulder, jarring it with a resounding clang! that made a passing knight wince in sympathy. Arthur, however, shared no such feelings of compassion.

"Merlin! Focus, you idiot! I can't train if you don't react. I may as well go practice with one of the straw dummies; at least they would put up a good fight!" Arthur yelled, trying to snap Merlin out of his stupor enough to spar effectively. Besides, an opportunity to insult his manservant was never wasted.

Merlin barely heard the harsh but half-hearted invectives thrown his way; he was too wrapped up with thoughts of the extensive list of chores Arthur would no doubt assign him once training was finished, along with the help Gaius would need back in the physician's chambers. Merlin felt a twinge of guilt as he thought of his mentor. Gaius had likewise stayed up all night, and must be exhausted, and yet had waved off Merlin's offer of staying to help with the work today while Gaius slept. That offer had been effectively voided when Arthur had woken up early, in a decidedly eager mood to subject his faithful manservant to training before breakfast—cruel and unusual punishment, Merlin reflected.

Prat, he thought crankily, scowling at Arthur, who immediately smiled again.

"Finally, signs of life! I was beginning to think you'd fall asleep with your eyes open," Arthur teased, resuming his defensive stance.

If only, Merlin thought sardonically.

Arthur suddenly rushed at Merlin, attacking from the right side, and Merlin quickly spun out of the way, managing to deflect the blow with his sword. Arthur immediately switched direction and struck out with blistering speed. It was all Merlin could do to block the left feint, and he swiftly side-stepped to avoid getting elbowed. Arthur was a knight, and the Crown-Prince of Camelot; however he wasn't above a little dirty fighting, particularly in training, when small abuses and affronts to the rules could be tolerated.

Arthur visibly shifted into full combat mode, and began a barrage of attacks, slipping imperceptibly into an ever-advancing pattern. Hitting low, cutting high, dodging left and spinning right, the speed and force of his strikes would have left any skillful warrior scrambling to deflect them all.

Merlin was all but defenseless. At first, he managed to block many of the strikes, but the constant jarring force of Arthur's blows weakened his arms after a short while, and he found himself tiring rapidly. Arthur remained oblivious to his servant's plight, and continued slashing at Merlin until the raven-haired man's sword dropped from a hand that lacked the strength to hold it any longer.

Arthur glared at Merlin, annoyed that Merlin had not put up a better fight, and was failing to help him effectively train. Merlin was suddenly, incredibly, angry with his master. He had worked all night, and still had to answer to an arrogant young prince who wasn't concerned with anything or anyone, save for his own ego and self-image. The injustice of the situation was made immeasurably worse by its irony; Merlin had little choice in his servitude.

If Merlin had been more alert and his nerves less frayed, he would have immediately revised this thought. Deep down, he knew that Arthur was a good man, maybe even a great one, with loyalty and honor as his guiding principles. Someday he would be a greater King than Uther would ever be, and his name would be echoed throughout the halls of history as the greatest King of Camelot.

At the moment, Merlin was too tired to give a damn about such deep musings and too angry to let the slights go unchallenged.

He launched himself at Arthur, taking the prince by surprise. Arthur, however, reacted quickly, and caught his servant's elbow, pushing him aside and neatly brushing past, sure-footed and confident once more as he carefully gauged Merlin's expression.

Merlin once again rushed at the Prince, not thinking about what he was doing, just trying to catch him off-guard. Only for a moment, just long enough to land a blow on that smug face. The blond prince again easily evaded his attacks, and Merlin lost all patience.

With a frustrated yell, Merlin ran full-tilt at Arthur, cocking back his fist. He punched and hit at Arthur, who blocked every blow aimed at his face, stomach, anywhere that Merlin could reach. He tried to shove Merlin away, but the raven-haired man was too fast for him. Dodging to the left, Merlin punched towards his shoulder, managing to land a glancing but surprisingly painful hit. Arthur felt his own temper rising, and did little to restrain it.

Getting into a fist-fight with his servant was expressly forbidden, and in bad form. If they were caught, the punishment for him would extensive, and Merlin could be put to death. Arthur, however, had no intention whatsoever of informing the King of this altercation, and the training grounds had been nearly empty all morning. As long as no one saw them, this incident would pass unnoticed and the King would never find out.

Merlin's eyes narrowed in concentration, and Arthur felt the first twinge of doubt. Merlin looked serious, and actually angry. Maybe he should call off the fight, and give Merlin the rest of the day off. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked dead tired, only his fury at Arthur keeping him alert and moving. Arthur's moment of indecision allowed Merlin to gain a solid body blow, knocking the wind out of him. That settled it. Tired or not, Merlin had asked for this.

Arthur suddenly straightened up, focusing solely on the fight. Merlin was still too angry to notice the subtle change in posture, the shifted weight and the ready stance. He swung at Arthur, who caught his arm and pulled him off balance, landing a firm hit on Merlin's torso. Merlin, however, wheeled around and aimed a strong punch at Arthur's face. Arthur caught this too, and safely ducked out of the way. His training had kicked in, however, and Arthur was reacting mostly on instinct, drilled into him with long hours of hand-to-hand combat forced on him when he was younger.

Therefore, he hadn't registered that his fist had moved quite so fast and with so much force behind it, until he felt the knuckles hit something soft that yielded with a small cracking noise. He froze, making himself look more fully, scarcely able to believe it. He had punched Merlin squarely in the face, and was in fact, still holding onto his other hand with a vice-like grip.

He instantly released him and stepped back, looking at his friend in shock. Merlin's blue eyes were wide, as he brought a hand to his face, and stared uncomprehendingly at the dark red liquid that covered his fingers and began to stream thickly from his nose.

Arthur just stared at him, disbelief and guilt plainly visible on his handsome features. He hadn't meant to hurt Merlin, certainly not to the extent of causing a heavy nosebleed. He was about to apologize to Merlin when he looked up at Arthur and swayed slightly. The young Prince rushed to his side, helping lower him to the ground in a kneeling position.

"Ow," Merlin said quietly, still staring at the blood on his hand.

"Oh, lords, Merlin," Arthur muttered. "Here, tilt your head down, and pinch there. The bleeding should stop in a few minutes," he instructed Merlin, who silently obeyed, still not looking completely aware of what was happening. Arthur lapsed into silence for a few minutes, trying to give Merlin a chance to recover, and feeling the guilt rush over him in a crushing wave.

"It's just a nosebleed, Merlin. What, do you faint at the sight of blood?" Arthur said, trying to assuage some of the blame he felt and downplay the injury when he noticed that Merlin was still bleeding. Worse, Merlin, didn't look very responsive, was simply sitting with his head slightly bowed, not otherwise moving or even acknowledging that he felt the pain.

As the minutes slowly crept by, Arthur became increasingly concerned as the heavy blood flow continued unabated in a viscous stream that spattered the ground. The young prince came to a decision.

"Alright, we're going to Gaius," he told Merlin, standing and pulling Merlin up beside him. Merlin swayed alarmingly against Arthur's side, causing a sharp spike of worry to run through Arthur. "Merlin?" Arthur asked, still supporting most of his servant's weight. Merlin seemed to stumble finding his feet, but then stood more confidently. "I'm alright, Arthur," Merlin assured him, and it relieved Arthur that Merlin had used his name instead of his title, betraying no resentment towards him, even though it had been his fault.

They began to walk towards the main courtyard, with the physician's chambers in mind as the destination. Merlin walked, stumbling every once in a while, causing Arthur to walk close, ready to offer a steadying hand. They had almost made it to the stone steps leading Gaius' quarters when Merlin suddenly fell. Arthur had been half-expecting it, and caught him before he could hit the ground. He spun Merlin around to look at him, finding that Merlin's eyes had a glassy look, and were half-closed. Blood continued to pour down his face at an alarming rate.

"Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed, giving the other man's shoulders a firm shake.

"I'm fine, Arthur. I'm just tired," Merlin said, vaguely aware that his response was too similar to a mumble to carry much weight. Arthur was likewise unimpressed with the veracity of his claim.

He swiftly swung Merlin's right arm around his neck, and supported Merlin with an arm around the thin man's waist. Merlin sagged against Arthur, unable to hold his own weight, head hanging low. Arthur cursed quietly under his breath and dragged Merlin up the stairs and towards the physician's rooms.

They burst through the door, Arthur all but supporting Merlin's near-unconscious form and Gaius looked up from his workbench. He quickly took stock of the situation, assessing Merlin's condition with sharp eyes that noted every detail of his limp body.

"Bring him over here," Gaius ordered, unceremoniously sweeping a pile of papers and books off the nearest cot and onto the floor. He observed with some unease that Merlin seemed only partially aware of his surroundings, and had to be supported to the bed. Setting him down in a sitting position, where he continued to gently sway, Arthur backed away, unconsciously rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, a habit he shared with his father.

"What happened?" Gaius asked calmly, while gently attempting to wipe away the blood from Merlin's face, which remained blank and unfocused through the administrations.

"We were training, and, well, I…. I mean, we…..What I mean to say is that..." Arthur stammered, stumbling haltingly over his words. Gaius, however, understood immediately. Arthur braced himself, expecting a reprimand, or at the very least a disapproving eyebrow raised in his direction. "I see," was all the old healer said.

Arthur looked away, feeling his culpability more keenly than ever. "I was worried when it kept bleeding so heavily after a few minutes," Arthur said hurriedly. "And then when I told him we were coming back, he was so unresponsive…I thought that I might have….you know, I might have…Well, I didn't mean to hurt him!" He exclaimed, unable to stand his own pitiful explanation and Gaius' answering silence any longer.

"Merlin will be fine, Arthur," Gaius said, helping Merlin lie down, nosebleed having finally stopped. Merlin mumbled something incoherently, then his eyes slipped fully closed.

"The bleeding was so bad because of Merlin's state of fatigue. The increased stress on his body increased blood flow, and the exhaustion caused the inability to clot. I can assure you, sire, that after a good night's sleep, Merlin will be fine. Hopefully, so will I," he finished, pulling himself painfully upright, acutely aware of how much his old joints and bones complained at his lack of rest.

"Wait, fatigue? Did Merlin not sleep well?" Arthur asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

"Merlin was up with me all last night, tending to Quinn, the farrier who tends to the royal horses. He suffered a nasty blow to the head last night, and needed to be looked after. I thought he would have taken today off, to be completely honest," Gaius said, looking bluntly at Arthur.

Arthur could only sit in puzzlement. Why hadn't Merlin told him that he hadn't slept? Arthur would have given him the day off. Despite the rumors, Arthur actually tried to pay attention to his servants and staff, instinctively understanding that it was his responsibility as royalty to look after them. Arthur suddenly recalled how drawn Merlin had looked that morning, how pale. He mentally kicked himself for not realizing sooner, and looked over at Merlin's peacefully sleeping form.

"Thank you, Gaius," he said, dropping his voice humbly. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he added, "I'll instruct the people to bring their sick and injured directly to the castle today; there are enough nursemaids and midwives to attend to the lighter incidents. Get some rest." He attempted to maintain an authoritative tone, making it sound like an order. Gaius nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"Thank you, Your Highness," he said quietly, and suddenly Arthur hated the sound of his title, hated everything it stood for, hated the weight of all the lives he was responsible for fixing-and ruining.

"Take care of him," he said quietly, before slipping out the door into the mid-morning sunshine.