Summary: An anthology of intense hurt / comfort stories featuring the bromantic relationship of Arthur and Merlin. Drama, angst, h/c, friendship, family, Arthur whump, Merlin whump.

Author's Notes: More reviews = More stories!

Hurt and Comfort in Camelot

PenPatronus

Story 1

Camelot Burning

Camelot was on fire.

Merlin was a salmon swimming upstream. Stumbling, coughing servants, cooks, guards and knights sprinted past him down the steps as he tried to climb up. He adjusted his red scarf over his mouth and nose as he ran. Smoke that billowed from the direction of the king and queen's quarters morphed from white, to gray, to black in a matter of minutes. There was little time to wonder what their enemy had catapulted into Arthur's room. Merlin decided that he would worry about that later, once Arthur and Guinevere were safe.

Blinded, he ran into the queen, literally, a dozen feet from the door. Gwen bounced off of his chest and would've landed skull-first on the stone if Merlin hadn't caught her. "He's trapped," she explained between sobs and coughing fits, "the bed collapsed – I can't lift it off him. Merlin—" Gwen's eyes watered from both the smoke and fear. She ran out of breath and could only cough and point at the room.

Merlin ripped his scarf off and pressed it against her mouth. "I'll get him, Gwen, I promise, now get out of the castle!" He pushed her towards the stairs and with a last panicked look at him, Guinevere descended.

Merlin flattened himself on the floor and crawled towards the blackest smoke. He used his hands to follow the wall to the open door, then abandoned it and struck out in the direction he knew the bed was in. "Arthur!" he yelled, "Arthur!"

Tongues of flames licked his skin. There was more fire than wall left in Arthur's chambers. Anything made of wood or paper was long gone, and each tapestry and curtain fueled the fires as they dropped one by one. A chunk of the ceiling landed beside Merlin and pummeled him with searing debris. He couldn't hold in the scream, and the resulting inhale turned his lungs black. With no air to lose he called again, "Arthur!"

The hotter the fire got, the more it illuminated the room. Merlin saw him, then. Arthur. Arthur lying face down in his nightshirt and trousers with three of the four bedposts piled on his back. The only other color Merlin's foggy brain acknowledged other than the black smoke and the yellow flames was the red blood dripping from Arthur's hair. Merlin crawled a few more feet, and then pushed himself up to his knees. The room spun and bucked like a horse but he managed to wade through the flames.

Merlin picked up speed and rammed the top post with his left shoulder. Half of it had already burned away and it slid easily off Arthur. The second had splintered. A wood sliver as long as Merlin's forearm protruded from Arthur's side. Merlin yanked it out, then used the smallest section as a lever to lift the largest. He got to the third, and that was when his knees gave out. He collapsed to the floor, nauseous from the burns and dizzy from the smoke. He focused his energy on magic and gradually inched the final post off. Sparkles invaded his eyes. Sleep invited him to relax. Arthur moaned, then, and the sound of his pain woke Merlin up a moment before it was too late.

Anger and fear flooded his veins. He no longer heard his heart's rapid beat or felt the chainmail-like grating in his throat. His eyes saw nothing but Arthur's body. His skin shriveled from the heat but he no longer acknowledged it. Merlin rolled Arthur over and then lifted him into his arms. The blood dripping down Arthur's left cheek stained the inside of Merlin's right elbow. Merlin stood – crashed back down – and got up again. Like a drunkard he stumbled through and around the flames and debris as the room collapsed. Sparks and ash covered his hair and went down his back, nipping at his spine. Merlin did his best to protect Arthur and in the process, banged his own head and knees on chairs and cabinets. He found the door only because Arthur's foot hit the jamb. Merlin stumbled through it, stumbled down the hall, stumbled down the first two flights of stairs before his strength faltered.

"No-!" Merlin collapsed but managed, barely, to protect Arthur's head as they fell. He landed with his cheek on the king's chest, their chins inches from touching. Arthur frowned but made no noise. "No…" Merlin whispered. He felt the heat following them down the hall. Fire stalked them like prey. And he couldn't get himself out, let alone the king. "Arthur…" Merlin grunted when he swung his arm up and cupped Arthur's cheek in his hand. "Arthur, wake up. You have to get yourself out of here…" His fingers climbed up the king's head until it found the source of the blood. With his opposite hand Merlin cupped the puncture wound in Arthur's side. "Please Arthur… please…" The king didn't stir. Fresh tears slid down Merlin's face. He gathered the last of himself and pushed all of his magic into the wounds. Merlin spoke the spell quickly and clearly and repeated it again. He didn't stop until the vignette on the outskirts of his eyesight marched inward, threatening sleep or death, or both.

"Arthur…" Merlin whispered one last time before he went limp.

Merlin woke up in the Rising Star inn. He took a deep breath – testing his lungs – and immediately regretted it when his body convulsed and he coughed for five minutes straight. A cup appeared in front of his lips. He parted them and managed to swallow a few drops of water. He expected to see Gaius holding the cup. Or Gwen, perhaps. Shock was his first reaction when the king of Camelot's face came into view.

"You're alive!"

The corner of Arthur's lips tightened. "Observant as usual, Merlin."

"What happened?"

"I saved your life. Again."

Merlin rolled his eyes. He coughed again and Arthur gently lifted his head so that he could drink some more.

"Yes, I saved your life again," Arthur repeated. And then he said, in a quieter voice he usually reserved for Guinevere, "soon after you saved mine… again." With a ginger touch he lowered Merlin's head back onto the pillow. And then, seemingly on a whim, he ruffled his servant's hair and smiled. "Thank you, my old friend."

Merlin smiled. "Thank you, dear friend."

The End