Merlin Oneshots

All that Matters

"I'm happy to be your servant, till the day I die."

- Merlin ( 1x13 )

- 2735 Words -

Merlin wanted to go home.

Arthur had decided it would be a brilliant idea to drag Merlin along to his 'father & son bonding time'. The Prince warned him if he was to object, he'd be put in the stocks, and he couldn't deny, he'd only just got the rotten tomato out of his hair from last time.

So here he was, on his horse with a sore ass, freezing as he only had his think jacket and worn tunic to keep him heated and the two Pendragons, who were wrapped tightly in warm animal fur, were nagging on about politics as they traveled through the forest.

Merlins head snapped up as he felt his magic tingling under his fingertips, sensing danger around him, he looked around, eyes darting through the tree. His eyes stilled, he saw a man in full black clothing with his arm pulled back, a crossbow resting in his hands.

"Arthur!"

Arthur looked back, confused but beofre he could question the man, and dart landed itself in his neck, his eyes rolled to the back off his head as he slumped off his horse, landing in the autum leaves.

The King and servant soon followed after him, all three out cold and defenceless. A group of ten henchmen began to tie them up and drag them away as a woman in a long, roughed up emerald green dress looked over them, an evil smirk on her faces and a mind filled with nothing but madness.

—~—

Merlins mind was hazy as his eyes drowsily fluttered open, bones aching as his head pounded. He winced as he lifted his head, sharp pains running through his neck up to his skull. He went to hold his head to try and ease the pain but his arm was yanked back, rattling sound of chains filling the small space, irritating the pain in his head.

Merlin widened his eyes and furiously blinked to focus his vision. He could spot two of their figures slumped over, red capes at the side of them. Arthur and Uther. A cold sweat overcame him as the puncture left by the dart flared, an angry red surrounding the small wound.

He's shoulders relaxed as his magic got to work healing the small puncture, a slight tingling, numbing sensation rushed up to his neck, his blood warming as it healed. The skin covering it like a bandaid and the small infected wound was no longer, just the pale skin, hidden by the tattered blood red scarf that he always wore.

Merlin closed his eyes as he rested his head in the cold, damped, mossed stone, a slight cushioning feeling from the green fuzz. His mind was running as he though of every possibility of escaping, his magic humming in his head, making it difficult to concentrate.

Every idea was to do with him doing magic.

Him doing magic in front of a King who slaughtered innocent men and women, even foreign children, who were suspected of sorcery. Weather there was any evidence or not. Uther was a tyrant of a king, a narcissistic asshole who blamed magic for his own mistake.

Now, Arthur was different, he had never slaughtered an innocent sorcerer under his own order. Maybe his father and ordered him to but whenever Merlin looked at him he always seemed distant or deep in thought. The Prince may have had a cold expression on his face, but Merlin and only Merlin could recognise the guilt glazed over his eyes.

He knew he was wrong, but was afraid of his father. Uther Pendragon was a force to be reckoned with, especially if magic was involved.

And just his luck that he was stuck with said man and Merlin just so happened to be the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth.