Merthur: True Love's Kiss

Searching

Merlin was an idiot. Everyone knew that. He was a stupid, forgetful, clumsy idiot.

And he was in trouble.

"Merlin? Merlin, where are you?"

A man garbed in a red cloak and silver chain mail was riding through the forest on his chestnut coloured steed, racing between the tree trunks, leaping over fallen trees and shrubs. His horse was not properly saddled, strings loose and hanging off the sides, as if the rider had been in too much of a hurry to pay any attention to them.

The man himself too appeared dishevelled, his blonde hair not even brushed through, tangled by the harsh winter gale that blew mercilessly from the north. He was young, and by most people's standards very handsome; his cloak bore the insignia of a dragon and it billowed behind him as he sped through the oaks and birches. His brow was wrinkled with worry and his cloudless blue eyes darted from side to side constantly, searching desperately for a sign, a hint, a clue. Anything. Anything that would tell him where his manservant was.

"Merlin!" The shout reverberated between the trees and echoed softly in the distance, almost mocking the young man. He stopped his horse abruptly and listened for a reply, eyes wide open, holding his breath - waiting.

He was met with nothing but silence.

Biting down on his lip in frustration, he rode onward, towards the west, distancing himself more and more from Camelot the further he rode. His father could lecture him about it all he wanted when he returned, it was all the same to Arthur. This was not the first time he had disobeyed the King's orders, and by no means would it be the last, especially not when Merlin's safety was in question.

"Merlin? Are you there?" He cried out again, and felt the hoarseness of his throat, how thirsty he was-- but no, he couldn't stop now, not when he was out there somewhere, not when every second counted. 

He spared a glance at the sky and quickly ascertained that it was noon, or perhaps a little past it. Arthur had been out since dawn, which is when he first received news of Merlin's absence: he was meant to have gone to the woods to collect wild crocuses for Gaius, the court physician, but no one had seen him since his departure the day before. If the young prince had looked around properly, he may have realised he was in the forest near to the Castle of Gdenir, which had been abandoned many centuries ago after the supposed attack of a magical beast -- but Arthur did not look as he did not care for his surroundings, save if they revealed to him his servant's whereabouts.

He rode on, exhausted and desperate, yet determined in his quest, until finally, finally, he caught a glimpse of a familiar red scarf amongst the dry leaves on the forest floor and halted his horse with one sharp tug of the reins. With newfound energy, he launched himself off his steed, landing clumsily on the ground, and rushed towards where he had seen it only moments before. 

As he drew nearer, the fallen figure came into focus: his simple jacket was torn in several places, it and the rest of his clothes smeared in mud. The man's raven black hair was tangled with twigs and dry leaves, and if you ignored the death white hue of his skin, you might have thought he was sleeping.

Merlin!

Arthur sank to his knees before his servant and quickly held his fingers to Merlin's neck. He sighed with relief as he felt his pulse under his cold skin - weak - but throbbing, throbbing and living. His joy was short-lived however, as he noticed, with pure horror, the giant rip and crimson stain on Merlin's ordinarily blue shirt. The prince hesitated momentarily before gently lifting up the fabric to expose what surely must have been a claw slash, deep and bloody. 

Knowing the situation was dire, he whipped off his cloak and chain mail, tearing off a piece of his undershirt and wrapping it around Merlin's wound, hoping to contain the blood flow, even just a little. He then put the chain mail back on, but wrapped the thick cloak around the young man's body in an attempt to keep him warm, ignoring the cold gusts of the wind that already chilled him to the bone.

The prince took a deep breath before sliding his hands under his manservant's limp body: one hand under his knees, the other supporting his back, and with a grunt Arthur slowly lifted himself and Merlin, proceeding to carry him over to his horse, which had thankfully decided to wait for its master's return instead of wandering off somewhere.

As he carried Merlin, he noted just how fragile the young man seemed in his muscular arms, almost like a girl, and how long his dark eyelashes were, and how-- 

Arthur shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He wasn't sure where that trail of thought had been going, but he put it down to tiredness and carried on until he reached his steed. Then he carefully placed the unconscious man on the horse and removed his water-skin from one of the pouches attached to the saddle, which he had - wisely - filled before his departure from Camelot. The liquid was cool and refreshing, and Arthur gulped it down gladly before climbing onto the horse himself. 

Once his feet were secured in the stirrups, he re-adjusted Merlin's position on the horse so he was leaning against Arthur and, with one arm around his servant and one hand holding the reins, the two set off home, to Camelot.

"It won't be long Merlin, I promise. Just... Just hold out alright? For me."