Chapter Text
It always turned out like this.
If Arthur would only listen to him once in a while, maybe they'd get through a single trip without being ambushed. But here they are, vastly outnumbered, once again. Merlin had attempted to keep a careful eye on each of the knights from behind his very convenient overturned log, but it was difficult as the majority of the swarm seemed to have focused on Arthur.
The bandits had taken one look at Arthur's intricate cloak marking him as King, and singled him out as the most valuable, dead or alive. Furthermore, they must have stumbled too close to a stronghold of some sort; there were simply too many of the bandits for anything else. It was just as well that Arthur was the best swordsman in Camelot because, even with Merlin's subtle (and increasingly less subtle) help, it was depressing odds. The waves of bodies never seemed to stop and, frankly, Merlin was running out of conveniently placed branches. Preoccupied as he was, trying to give Arthur the advantage, Merlin didn't notice that the other knights had been sectioned off and driven away from the two until it was too late. Merlin swept his wide-eyed gaze around the remaining faces with a curse.
It was just him, Arthur, and the bandits.
His attention was drawn back to Arthur as he heard a sharp clang of steel. He watched as Arthur was driven back into a defensive stance by one of the bandits before a second bandit charged in to swipe his feet out from underneath him. With a shout, Merlin shot up from his hiding place, hand outstretched and eyes glowing gold.
"Arthur!"
One of the bandits looming over Arthur's prone form was tossed to the edge of the clearing. Arthur was too busy grappling with the other to notice, but the rest of the bandits certainly weren't. Half the clearing turned their attention to the previously overlooked servant with new wariness.
Merlin swallowed nervously.
A yell from Arthur's direction had Merlin's head whipping back around only to see Arthur pin and dispatch his opponent with a clean stab to the heart. Merlin's relief was cut abruptly short by an explosion of agony at the side of his head. Black spots danced in his vision and he was distantly aware of his body falling and Arthur screaming. Merlin dragged his gaze up to see Arthur reaching toward him, but they were too far apart.
The crowd split and Merlin's heart gave a lazy jump through his haze as Arthur's form disappeared beneath his half of the mob. Merlin stretched out his hand once more, but his magic slipped through his grasp like smoke, unable to understand his disjointed panic. There was a distant explosion of pain beneath his right ribs followed by a white-hot slice as something pierced his chest. His lungs struggled to expand and metal coated his mouth as he watched Arthur's head reappear and disappear beneath the sea of limbs, looking more and more frantic each time he caught his eye.
"Merlin!"
He had to help; he had to protect Arthur. Someone stamped on his outstretched hand crushing the delicate bones of his fingers.
He needed to throw the bandits away, how dare they touch his king. Another boot in his side.
He needed power, why was he so weak?
Arthur finally fell beneath the throng of men one last time and Merlin watched between pairs of boots as Arthur's head slammed against the ground, a dark color seeping into the grass below.
Vision blood red, something snapped in him with a roar.