Merlin loved the forest. From the rich brown earthy hues to the sweetness of the blue, red sky that seemed to absorb the light and spread it. He relished in the verdant wands of pine and cedar trees that almost waved at them as they galloped through. For the forest was magic, laden with an energy he could feel down to the tip of his fingertips. So full of life and vibrancy that it felt as though he was being bathed in a warm blanket from the moment he stepped into its fold to the moment he left it's kind embrace.

However, on days like these, when the sun is so hot and intense, he feels it dig underneath his skin. Feels his stiff, worn clothe scratch against his heated skin. Irritated and as dry as his throat.

Merlin doesn't get to appreciate the forest on days like these.

"Getting tired, Merlin?" Arthur drawls out, his voice dripping with false sympathy and ill-concealed amusement. The sweat gathering on his brow makes the sorcerer think he may not be the only tired one. Figures Arthur would choose to mock him as a means to pass the time. The man draws his horse closer to Merlin's then. "Is your little bum hurting?" He goads, stealing a look at the knights behind them. Gwaine looked particularly giddy to see Merlin's reaction while Lancelot seemed vaguely exasperated.

Merlin doesn't even try to hide his eye roll. "Yes." He answers seriously. "It's not as fat as yours."

The king huffs in disbelief, a harsh retaliation on the tip of his tongue. However, he doesn't get to voice them, for whatever comeback he got in store for the servant is drowned out by loud shouting coming from every direction.

Because, of course, no outing of theirs can go without a group of noisy bandits thrown into the mix.

The easy, light atmosphere is quick to shatter. The bandits greatly outnumber them, making it hard for Merlin to hide and focus on defense.

He watches as Percival knocks one of them clean of their horse, while Gwaine and Lancelot fight back to back. His eyes scan the crowd and soon enough, he finds Arthur. The man is on foot, his horse, nowhere to be seen.

The warlock's eyes are drawn almost instantly to the bandit charging towards his friend. His hand rises just in time to push the man's saddle just enough to tip his balance. His action proves effective when the man falls off his horse, his foot getting caught in the stirrups and by consequence, gets dragged along his steed.

He's too focused on his King to pay attention to his surroundings. Eyes scanning the area for any additional threats. He hears hooves getting closer, feels the earth vibrate and shift under a heavy weight behind him. He's too late to react though. He barely has time to turn before a mace plunges itself into his chest. Digging into his flesh painfully and pushing his body with its momentum. The rider who hits him doesn't falter in his stride. Continuing on his way passed the King and out of the forest. Knowing the fight would be fruitless.

The pain doesn't hit him instantly. Instead, he feels the world go mute. Feels his knees give out as his body crashes into the leaves and the dirt. Feels his chest constrict and squeeze with the effort to breathe.

He hears a distant shout of what he might think is his name just as the world blurs.

The most prominent thought in his mind then is, Goddess, please not in front of Arthur.

Everything goes dark after that.

____________________________________

Arthur remembers the exact moment the world seemed to twist upside down. Thinks it will continue to haunt him even in his dreams, in his nightmares.

He sees it, in his mind's eye. Merlin falling like a ragdoll onto the earthy forest floor. Body limp and seemingly lifeless. Right before his eyes.

Even now, dragging the very alive, and breathing form of his manservant, he fears it.

His breath is heavy against his lungs, chest heaving with the effort to run as fast as he can with a full-grown man leaning against his shoulder.

Merlin's head is down, neck swaying with each move Arthur makes. A pained groan escaping his lips as Arthur finally lowers them down behind a ravine. Taking a moment to catch his breath and check on his injured companion.

"Merlin? Can you hear me?" His only response is a noncommittal grunt. "I need to check on your wound"

His servant's eyes flutter heavily before he tries to sit up, arms shaking with the effort to move his upper body.

Arthur halts the movement with a hand, crouching closer to look at his friend's body.

Merlin's blue shirt is darkened with blood. A dark spot that keeps spreading with each moment that passes. It makes something drop in Arthur's gut. Heavy and laden with unspoken worries and unfathomable realities. With shaky hands and trembling fingers, he peels back the ruined fabric. Gulping as torn flesh and deep muscle tissue are unveiled before his eyes.

"Def- definitely seen worse." He stutters despite his effort to keep his voice steady and sure.

Merlin's face twists into a forced grin. His eyes shifting with uncertainty despite his effort to appear unbothered. "Y-yeah, on a dead man..." He mutters under his breath. Eyebrows scrunching up with a pain Arthur is sure is hitting him right about now.

"You're going to be fine." His fist clenches in his lap even as his voice doesn't waver this time.

Merlin's eyes flutter shut for a moment before focusing back on Arthur. "Y-you need to go." He swallows audibly. "G-go find the k-knights."

"Merlin, you idiot, I'm not leaving you!" The king shouts despite their obvious need to remain quiet.

"No, b-but you need to g-get reinforcements." He bluffs, hoping the man will listen and leave him to his fate. It wouldn't do to have him here when... when it happens.

His words are barely out of his mouth before more shouts are heard around them.

Bloody bandits.

"Come on." The King says hurriedly. "Up you get." He grunts as he lifts him up once again. This time draping him across his shoulders entirely as he runs.

"Leave me." Merlin urges, hearing more footsteps join in their wake. "Save yourself."

"Shut up, Merlin."

When they get cornered in a new ravine and Arthur finally lets him down. Merlin sees his opportunity and takes it.

Eyes flashing just in time for his king to cross the proper distance. His magic flares in response to his calls and the rocks on the forest edge tumble down. Effectively separating them, putting Arthur out of harm's way.

He tries to get Arthur's wide, terrified gaze out of his mind, even as the world dims and he finally succumbs to his injuries. At least, he thinks, the bandits are the only witnesses.

____________________________

"It's getting dark." Elyan's voice is hesitant as he says this. As if he doesn't want to be the one who voices it.

"We can't go back without them." Lancelot doesn't even take his time to look over. His eyes too busy raking across the forest in hopes of spotting any kind of movement.

By the time they had dispatched the last of the bandits, Arthur and Merlin had been nowhere to be found.

"W-wait." Percival's quiet, strong voice make them all stand straighter in anticipation. "I hear something."

The quiet falls over the group as they shift to listen harder. Gwaine is the one who spots him first.

"Princess!" He says cheerfully. A grin wide on his features as he runs to meet the king halfway. "Where did you guys run off to?"

His smile doesn't falter even as he meets Arthur's grim, serious face. "What's wrong? Did Merlin get on your nerves again?" The knight chuckles as his head turns from side to side and then up as if trying to spot something behind the Pendragon. "Where is Merlin by the way?"

"...Sire?" Lancelot steps up to stand next to Gwaine, something heavy tumbling into the pit in his stomach.

"He's- he's alive. At least-"He coughs his head turning to look away before meeting the knight's gazes. "At least he was when we got separated."

____________________________________

"You lost how many men?" Morgana's voice is low, dangerous, as she addresses the bandit. His shifting gaze is enough of an answer. "And you bring be how many men?"

"N-none, my lady." A stuttering voice calls out reluctantly. Making her scrutiny shift to the man in question. A satisfied snarl pulls at her lips as he flinches under her stare. "We thought at first, but- he- he died before we could get here." They move out of the way to reveal a crumbled body. Her eyes narrow then widen as they settle on the object of their conversation.

Raking over gangly, lean limbs and matted dark hair and an all too familiar red neckerchief, she crouches down to inspect her prey.

A voice in the back of her mind reels in disbelief even as a darker part of her readies itself to roar in triumph.

Spidery, long fingers with sharp nails sink into dark locks. Lifting the man's head upward harshly.

She waits a moment before dropping the man's head again as if burnt. She hisses under her breath, whirling around to face the useless bodysuits behind her. "This man is very much alive you idiots" She snarls in anger. One hand coming up to make a tight fist in front of her. The target of her ire falls to the ground instantly. Hands coming up to claw at his throat uselessly. His struggles seethe after mere moments and she finds she couldn't care less. "Maybe now you will know to tell the difference between the living and the dead." She hisses before marching off. Two guards scrambling behind her, carrying between them, her newest prey.