Chapter Text
Arthur had asked Merlin to help him with his script that had to be finished by tomorrow. But of course, Merlin was nowhere to be seen, and Arthur actually had to go and find him. It was times like these that he 'despised' Merlin but still was really worried about him.
He stormed furiously down the halls, face turning red in anger. He stopped by Gaius' room, and knocked ferociously, almost ripping the door of its hinges.
"WHERE IS MERLIN?" Arthur demanded. Gaius looked surprised and shocked to see the king enter his room in such an informal manner.
"Hello, sire. Merlin is... he's at the tavern, sire," Gaius replied, continuing on his work, looking rather shameful.
"Again!?... That’s it. I'm going to find him." Arthur frowned in concern. Merlin's drinking habits were really troubling. Why did Merlin always disappear at the worst possible time?
Gaius muttered a ‘wish you luck’ under his breath as he shut the door behind the frantic Arthur.
Arthur stomped through the castle, cape blowing in his stride. Many concerned faces turned to him along the way, but he didn’t stop to reassure them.
He shoved the main doors open, stealing the nearest horse from a random citizen.
"Hey!" the guy shouted out, appalled. Arthur gave him a death glare, making the man cower in fear and run off.
Arthur smiled, once again glad of his influence as king, and rode off the closest tavern. Arthur promised himself that he’d look in every one, until he found Merlin.
Merlin was sitting on a bar stool, staring at the wine rack and its contents behind the counter.
He sighed, knowing that he had little money to spare. He couldn’t afford to get drunk.
His sad and lonely expression must have attracted a few people towards him, because before he knew it, a man, wrapped in a lion-skin cloak, approached him. Merlin glanced at him, interest piqued.
“You alone?” The man asked, taking off his hood. His accent was strange - a memory tugged at him, something that he saw years ago. But he couldn't put his finger on it. The man's facial features were still lost to Merlin in the dim light, but at least Merlin now knew that he was talking to a human, at least.
“If I had friends to drink with, I wouldn’t be here counting my coins.” Merlin joked half-heartedly. The man nodded bluntly and took a seat next to him. Merlin immediately noticed that the man smelled of raw fish and swamp. He wrinkled his nose.
The man waved the poor bartender over, requesting a beer. With shaking hands, the girl handed him the drink. Merlin looked in the direction the frightened girl was staring, and saw that the man possessed two dangerously sharp swords which were in their sleeves, attached to his belt.
“Would you like anything, sir?” She asked Merlin, voice trembling.
Merlin felt so bad for the young woman.
“I’m fine.” He said kindly. The girl bowed gratefully then rushed off to serve another.
Merlin’s gaze shifted to the mysterious man.
“Who are you?”
The man briefly looked startled, but replied in a steady tone. “That’s not important.”
Merlin stood up, meeting the man eye to eye. “No, I think it rather is. I ask again, who are you?!”
The man sighed and shifted in his seat. At closer inspection, Merlin spotted a black beard peeking out under a cloth covering his mouth. Merlin raised his eyebrows. The somewhat familiar accent was coming to him now. It was like a shadow, a thought that he couldn't quite reach.
"You know me." The man said. His hand reached for the bowl of nuts at the edge of the table. He picked one out and plopped it into his mouth from under the mask.
"Peanut?" The man offered. Merlin looked at the peanuts suspiciously, then bit the side of one cautiously. Content, he shoved a few in his mouth.
Merlin glanced up and saw that the roof was spinning. His head felt like it started to float, his stomach flipping inside out, the edges of his vision darkening.
“Wh‑what did you d‑do?” he slurred, gripping the edge of the counter as if it might steady the world. The man’s gloved hand pressed firmly against the back of Merlin’s head, guiding him downward. Merlin’s thoughts scattered like startled birds, slipping through his fingers no matter how hard he tried to hold onto them.
“Easy now,” the man murmured, voice low and almost amused.
Merlin tried to lift his head, but the room tilted sharply again, colours smearing at the edges of his vision. He could barely make out the man folding back his hood, just a blur of dark fabric and the faint outline of a beard he almost recognised.
Almost.
His heart thudded unevenly. That accent. That voice. That smile curling beneath the cloth mask. The memory once again came to mind, but it slid away before he could grasp it.
“See?” the man said softly, leaning closer. “You do know me.”
Merlin’s vision flickered, the tavern fading in and out like a dying candle. He tried to speak, but the words tangled on his tongue.
Merlin blinked hard, but the edges of his vision kept dimming.
The last thing he saw was the man's mouth curving into a sinister smile.
Arthur ran out of a tavern, stomping frustratedly at it being the wrong one.
Where is that idiot!?
He slammed open the door to the fifth tavern. The people looked at him, surprised to see the king at the entrance, standing there in such an informal manner.
"MERLIN!" He grumbled loudly, closing the door as he embarrassedly shuffled out.
Shuffling quickly to the next tavern (Wow. How did he not realise there were this many taverns in Camelot?), he grumbled about Merlin's annoying and extremely concerning drinking habit.
"Stupid Merlin and his stupid drinking problem..." He huffed, almost at the tavern.
Deciding to enter more regally unlike before, he politely opened the door (Without knocking, of course. He's the king! Kings don't need to knock on open establishments!).
"MERLIN!" In an unkingly manner (And forgetting that he decided to look more noble), he yelled for Merlin.
All eyes turned to the very mature king who was definitely not causing a huge ruckus about a very incompetent, silly servant. Those who worked in the castle, or had friends/family who told them about their work in the castle, immediately told those around them about how King Arthur would always cause a ruckus searching for his servant when he disappeared and that they shouldn't panic.
A stumbling, woozy Merlin saw his king and fell onto him.
"Arthur! Hiiii~ You're alivee!!!" He giggled, tripping and falling in Arthur's arms.
"Merlin? Are you drunk!?" He demanded, glancing all over Merlin's body to make sure he didn't get involved with any tavern brawls.
"Drunk?? Whatttt... No wayyy... I didn't have a sip of alcohol!" He grinned, glacing up at him.
Arthur stared into Merlin's eyes for a bit. They had a shining glint of playfulness and joy, it was... beautiful. Enchanting even.
Shaking his head to snap out it, he frowned, "Merlin. Tell me honestly, did you drink any alcohol at all?"
"Nope! I did eat some weird peanuts that a weird cloaked guy gave me though... No alcohol at all! Don't worry Arthy~" He giggled again, slurring his words a bit.
"What did just call me?" He asked distracted by the new nickname, noting the 'weird cloaked guy' into his mind for later.
"I didn't drink any alcohol, Arthy!"
Slightly blushing, he said "Don't call me that, Merlin! I'm the king!"
"Sorryyy, my lord, Arthy~"
Arthur sighed and placed his arms around Merlin’s shoulders, keeping him steady in case he suddenly fell. A crowd began to grow, enclosing them. Arthur looked around for the exit, then started to push through the people as he found the door.
”No…stop!” Merlin yelled, immediately stopping in his tracks, causing Arthur to fall forward.
The citizens were suddenly pushed back by a hallucinating Merlin. Arthur gave Merlin a concerned and suspicious look. Why was Merlin using his magic?
"Don't hurt my king... I won't let you..." He hissed glaring at the people.
"Merlin! You..."
"You is safe from the mean bandits and monsters... Ah! Noooo... More monsters are hereee!"
"MERLIN!" Grabbing Merlin's wrist, he pulled him towards the castle.
"Nooooooo... I need to keep you safe by getting rid of the monnnsterrssss!" He slurred words.
"... We'll be safe at the castle, let's go. Together."
"But..."
"No buts! This is a command from your king! We'll be safe there. Trust the knights to get rid of the threat!" He played along with Merlin’s hallucinations, hoping Merlin would follow him out of the tavern as he walked in that direction.
It worked, until Merlin tripped over a loose plank of wood and bonked his head on the floor, knocking him out. Arthur groaned, then walked back and lifted Merlin into his arms, bridal style.
Arthur adjusted his grip, muttering under his breath as he started the long walk back to the castle.
“Honestly, Merlin… you couldn’t just stay put for one evening, could you?”
Merlin, of course, remained completely unconscious, head lolling against Arthur’s shoulder like a particularly useless rag doll.
Arthur sighed, long and dramatically, then tightened his hold. He did some more complaining as they walked through the village.
He rode his ‘borrowed’ horse back to the castle, ignoring the confused looks he received as he passed by.
Merlin woke up feeling like shit.
His head ached for some reason (he had no clue what that was about), his throat tasted like vomit, his nose was filled with the disgusting stench of bile, and his stomach… oh his stomach! It felt like he’d been turned inside out!
He gingerly opened his eyes, then immediately closed them as bright lights pierced through his eyelids, making his sore head throb.
Merlin groaned and rolled onto his side, instantly regretting it as his stomach lurched in protest. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Whatever he’d eaten (or whoever he’d met) had clearly decided to ruin his entire existence.
He cracked one eye open again, slower this time, squinting at the blurry shapes above him. The ceiling looked vaguely familiar. Gaius’s chambers? Maybe? Hopefully? He couldn’t tell; everything felt like it was vibrating.
“Ugh…” he muttered, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. “What happened…?”
A chair scraped nearby.
“Oh, look who’s finally awake,” Arthur’s voice said. It was far too loud, far too smug, and far too close for Merlin’s throbbing head.
Merlin winced. “Arthur… why are you yelling…”
“I’m not yelling,” Arthur snapped, absolutely yelling. “You scared half of Camelot and nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Merlin blinked up at him, confused. “I did… what?”
Arthur crossed his arms, cape swishing dramatically. “We’ll discuss it when you’re not… whatever this is.”
Merlin groaned again and turned away. Arthur took a seat on the bed beside him, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. Merlin felt the warmth of him there which was annoyingly comforting, and buried his face in the pillow.
“Fantastic,” he muttered.
Arthur’s face turned to one of concern. “Who gave you the drug?” He wondered, knowing full well in his heart that he would hunt down the man that gave the magic mushrooms to Merlin and make sure they’d never see the light of day again.
Merlin felt uncomfortable. He glanced at Arthur, a faraway look in his eyes. “Just somebody that I used to know. They’ve changed. A lot.”
Arthur didn’t feel satisfied with that broad answer, but he decided to take it easy on Merlin day.
Merlin’s face suddenly shifted to a very concerning and sickening shade of green.
“Oh no-” Arthur panicked.
Too late.
Merlin lurched forward, and Arthur’s expression went through several stages of disbelief in rapid succession. Whatever happened next left Merlin looking relieved and Arthur looking like the universe had personally wronged him.
There was a long, stunned silence.
“…Are you serious,” Arthur whispered, staring down at himself.
Merlin flopped back onto the pillow with a tiny, exhausted sigh, as if he were the one who deserved sympathy.
Arthur blinked. Then he dragged a hand down his face.
“I rescue you,” he muttered, voice cracking with outrage, “I carry you all the way back to the castle, and this is how you repay me.”
Merlin made a faint noise that might have been “sorry,” or might have been “sleep,” or might have been nothing at all.
Arthur glared at him anyway… but the glare softened almost immediately. He reached out, hesitated, then brushed a bit of hair off Merlin’s forehead with a sigh he hoped sounded annoyed.
“…You’re impossible,” he murmured, far too gently for someone pretending to be angry.
Merlin didn’t respond, already drifting back into unconsciousness, but he leaned ever so slightly toward Arthur’s hand.
Arthur froze.
Then, quietly, almost to himself:
“…Idiot. Don’t scare me like that again.”