Story [Merlin] Diplomatic Immunity (Merlin, Arthur) - Complete

Merlin hated waking up like this, muddled, knowing that there was something to do and little time to do it but without the slightest idea of what it was. He was laying on something hard, in a large echoing space and he could hear arguments in the distance, too faint to be heard. It didn't help that his throat felt twice its size, bruised and raw, or that one side of his face was numb.

Brene was leaning over him, her worn face scowling in concern or maybe annoyance, it was hard to tell. Her voice whispering something he didn't quite catch but he noticed her fingertips were covered in poultice paste; somehow the smell reminded him of Arthur and injuries and oh....

He sat up so quickly, his head collided with her chin. A mutual exclamation of surprise; she jolted back, holding one side of her face with a green-smeared hand; his was less painful but he suspected that would not remain so once the medicine's effects wore off.
Ready to go to battle with Talisen if necessary, he forced himself to stand, or rather try to stand. The room was twisting, a sickening whirlwind of walls and ceilings. He grabbed the edge of the table, taking in deep breaths, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Brene was murmuring something about taking it slowly, that Gaius would be there presently, about how the guard had been over-zealous and that there was time enough for recovery.

But she was wrong. There was no time.

He tried to speak but it took all his concentration just to stand there. The wood was solid under his hand, and it helped in the battle with his own weakness. The room was still moving but less so, not nightmarishly fast as it had been but slow enough that Merlin thought he might be able to walk and not fall on his face. It didn't help that the air was as heavy as boulders, scraping down his throat and grinding into hurt somewhere in his chest; it was almost too much effort to breathe.

"Have?," Rough pain clawed at him, muscles constricting when he tried to speak. He shoved past it, desperate to know what had been going on in the minutes, hours, days since he'd been unconscious. He rasped out, "The fireballs?" Another step, he reached out and shook her arm. "Have they? stopped?"

She gave his hand a reassuring pat. "Emrys, the bombardment hasn't stopped but we've slowed it down considerably. And," she continued before he could interrupt, "the fireballs, mostly stone now that we are conserving the oil, are only going about a hundred feet in at most. Not past the ridge where you said Pendragon was heading."
"Not? enough." Even half-whispering, the reproach in his voice made her recoil.

"It is enough for now, Emrys." Jerking away from his grip, she said sharply, "You should remember your place here. The fact that Pendragon's troops found us so easily and so soon after you returned from Camelot does not speak well of you. In fact, it is highly suspicious."

"I didn't?." Before he could finish, his chest spasmed and he started to choke, gasping for air. Luckily the table was still there. Hands splayed across it to keep him from falling, and there was something hard and wet pressed up against his lips. The scent of water and moisture cool across his mouth, he grabbed the goblet and drank, greedily, desperately, hoping to quiet the cough.

"Take it slowly or you'll make it even worse." There was a touch of affection there but it soon melted into concern. The measuring gaze she sent him was worrying. He must have looked pretty bad to warrant the deep frown on her face, may even be worse off than he thought. His chest still hurt; he had to wonder if something was broken after all. He knew there would certainly be boot-shaped bruises marring his chest.

At least the pain from the shallow wound on his arm and the burns scattered on his hands and wrist had dulled to an ache and could be ignored for now. He didn't even want to think about the gash on his face; he could feel the edges of the poultice pulling on his skin and the numbness there. It did not bode well.

Brene shook her head, watched him. "Sometimes, I think you are ca

 

Sorry it has been so long since I replied to this, but I am surfacing from DRL long enough to do so. I know this is hard for Merlin. Though he is a sorcerer and still deeply values Arthur as a friend, he really doesn't belong in either world. Hopefully that will change and Arthur will truly see that Merlin is still there as a friend.

I see that Gaius is still trying to guide Merlin and save him from himself.

I love Nimueh and how calculating she is. I suppose see didn't see the crystals coming and it will only fuel her anger that Merlin got his way. Not good that she is after Arthur right now.

 

Hi Magier, sorry I didn't see your reply. I've been buried as well and it doesn't look like it will get any better any time soon. Yes, Merlin has a lot of problems going into this. Hopefully he will come out better for it. Thanks!

---

The air was clotted with ash. Already collapsed into dead limbs and black smoke, the trees stood there, still-warm sentries to the devastation hatred had wrought. Small flashes of light, flame smouldered low, huddled among the rocks and the cinders, evidence of a massive conflagration that had burned itself out in the last few minutes. The smell still lingered, wood consumed to nothing, a scent of scorched pine and dead leaves, of steam and cooked meat catching at his throat.

Merlin was still weak from the visions, his chest hurting more and more. There must have been bruising or perhaps a rib was broken but he couldn't think about that now. Nimueh was there somewhere, looking for Arthur. That had to be his first priority. Anything else would have to wait.

He'd landed on the shore side of the ridge, not far from where he'd last seen Arthur but there was no sign of him now nor of any of the injured knights. Off to the left, bones and fire-scorched armour told him that the Camelot forces hadn't had time to remove all of the bodies before the flames overwhelmed them; they'd likely have retreated in the face of such destruction. In any case, he doubted that they would have done anything about the sorcerers' remains, even if they had had time.

So much waste. So many lives torn apart by greed and grief and the mad cravings of power. So many. He still could not understand how it had come to this, that Nimueh would be willing to sacrifice everything to gain command and for what? To rule Camelot? To make others into puppets? Or was she so afraid of losing anyone else that she'd try to control everything?

Madness indeed.

Shaking his head to clear it, he hurried toward the ridge, listening for footsteps or arguments or pain-torn shouts. Nimueh had had a head start and he didn't believe for a second that she'd wait before she'd try and kill Arthur.

A crunch of burnt wood under his feet and the slap of leather against stone, another crack as a tree limb tumbled down. Ignoring the burns on his hands and his cheek pulling pain across his face, the ache that breathing brought to his chest, he scurried up the rock that separated the blackened desolation of the shoreline from greener things just beyond the rise. He tried to be as quiet as he could. He didn't want to alert Nimueh of his arrival.

As he tumbled over the stones, reaching the top of the ridge, in the distance, he could hear the faint sounds of disagreement, rapid and heated, and steel against wood. There, off to the left, he could see the place where the Camelot troops were camped, a stony clearing easy to defend and protected from the fires by large swaths of rock. They seemed to be hurrying around but not acting as if anything were amiss. Rather they looked busy setting up defences and taking care of the wounded.

Arthur was nowhere in sight.

Damn fool. He'd bet his last farthing that Arthur was out doing something heroic and leaving himself wide open to attack. Merlin had told him to be careful, not to go acting like he was invincible ? because he wasn't.

Now, there was nothing to do but try to find the king and hope Nimueh hadn't found him first.
Scrambling down the other side of the ridge, focused on the encampment, carefully protecting his still-aching chest but hurrying as best he could, he almost missed it. A rift in the rock, a small space with high walls, smoky and hidden and beyond he could hear the echo of Nimueh's voice, mocking and so very sure of herself.

"Such a pathetic fool. Hardly worthy of your father."

Heart in his throat, he realized that he was already too late. She must have found Arthur and from the way she was talking to him, it sounded like they were alone. The king was in danger and it would appear that no one else knew or else the ones guarding him were injured or dead.

For a moment

 

Exploding rock, boulders, fist-sized stones and dust peppered the air, rising up high and then down, down, down toward them. Death plummeting in a rush of crumbling cliff. In the distance, he could hear her laughing but it didn't matter. He was too busy trying to keep Arthur alive to retaliate.

Wild magic took over, instinctual, a shield that wavered then held, clear-bright in the dirty blast, keeping the largest rocks from crushing them.

But some things still got through. A sharp pain at his temple and a dozen hits pocked his skin, one opening again the wound on his face, sending agony across his cheek. Sweat and blood soured his mouth. Coughing from the dust and his chest spasming uncontrollably, he could hardly breathe.
Beside him, when he was finally able to shove aside the pain, he could see Arthur's face bloodied, his armour dented and he was staggering a bit. Not good.

"Merlin?!" Arthur's voice was roaring sharp. Worry, confusion, rage in a single word.

Starting to turn, he could hear Nimueh chanting again, see her standing there power-mad and smirking satisfaction as she sent another wave of magic toward the cliff face. "Ábríeteaþ cleofu!"

There was a sickening crack and a wall of stones came down, faster, larger, more deadly. An avalanche and Merlin scrambled out of the way, pulling Arthur with him but he caught the tail end of it, rocks thudding against his back, against his legs. Pain blossomed in his chest, a sea of agony, bruises and if his ribs weren't broken before, he was sure they were now. There was a line of fire down one calf but he ignored it. He blinked back tears, tried to stifle a cry and Arthur was yelling at him.

Things began to grey, black tingeing the corners of his eyes but he shook it off. He knew if he failed now, they would both die and he'd be damned before he'd let that happen.

A trickle of something slid down his face and he swiped at it, his hand coming away bloody. A moment to look at it, stunned and unbelieving and then movement caught his eye. Arthur stalking forward, swinging his sword like a crazed man. The idiot. Taking on Nimueh by himself and Merlin knew he'd only get killed in the process. Nimueh knew it, too.

Amused, toying with them both, she just backed up, all the while gesturing Arthur to attack, leading him into a trap.

But Merlin couldn't allow that to happen. Gathering power, funnelling the pain into a place he'd ignore for now and pay the price later, using his body as a vessel, he shoved magic outward. The boulders were rising, hovering just out of reach and then he thrust the rough stones toward her, shouted words of power. "Bregdan snyringas!"

She must have realized what he was about to do. "Onswífaþ!" Hand flung up, she pushed the rocks up and over, let them explode onto the cliff face behind her.

As the dust parted around her, her hair wild about her face, she seemed almost eager to play.
But as Nimueh turned toward Merlin, getting ready for another onslaught, there was a flash of metal streaking toward her. She ducked, suddenly furious, as the knife embedded itself in the cliff wall. Arthur had tried to kill her while her focus was on Merlin.

She wouldn't let it pass. Shoving her hand forward, Arthur was flying high into the air, tumbling head over heel, armour clanging against the wreckage of rock and dust and falling back toward the bodies of his dead knights. Unmoving as the corpses around him, one arm flung out still holding his sword.

"Arthur!" Merlin was shrieking his name, started to turn but Nimueh was there again.

A sudden blossom of fire gathered in her hand and she flung it toward him. Agony flaring in his chest as he jerked out of the way, he barely managed to avoid the fireball as it tumbled past. It blasted against the rock face, sending sparks and half-molten rock outward; above, a lone bush, perched on the edge of the cliff, burst into flame.

Merlin twisted around, began to stagger left, away from Arthur's still unmoving body. If he was alive, he gave no sign. Merlin didn't want to think about w

 

He woke by stages or at least he thought it was stages. In his mind, there was pain and a foggy confusion, hiding in the corners and crevasses and deep cracks, muddied, black and red and sometimes a golden shade, the colour of ripened wheat or sunshine. And there were smells: comfrey and honey, burnt pine and putrid flesh, ash clogging his throat and grief, too. Although he didn't think grief could smell but his mind was? not exactly aware. The black would sweep in, a thought broken in half and he'd never get to the end of it.

Sometimes he'd dream, of pain and fire, his body writhing at the flames swept over him, screaming until his voice was raw. Ghosts of things he'd done, Nimueh falling to bits, the sound of a sword cutting through flesh, and Arthur looking at him and walking away and it would grow and grow, the heat until he'd thought he'd die of it. A cool hand was all that kept him there, sword-roughened fingers soothing his face, the glint of golden hair and a sigh like sorrow.

And then he'd wake again, each time his mind a little clearer perhaps, although the smells didn't change or the grief.

It was confusing.

When he finally regained consciousness enough to be aware, this time more clear-headed than the last, a thousand questions pressed in and none that made any sense. For one thing, he wasn't even sure he was alive. He hadn't expected to be, not after? well, he hadn't expected it. But an afterlife wouldn't include pain clawing behind his eyes, or a bladder that needed emptying, would it? Then again, he'd never been dead before. Perhaps this was part of his punishment.

Or it could be that he'd survived after all.

Twisting around, he looked to see if he could figure out just where he was and maybe get some of those questions answered and a chamber pot, too. But he found out ? very quickly - that twisting or doing anything but lying there wasn't a good idea. His head felt like it was about to explode, his chest, wrapped in bandages, was slowly edging into agony and it hurt to breathe.

He sank back down into the cot, groaning out the pain. It took a while, red agony seeping back into white ache and then a buzz of something behind his head, going muzzy again as he started to drift off. He was almost willing to think about the curious numbness on his cheek and he couldn't feel his shoulder at all but then again he was edging into sleep. His eyelids were so incredibly heavy and he wouldn't have to deal with pain or thinking or?.

The next time he woke, there was movement just beyond the tent and he was blinking sleepily toward it. Behind him, out of his line of sight, someone was mumbling about poultices and idiot sorcerers and it sounded like Gaius. Which didn't make sense since Gaius should be at the Isle and not in a red tent.

A red tent. His mind still muzzy, it looked like he was in some kind of alcove, the hangings beside him drawn back slightly. Beyond there was a table, covered with parchments and books, and more cots lining the far wall. A banner, hanging near the doorway, large with the Pendragon crest stitched in gold. Fine linens covering him and a warm woven blanket, far softer than he'd ever owned.

A royal tent. Arthur's.

That jerked him out of the disconcerting haze that befuddled his mind. He needed to know what happened, whether Arthur had survived.

Croaking out sound, his mouth full of ash, he managed to say, "Ar?thur?."

Gaius's beloved face swam into view and he looked furious and as displeased as Merlin has ever seen him. There was suddenly a flask of cool water splashing against his mouth and Merlin licked at it, let some dribble in, focusing on swallowing and not on the daggers his old mentor was sending him.

"You are a complete idiot going off with injuries like that."

Gaius's frown deepened but instead of letting Merlin say anything else, he lifted the flask again, urging him to drink a little bit deeper this time. The old man was watching him, too, professional hands holding him up enough so that he wouldn't choke, but his mouth was crabbed with annoyance. It didn

 

Loved it!

 

Thanks so much, aeternium!

 

That was wonderful. I loved how Arthur wasn't going to allow Merlin to protect him. That is just like Arthur. I also loved Gaius fussing over Merlin. Arthur and Merlin are a good team.

 

Magier,

Thanks so much. Merlin and Arthur were just a joy to write! I'm glad it worked and that the whole thing was sparked at jello anarchy.