Arthur covered his face with his hands and wondered if he could just quietly walk away and deny all knowledge of the situation. He took a few experimental steps backward. Merlin, being preoccupied with dropping crossbow bolts all along the grass, didn't notice.

"Arthur, how do I do this again?"

Arthur sighed and trudged back towards his idiotic servant. Finally, after the fifth hunt Merlin had ruined by running away from Arthur's prey rather than standing and shooting at it, Arthur had decided enough was enough. It was about time that Merlin learned how to do something.

After careful consideration, Arthur settled on the crossbow. Merlin would probably just stab himself or Arthur if he were given a sword, and Arthur did not want to risk the damage Merlin could do with a mace. Arthur had announced his intentions, collected Merlin and a crossbow, and taken him to the very edge of the castle grounds. If they got any closer to the castle proper, Merlin might shoot somebody.

Of course, that was what Arthur had thought before Merlin had gotten his hands on the crossbow. Now, he thought it would be something of a miracle if Merlin managed to load the crossbow, much less shoot anything.

"Just put the quarrel here," Arthur said wearily, taking the crossbow back from Merlin and demonstrating for what felt like the five hundredth time. "Then pull the string back, aim, and press this lever. It's really not that difficult."

Arthur loaded the crossbow, raised it, and fired at the target he'd set up for Merlin in a fit of unfounded optimism. Bullseye. Arthur sighed and handed the crossbow back to Merlin.

Merlin took the weapon, loaded the quarrel, drew the string back, and somehow dropped the bolt, the weapon, and the spare bolt on Arthur's foot. Arthur yelped and hopped backward, whacking Merlin on the back of the head.

"Not while I'm right here, moron! Don't aim the crossbow at anyone you don't want to shoot!"

Merlin colored and leaned down to pick up the crossbow. "I can think of worse things," he mumbled.

"What?" Arthur asked coldly, knowing perfectly well what Merlin had said.

"Nothing," Merlin muttered, glancing at his feet and looking somewhat embarrassed. Arthur forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. He wanted Merlin to learn something, something that would be useful and even enjoyable. He didn't want to make Merlin upset or embarrassed, no matter how infuriatingly bad he might be.

"Alright," Arthur said. "Let's...try this one more time."

"This is useless," Merlin grumbled as he started trying to fit the bolt back onto the bow. He sounded genuinely annoyed now, although Arthur wasn't sure whether it was at himself or the weapon or the practice or Arthur.

"Come on," Arthur said, working very hard to keep his voice even. "I...I know you can do this. You just need to...to focus a little more. One more try. Remember everything I've told you."

Arthur paused for a moment, watching Merlin fumble with the crossbow. He managed a strangled-sounding, "You'll definitely get it, I believe in you," and was a bit gratified when Merlin brightened slightly. He watched his servant manage to load the bow correctly, without a single piece of advice or instruction from Arthur, and then aim it at the target.

Arthur held his breath. Arthur was a fairly patient teacher, and while he wasn't sure he'd ever had a student that was quite as bad as Merlin, some of the knights really hadn't been much better than him when they'd started out, and Arthur had managed to help all of them. If, after all this, Merlin failed to even fire the crossbow, Arthur really wasn't sure what he would do.

Several things happened at once. Merlin fired the crossbow. The arrow stuck into the target, not the dead center, but close enough. Merlin and Arthur both gasped, and Merlin took an excited half-step backwards. And then the ground beneath his foot, which was only loosely packed dirt and small rocks, gave way. Merlin wasn't concentrating, and he slipped. His arm pinwheeled as he tried to keep his balance, but it was no use. He tumbled head over heels down a small gully, yelling faintly the whole way down.

Arthur ran to the top of the hill where Merlin had disappeared. Already he was trying not to laugh. Merlin had just looked ridiculous when he'd fallen, and the whole thing was so stupid. He'd been so excited about hitting the target one time that he couldn't even stand?

"Merlin?" Arthur yelled. "Are you okay down there?"

Merlin didn't respond. That was...maybe he was just too far away, and he couldn't hear Arthur calling. But still. Arthur picked up the pace, irrationally worried.

"Merlin?" Arthur skidded down the slope, looking frantically for his friend. He spotted a patch of blue at the bottom of the gully and ran towards it. Had Merlin somehow managed to knock himself out in the fall? Arthur was never going to let him live that one down.

"Merlin, are you-" Arthur broke off as he reached Merlin, who was starting to sit up.

"Ow," Merlin said shakily, his right hand going to his side and coming away bloody. Distantly, Arthur's brain processed that there was a crossbow bolt sticking through him.

"Merlin!" Arthur dropped to his knees beside Merlin and moved Merlin's hands away from the wound, gently but urgently. He needed to know how bad the injury was, if the arrow had hit anything vital. "Just let me see it."

Merlin obliged, dropping his hands and letting Arthur look at the crossbow bolt in his side. Arthur could hear Merlin's breathing, a bit uneven, but that could be put down to the pain and the shock of having just stabbed oneself with a crossbow quarrel, rather than any serious injury.

Sure enough, the arrow was at the very edge of Merlin's side, having pierced only the muscle, nothing important. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're alright," he informed Merlin happily.

"Funny definition you have of 'alright,'" Merlin answered, sounding slightly shrill. "There's an arrow through my side, in case you haven't noticed."

"You're right. We should get that out. On three, okay?" Arthur took hold of the arrow's shaft and waited for Merlin's nod.

"Okay," Merlin said reluctantly.

"One, two-" Arthur yanked the arrow back through Merlin's side as hard as he could.

"AAAAARGHHHH," Merlin howled. He clutched his side, gasping, blinking involuntary tears away from his eyes. "What- what happened to three?!"

Arthur never waited until three. In his experience (which, unfortunately, he had plenty of), it hurt far worse if you were expecting it beforehand. The first time he'd had battlefield triage for a dislocated shoulder, the medic had just forced his shoulder back in without even a count.

Merlin did not appreciate this explanation.

"You absolute arsehole," Merlin spat, still holding his hand to his side. His fingers were red now, as the blood began trickling through his hands.

Arthur thought it was best that he let that one go. "Let me see, Merlin."

"Stay away from me," Merlin said, although he didn't sound very angry anymore. Arthur thought he was probably just in too much pain. "Butcher."

Arthur shook his head slightly. "I'm saving your life," he said, keeping his voice even only because he knew Merlin was already stressed and in a fair amount of pain. He hoped he wasn't actually saving Merlin's life, he didn't even want to think about what he would do if the wound was too much worse than it seemed.

He untied Merlin's bandana with deft fingers and shoved it into Merlin's hand before he had time to protest. "Here," Arthur says. "Use this to stop the bleeding. Keep pressure on it."

Merlin twisted around to get an angle on the wound, then sucked in a sharp breath as that movement tugged at the inflamed skin around the puncture. He managed to get the wound mostly covered, letting the piece of cloth soak up the bleeding. Arthur adjusted his grip slightly, then nodded, satisfied.

"Why can't you do it?" Merlin whined. "It hurts to-" He cut off with a genuine gasp of pain, and Arthur gave him a bracing pat on the shoulder.

"You'll need me to help you walk," Arthur said matter-of-factly.

Merlin's face immediately scrunched up, and even though he was white with pain and a faint sheen of sweat covered his forehead, displeasure was written in every line. "I can walk on my own," he said. Arthur figured he meant it to come across caustic, but it ended up more petulant. Arthur just raised his eyebrows slightly.

Merlin heaved himself to his feet, still using one hand to hold the bandana over the still sluggishly bleeding wound. He looked pleased that he'd made it to his feet, but then he took one step forward and his right leg collapsed beneath him.

He stumbled hard into Arthur. Arthur had figured Merlin was probably starting to go into shock, and that he was probably weaker and shakier than he realized. He wasn't surprised his legs were too unsteady to support him, and he'd been ready to catch him if he fell. He looped one arm around Merlin's waist, which helped keep pressure on the wound. He braced the other hand on Merlin's chest.

"You need to work out more," he informed his servant. "You're too skinny."

Merlin frowned, but he seemed to be expending too much effort on walking to actually say anything, which was concerning to say the least.

"Let's get you back to Gaius's," Arthur told Merlin, half-carrying him forward another few steps.

Merlin frowned again and shook his head. "He's not here," he said. "Visiting...plague village."

Okay. That...wasn't a problem. Arthur could take care of something this small, he'd done it plenty of times before.

"Don't worry, Merlin. I know what to do," Arthur assured him, trying to make his voice sound as authoritative as possible.

"Oh, goody," Merlin muttered, sounding very much not reassured.

"You'll see," Arthur said absentmindedly, steadying Merlin as his servant lost his balance once again. "You're going to be just fine."

The trek back to Gaius's rooms had taken far longer than Arthur remembered it ever taking before. For one thing, after about ten minutes, Arthur somehow ended up practically carrying Merlin through the hallways of Camelot. He might look skinny, but he got heavy after a while.

And then, the walk took even longer because Merlin insisted on taking back hallways that he swore up and down were actually shortcuts. Arthur rather thought that Merlin was just embarrassed and didn't want to explain the situation to anyone, but he took the back hallways anyway. Shooting oneself with one's own crossbow was extremely embarrassing, embarrassing enough that Arthur was ashamed even to have seen it. Hopefully Merlin's inability wouldn't rub off on him.

They finally made it to Gaius's room and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. Merlin was beginning to look pretty rough. Arthur could feel his skin starting to go cold and slightly clammy, and he was a little paler than normal. Arthur knew that the quarrel hadn't hit anything important, but even so, Merlin was starting to worry him.

"Almost done," Arthur said with forced cheeriness, pushing open the heavy door to Gaius's chambers and dragging Merlin inside. Merlin stumbled alongside him, eyelids drooping slightly.

"Sit down here," Arthur told Merlin, lowering him gently to the cot beside Gaius's workbench.

"What are you going to do?" Merlin said. His voice was weak and exhausted, but still also somehow managed to be disdainful. "Gaius isn't even here."

"Hey," Arthur said. "This isn't my first time treating a wound like this. I have been seen battles you know."

Merlin narrowed his eyes slightly, but seemed too tired to argue. This was worrying, and Arthur set about searching through Gaius's herbs and potions, looking for anything that he recognized. There were a few herbs that Arthur was fairly certain he knew but under a different name. A quick smell had him even more certain he was right. Yarrow to speed healing, arnica to dull pain, goldenrod to prevent infection. A few other things that he was less certain of, but looked like something that Gaius might put onto a wound, or had some sort of label or instruction on the bottle that made Arthur think it was a good idea. Arthur shook small amounts of everything into a little bowl he found in the cupboard. Possibly something that was normally supposed to contain Merlin or Gaius's dinner, but what difference did that make, really?

"What are you doing?" Merlin asked weakly. Arthur turned back to look at him. He was starting to look really awful now. His hair was matted with sweat, his eyes glassy with pain and shadowed with dark rings. He really was quite pale, and since Arthur didn't think he'd lost that much blood, he was a little worried that his servant was starting to go into shock.

"I'm making something that'll make you better," Arthur said. "Just like you said."

Merlin made a muffled snorting sound that had Arthur concerned for a split second before he realized it was laughter. "You look like you're cooking."

Arthur graciously chose to ignore this, and spat into his bowl of herbs, using his finger to stir everything together. Merlin made a horrified squeak. "Now what are you doing?!"

"Mixing everything," Arthur said. "Take your shirt off."

"What?"

"I just need to get a good look at the wound," Arthur said. "And I don't want to ruin your shirt."

"You are not putting that...that stuff on my body," Merlin said angrily, tilting back in the chair as if hoping he could physically escape Arthur.

"I'm not letting you bleed to death," Arthur retorted. A tad overdramatic, yes, but he needed Merlin to listen to him. "Take your shirt off."

Merlin glared at him one more time for good measure and slowly took his shirt off, grimacing as he did so. The wound really wasn't that bad, just a small hole through the skin at Merlin's side. If Arthur could get the bleeding stopped, and protect against infection, Merlin was going to be just fine.

"Okay, I'm just going to put a little of this on it," Arthur said calmly, approaching Merlin rather as he would a skittish horse.

Merlin stared distrustfully at him, scooting further back on his seat. As Arthur drew closer, his nose wrinkled and he shook his head violently.

"Euchh, what is that? It smells absolutely foul, you're not putting that anywhere near me," Merlin said firmly, pushing his chair back towards the corner in an effort to escape.

It wasn't going to work. Arthur just kept walking, backing Merlin into a corner. Merlin looked up at him and shook his head defiantly.

"No. No way. Arthur, no." Merlin crossed his arm over his waist, effectively blocking Arthur's access to the wound.

So be it. Arthur sighed and flicked Merlin on the ear, hard.

"Ow!" Merlin's hand flew to his ear, and Arthur slapped his poultice onto Merlin's side. Ignoring Merlin's yelps of utter betrayal, Arthur calmly wound the bandage he'd found around Merlin's chest and tied it off.

"That should help stop the bleeding, as well as combat the pain," Arthur told Merlin.

Merlin sputtered. "Oh, it's clammy…."

"It's medicinal," Arthur corrected him.

"It feels like pond scum."

"Alright, it might be a bit clammy," Arthur conceded. "But it'll help."

"I hate you."

"Yes, yes," Arthur said impatiently. "Give it ten minutes. You'll see."

Merlin made an exaggerated face at Arthur and slumped backwards in his chair with a carefully cultivated air of martyrdom. He winced slightly theatrically, hand going to his side.

"If this stuff kills me, I'm going to find a way to haunt you."

"It's not going to kill you," Arthur said exasperatedly. "I've done this more times that I can count, and none of the people ever died. Well," he paused to consider, "a few of them died, actually. But not because of my herbs. For other, unrelated reasons."

Merlin didn't look particularly comforted. But Arthur knew it was just a matter of time until he was proven right. He watched as Merlin's face slowly relaxed, the lines of pain leaving his forehead. His breathing evened out. His hand had been clenched at his side, but he let it drop.

"It looks better," Arthur commented, almost laughing at the small, sleepy smile plastered on Merlin's face.

Merlin lifted his hand and peered down at the wound. "I think the bleeding's stopped."

"Of course it has," Arthur said. "You should be back to normal and ready to start polishing my armor again in no time."

Merlin groaned and started to heave himself to his feet. "You're right," he said. "I should...I need to…."

He wasn't quite as unsteady as before, but clearly still exhausted. The wound was better, but even just the act of standing had caused the color to drain alarmingly from his face.

"You're not going anywhere," Arthur said firmly. "Aside from your bed."

Merlin blinked at him with round, pained-looking eyes.

"I'm not a monster," Arthur burst out. "I'm not going to make you go back to work right after impaling yourself with a crossbow. Just get some rest."

"Al-alright," Merlin said. He sounded shocked and confused, like he expected this whole thing to be some kind of mean joke. Arthur watched him carefully, making sure he made it to his room intact. He was much better now that the bleeding was stopped, but a bad fall would still be, well, bad.

"And you can polish my armor tomorrow!" Arthur yelled. "And clean my boots! And wipe down the floor! And wash my sheets!"

Arthur heard something that sounded like a muffled, "yes, sire," but he didn't both making sure Merlin had heard. Arthur rather hoped his servant was already asleep.

His armor could wait.