Well, I guess this makes my first fanfiction. I hope you guys enjoy! This popped into my head while watching the Tears of Uther Pendragon... I suppose that's a given, considering it takes place in that episode. ^-^'

Summary: Kilgharrah warned him that he was not fully healed, but Merlin didn't listen. Ever the hero, he ignored his lingering pain, and suffered the consequences. AU to episode 3x02, "The Tears of Uther Pendragon."

Warnings: Whump. I consider it light, but just to be safe. No slash, as I prefer the things that stick true to Arthurian Legend.

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin... Believe me, if I did, it would've had a better ending.

Chapter 1

Despite the fact that he was taking the shortest route to Prince Arthur's chambers at an agonizingly slow pace, a cold sweat was beginning to form on Merlin's brow, his raven black hair clinging to his sallow skin. He was quickly becoming painfully aware that Kilgharrah may have been right when he warned that the serket's venom had yet to leave his system. Damn that dragon and his apparent omniscience.

He kept to the most unused of the passages, though at this hour it was unlikely that he would encounter many people, including servants. When Kilgharrah had delivered him to the forest just outside of the palace, the world was still covered by the blanket of night; in fact, even now, after removing the mandrake from Uther's chambers and "neglecting" to tell Gaius of the serket sting, it wouldn't be time to take the Prince's breakfast for another couple of hours. In his current condition, it wasn't too difficult to acknowledge that it might just take him that long to make it to prat's chambers.

By the time he did reach the large wooden doors of Arthur's chambers, any strength given to him by adrenaline had long snice faded away. He leaned with his back against the cold stone wall, his breath coming out in the form of something akin to panting and droplets of sweat rolling down his flushed cheeks. The dull pain from the wound on his back had multiplied tenfold, throbbing with his far too rapid heartbeat. He stood with his eyes closed just long enough for his breathing to even out. With the sleeve of his jacket, he attempted to wipe the sweat off his forehead, then pushed himself off the wall. He eyed the chamber doors wearily; he knew that opening them in his current state without keeling over was unlikely, however opening them with magic would most likely serve to exhaust him further.

Shaking his head and steeling his nerves, he unlocked the door with a small flash of gold in his normally azure eyes and pushed it open with both hands. Once inside he took a deep breath and strode across the room to the window as though he hadn't been dying in a pile of leaves the other day and he flung open the curtains. As the morning sun flooded the room, a dull throbbing sensation formed beneath his temples, and he turned on his heals to avoid looking into the light. As he turned, the cheery and purposefully annoying morning greeting that he had prepared died on his tongue as he took in his surroundings.

He was gone two days, but judging from the room one would guess that he had been gone for at least a month. Various articles of clothing lied strewn about on the floor, and to be honest it was a bloody miracle he hadn't tripped over one of them. The table near the door had a stack of plates disproportionate to the number of meals Prince Clotpole would've eaten in Merlin's absence, and several goblets sat perched in precarious places around the room.

Forget Uther, "What the bloody hell happened?!" Merlin asked as the Prince moaned and shifted in his bed.

At the sound of Merlin's voice, his body shot upright. "What happened?" he asked incredulously, anger tinging his words as he pulled back the covers. "I've had to make do without a servant, that's what happened!"

The manservant looked around the room, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "I wasn't gone for that long!"

Arthur shot him a glare as he pushed himself into a full sitting position. As Merlin started to slowly pick up the Prince's clothes and drape them over his arm, hiding his grimace as a wave of pain shot through his back with every movement, the Prince added, "Without my permission!"

Merlin shot him a glare of his own. "What if I was dying?" he asked humorlessly.

"I wouldn't be complaining!" Arthur shouted. He took a breath before adding, "But you're not, so where've you been?"

The warlock stood straight, looking thoughtful for a moment before saying with complete seriousness, "I was dying."

The Prince shook his head in exasperation. "I don't have time for this." He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood, his face the very picture of an aggrieved toddler. "The future of the kingdom rests on my shoulders. Do you have any idea what that feels like?"

Oh, the things I could tell you... Despite the fact the question was rhetoric, he started, "Well..."

"Merlin!" Arthur cut him off, turning to glare at his manservant once more and crossing his arms. "I should have you thrown in the dungeons, you know." A pause. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

The warlock pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. After a moment, he nodded and looked the Prince in the eye. "You've not had your breakfast this morning, have you?"

"...Breakfast?!" Big mistake. There was a glint in his eyes as the Prince shouted, "I'll have you for breakfast!" He grabbed the nearest object on his nightstand-a rather expensive looking goblet-and launched it at Merlin, who, being used to the prat's moods, deftly ducked out of the way.

There was a stabbing pain in his lower back, but he simply shrugged it off and decided to push the Prince further with a loud, "No wonder this place is such a mess!" He ducked just in time to avoid another projectile, a plate which clattered to the floor. "Oh, yes, I can see you've got all the makings of a great king!"

He turned to leave, not noticing the Prince as he threw one last dishware at his retreating form. Apparently, all of the Prince's target practice had paid off, for he hit his mark: Merlin's back.

Suddenly, Merlin let out a shriek of pain and fell to his knees. The pain was almost unbearable, but he screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to ride it out. Of course he would hit the wound... Of course, he thought over the blood rushing through his ears. He couldn't hear anything. His hands clutched feebly at his back, futilely trying to force the metaphorical fire on his back to abate. He couldn't help the whimper that escaped his lips as he felt himself tip over and hit the hard stone floor. Distantly, he thought he heard someone calling his name. At first, they sounded angry. Must be Arthur... he thought absently.

A hand grabbed onto his shoulder and started shaking him, continuing to call his name over the whimpers of pain their actions were inciting. Slowly, he opened his eyes to find himself in a fog. His eyes rolled around frantically, searching for the owner of the voice and the hand so he could tell them to sod off and let him rest for just a moment. His eyes found a pair of cerulean eyes filled with thinly veiled concern. He mumbled something intelligible, even to his own ears, before closing his eyes and falling into oblivion.

Well, that's the first chapter I suppose. Should this be continued? If I do continue, I'd like to point out that I have absolutely no idea where this is going. XD I most likely will, and hopefully I can update around volunteering and school... and work, if I ever manage to find something. .

Anyways, thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think!

Best Wishes,

~Pandora