Title: Cherology
Author: x_ritsuka_x
Fandom: BBC Merlin
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG for now. . .
Summary: Arthur finds something strange when out hunting.
Warnings: There will quite probably be boyshmut in future chapters, but for now it's pretty safe.
Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own Merlin in any way, shape or form.

Author's note: Holy crap an actual fanfic I deem worthy to post 8D

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Spring had always been a prosperous time for Camelot. There was always the right balance of sun and rainfall, so the crops grew strong and healthy and abundant. Sheep and cattle grazed in the fields, as their newborns skipped around them. The milk they produced was sweet and refreshing, and the wool and hair they had grown over the winter could be sheared and spun into yarns and fabrics for clothing and blankets.

Inside the walls, the stalls had opened once again. Their owners had used the winter as a time of production, to build and make new goods to sell; pottery and fresh and preserved produce on display, transactions once again taking place amongst the friendly banter.

Of course, it was not just Camelot that was benefiting from the warm air and pleasant showers of rain. The forests surrounding the mighty castle held far more precious treasures than the stalls. It was mating season. Hare and quail and deer were plenty, and this only lead to one thing.

Hunting.

Arthur enjoyed the hunt far more than any of his other duties. Hurtling over the fields on horseback, refreshing winds whipping his blonde hair from his face, the sun beating down to tan his skin and warm his muscles. And the forests themselves, green and fresh and new, teeming with life, insects and birds, the earthy scent and perfume of blooming flowers, the sunlight glittering on the dewdrops, casting rainbows across the knotted trunks of great oaks.

On a good day, he could take down a dozen hare, several quail, a few boar and perhaps a stag, if he got the timing right. And today was no exception. It had barely turned midday, and already his haul consisted of 4 rabbits, 3 pheasants and a doe, all strewn across the backs of the horses and knights accompanying him.

Arthur was currently ahead, stalking his ninth catch of the day. He had seen the ferns shift ahead of him and didn't want to let this one escape. It had looked large. The bushes rustled again and Arthur breathed as loud as he dared; to startle the creature now, while he was so close, didn't bear thinking about. This could be his prize catch, he would present it to the King, receive the praise he was so rarely given. He raised his crossbow, held his breath as he assessed the situation.

There were two ways he could go about this: 1) strike hard and fast; he'd have the element of surprise, but more speed=less accuracy, he might miss his target, or 2) slow and stealthy; the target wouldn't see him, but it may move away at any point and he could miss his chance if he wasn't ready.

He opted for the slow approach, skirting around the bushes and behind the trees, with all the power and grace and silence of a wildcat. Crossbow to shoulder, he took aim, his finger twitched on the trigger. The creature was in his sight, then it shifted and. . .

. . . and Arthur lowered his weapon, dropped it altogether and rushed forwards to where the creature lay. Except it wasn't a creature. It was. . . a boy? Curled up in the dirt, raven hair matted with twigs and leaves, skin as pale as ivory, bruises and scars littering the naked flesh of his back.

Arthur knelt by the boy, he was breathing at least, but Arthur couldn't take his eyes off of the bones that protruded from the boy's skin. He looked so delicate, so fragile as if the lightest gust of wind would blow his body away in a cloud of dust. Then he noticed the blood, small drops of dark red spattered across the boy's hands and face, smeared across his cheekbones. Arthur dared to stroke the boy's cheek, the blood remained. It was old. His brows knitted together. Just what had happened to this boy, how had he ended up here?

The knights and horses had caught up to him now, staring in awe at Arthur and the figure in the leaves. Arthur looked up at them, "Don't just stand there! Give me your cloak!" The knight did as he was told, and Arthur pulled the boy onto his lap, wrapping the soft red fabric around him. "Help me carry him." Another knight rushed to Arthur's aid, lifting the boy to his feet and across the back of a horse, Arthur mounted behind him.

He's not sure why, but Arthur felt a great need to protect this boy. The unusual circumstance of their meeting - well Arthur's finding – didn't seem to matter, nor did the fact that this boy could be anyone, anything. But the way Arthur's heart clenched as he wrapped one arm around the slender - no, skeletal, waist of the boy, he knew he had to protect him.

And with that, he caught the reins and thundered as fast as he dared back to Camelot.