Merlin What to Do

**Summary:** Arthur and Merlin are out hunting when a group of bandits attack. Arthur gets a knock on the side of the head that will change his life forever. What to do when the savior of Camelot has brain damage. Merthur. Rated T for occasional profanity and violence in battle sequence

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing! The characters in this story are the property of BBC. Well, not really… I mean, technically, these characters belong to Geoffrey of Monmouth and are from _Historia Regun Britanniae _and various sources of English, Irish, and Welsh folklore_. _Either way, I own nothing.

**A/N:** This story is set somewhere in the haze between seasons 2 and 3, while Uther is still king. I originally got the idea for this in psychology lecture, where we're learning about physiology and the brain. I have done plenty of research and so the information on brain damage is as accurate as I can manage.

My main reason for writing this is because I don't think that it's been done before with _Merlin _and I want to explore how the interactions between characters will be affected. I am a psychology major who knows that brain problems are no laughing matter, and I hope you do too. And yet don't worry, I'll do my best to make sure this story doesn't get too heavy. Thanks and enjoy!

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"_Mer_lin. When you invite a man hunting you can't just lag behind. You're supposed to be out in front to surprise the animals _ahead _of me, not to startle the ones I've already slain, you dolt!"

Merlin shrugged, unconcerned, but he did make an effort to tread faster. Oh, alright, to stroll faster. He really didn't mind the view of the prince's back muscles as they strained through his shirt, or the strong shoulders that just radiated power. Besides, they had been out in the woods for several hours now with nothing more to show for it than one wolf which had already been crippled. Merlin sighed and picked up his pace.

Crisp, pale light filtered through from the treetops as Merlin crunched through the dead leaves, making as much noise as possible. The long stick grasped in his right hand half-heartedly batted at nearby branches, in hopes of startling a deer or boar. He hated hunting. There was no joy for him in startling a poor beast from its home only to cruelly slaughter it. But Arthur greatly enjoyed hunting, and so Merlin was more than happy to oblige him. Well, maybe not happy, but definitely willing. He didn't want to leave Arthur exposed in the woods, especially with the rumors of a violent magical beast in the area.

Rumor was that the countryside was harboring a sorceress who commanded a dappled grey stallion that bore much resemblance to a griffin. The beast had a strong eagle's beak; wings adorned with ash-hued feathers, and clawed feet with diamond sharp talons. When the reports had first reached Camelot it was Gaius who confirmed the creature to be a hippogriff, the offspring of a horse and griffon. Hunleff, or "nightmare" as the hippogriff had fearfully been dubbed by nearby villagers had likely been sired by the griffin which had attacked Camelot a few years ago. Hunleff had been raised by a sorceress who, previously insignificant, now posed a great and impending threat to Camelot.

Uther responded as usual, dispatching all of Camelot's able knights to patrol the forest and search nearby villages for the sorceress and her dread Hunleff. So far very little evidence had been found; for she was an expert at covering her tracks and blackmailing witnesses into silence. Arthur had led innumerable patrols in the past fortnight to find the unnamed sorceress and her charge. As time passed, Merlin had noticed that Arthur's rude quips and friendly shoves had transformed into silence and sullen brooding. He needed a break from the duties of being a prince and the search for the hippogriff. And that was why Merlin had suggested this blasted hunting trip. Despite the warlock's hate of the sport, it was plain to see that Arthur never made as many demeaning remarks nor laughed as often as he did after a successful hunt. Besides, Merlin liked Arthur best when he had his weapon in hand, acting like the hero he was destined to be.

Of course, with the threat of the bandits there were no other knights that could be spared for the hunting trip. But Merlin was confident that he could protect his prince from any danger that might develop.

_His _prince. Merlin liked the ring of that. Arthur was his to protect. His to guide. His to _serve. _If only the prince could be _fully_ his_: _his to comfort, his to console, his to love. But of course it could never be. Arthur was not just a man, but also the 'once and future king'; and besides the damn fool only had eyes for Gwen. It was both a curse and a blessing that Merlin's destiny was to safeguard the dollop-head for the rest of his life.

Merlin was startled from his thoughts by an abrupt rustling sound coming from a tree only eight paces away. _There. _Ahead and a bit to the left was a twelve-point stag with shoulders as wide as those of a small horse. Merlin was about to signal to Arthur but the prince had already noticed. He was carefully loading a bolt into his crossbow, all his attention to the prey ahead. Merlin froze, waiting with baited breath for Arthur to shoot.

_Fssshhhhwww! _

All Merlin saw was a flash of silver as the throwing knife whipped past his head, implanting itself into the trunk of a nearby tree. That was all the warning Merlin and Arthur got when the bandits attacked.

They arose, seemingly from the ground itself, only 15 paces away. Merlin did a quick count; there were about 15 bandits armed with a combination of swords and clubs. _And throwing knives – just perfect._

Arthur quickly shot the closest bandit through the heart with the crossbow before casting it aside and drawing his sword. Merlin hurriedly ducked behind a tree and watched as the prince disarmed a swordsman before neutralizing another with a quick elbow to the nose. Just then Merlin noticed something odd.

One of the bandits was hanging back, pulling something from a hip scabbard. Merlin didn't think. His eyes transformed to liquid gold and the bandit tripped; throwing knife still in hand. Quickly Merlin intoned the words of the old tongue, his eyes flashing gold as a giant oak tree fell, pinning two unlucky bandits under it and blocking five others from reaching Arthur. That would give them some time.

Meanwhile, with the help of his horse Arthur was holding his own and had dispatched yet another bandit. Just then, Merlin heard a war cry and hastily blocked a sword with his thin hunting stick which collapsed under the blade immediately. He threw the pieces of the staff at the man as the bandit swung his sword in a side arc that Merlin barely dodged. He grappled for the knife at his hip as he continued to dodge the outlaw. _The damned thing is stuck! _Merlin tried running around, the tree, but the bandit predicted his movements and tripped him, holding his sword high, preparing for a cut that Merlin could not hope to avoid.

Meanwhile Arthur had noticed what was going on and after a couple parries and well-aimed cuts at his current opponent; he hurried to Merlin's defense, parrying the cut and impaling the bandit attacking with quick efficiency. Merlin was about to thank him but then he looked beyond Arthur to discover that the five previously barricaded bandits had found a way over the tree trunk.

"Arth—"

Arthur swung around over his left shoulder, but not quickly enough to deflect the club from striking him just above his ear. He collapsed at Merlins feet. Then the whole world blurred. Gold was everywhere. Pain was everywhere. Merlin howled as the elements rearranged themselves. The ground suddenly started shaking and a fissure appeared where there was none before. Merlin barely noticed as the bandits tripped over vines and dead leaves; as they were pushed by a wave of air back into the crack, whose maw closed as the last bandit's head disappeared inside. Merlin didn't care because he didn't have time.  
He rushed to Arthur's side; checking his pulse as Gaius had taught him. There was a pulse, there was breathing. Merlin slapped him on the face a couple times, but no response. He quickly grabbed for his water skin, dribbling drops of water onto the prince's face. Still no reaction. Arthur would be fine. He had to be fine. Still, not one for taking risks Merlin dragged the prince over to his waiting horse and draped him over the saddle. Gaius would want to see him.

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**A/N:** Tell me what you think! Good, bad, constructive feedback? Sorry to say that I don't usually have patience for long chapters, so most of them will be about 800 words long. Besides that, I am probably going to end up being a weekly (at least) updater. Thanks for reading!


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Merlin, Drama, Hurt-Comfort