Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s the perfect opportunity.

Merlin would be out in the forest picking herbs for Gaius, completely alone. There would be no witnesses, so when, if his body is found it would be assumed that bandits had done it. No one would ever suspect Arthur’s own uncle. Still, normally Agravaine wouldn’t take such a risk, if it weren’t for how angry, how frustrated, how impatient Morgana was becoming, so much so that Agravaine was beginning to fear for his own life. Every plan, every meticulously thought out plan foiled and at the centre of it all was that stupid bumbling manservant.

He needed to be gotten rid of.

So he followed Merlin out into the forest, hatred boiling up as he watched from afar, Merlin humming a little tune, a guileless little smile on his too thin face as he enjoyed the sunshine and the fresh air. Agravaine’s grip tightened on his sword, clenching almost painfully. How such an idiot could be such a nuisance he didn’t know. Not that it would matter for much longer.

Agravaine crept up behind Merlin, sword drawn, as the boy is knelt on the ground, busy with his duty of slowly filling his basket with various flowers and plants. A loud snap from a twig underfoot and Merlin stills, starts to turn around, and Agravaine rushes forward.

There’s a soft whuff sound as all the breath is knocked out of Merlin, and he looks down at the sword tip poking out through his chest.

Agravaine pulls his sword back, Merlin being dragged back with it for a bit before it finally is free from his chest and he falls back onto the ground, his panicked eyes darting back and forth before settling on Agravaine standing above. It’s almost funny how shocked he looks, blood bubbling out of his mouth, and Agravaine smirks, leaning down to clean his sword off on Merlin’s shirt.

Agravaine leaves Merlin there on the ground, curled up and gasping in pain, and heads back to Camelot.

It’s late in the evening when Arthur storms up to him, brow furrowed with annoyed anger and what Agravaine knows to be well hidden concern, not that he would ever understand why Arthur cares so much about a servant.

“Uncle,” Arthur calls out and Agravaine turns to him with a smile. “You wouldn’t happen to know where my useless, good for nothing servant has gone off to, would you?”

Agravaine rearranges his face into a look of concern.

“Unfortunately I don’t,” he says. “Have you tried the tavern? You are always saying that he spends a lot of time there.”

Arthur throws his hands up in the air.

“Of course,” he says. “When I find him I am going to-” and he’s off, storming back down the corridor, muttering threats to himself. Agravaine has to fight to keep a smirk off of his face.

The next two days pass quickly, the passage of time marked by the increasing concern about the whereabouts of the wayward manservant, Arthur’s concern becoming less hidden, Gaius looking as if he has been aged even further by his own worry, and Agravaine starts to make plans to visit Morgana, to tell her of his success.

He’s needed at a council meeting, and as he enters the hall all thoughts of visiting Morgana are abruptly knocked out of his head, his mouth dropping open in an unflattering look of shock because there by Arthur’s side is Merlin. Merlin who should be dead but instead is standing there, living, breathing, healthy although rather pale looking.

“Are you alright, Uncle?” Arthur looks concerned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Agravaine stutters out a response, reassuring Arthur as best he can, all while Merlin watches him with a sort of wary amusement.

They all sit down for the meeting and Agravaine finds he can’t concentrate, his eyes constantly drifting over to stare at Merlin. How could it be possible to survive such a wound especially when left alone to bleed out in the woods? It couldn’t be possible, could it?

The only conclusion Agravaine can reach is that clearly he is dealing with more than just a simple servant.