53. Sickness
Title: Puretos
Author: manipulant, or B
Word Count: ~2600
Rating: PG
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur UST
Warnings: None. Well, semi-graphic depiction of someone getting a badass case of chills, but maybe only I find that traumatic? D:
Summary: Arthur gets a badass case of the chills and staggers to his trusty manservant for help. Arthur's definition of "help" in this instance does NOT include the phrase "personal space." Merlin totally, totally minds. Totally. >:|
Notes: Cliche fic is cliche. :D?
There's a crash in Gaius's laboratory on the other side of the door, and Merlin jolts entirely awake, fear choking him, making his skin tingle. He sits up on his cot and immediately shivers at the cold of the night, watching his breath condense into a small, fragile cloud in front of him. And then:
"Merlin?"
The door's cracked open, and Merlin squints in what little moonlight there is. He can barely make out a vague outline of Arthur, or what appears to be Arthur, shaking underneath quite a few furs and cloaks. "Arthur?"
The Arthur-outline sways, and slumps back against the door, closing it with a slam. "Took me ages to get down here," he hisses, shuffling forward a few steps, close enough that Merlin can see that 1. Arthur is glaring (as ever) and 2. Arthur's cheeks are far too flushed and his eyes are far too bright for him to be entirely well. "Tomorrow morning you're finding closer quarters."
Merlin huffs, an almost involuntary reaction at this point, before he remembers that Arthur really shouldn't be in his room. He glances over to make sure he hid The Book earlier that evening, and then back at the prince. "Whatever. What's wrong?"
Arthur squares his shoulders, or tries to, and sags underneath the weight of the fabric on his shoulders. Merlin's eyes have grown accustomed enough to the dark to see Arthur well enough, and to see that he's shaking. "...Arthur, are you all right?" he asks, startled at how concerned he is.
The prince pauses, and then shakes his head, his mouth settling into a thin, uncomfortable line. He takes in a shaky breath and then expels it, both of the boys wincing at how it rattles deep inside him. "It's. ...It happens sometimes," he tries to explain, taking another wobbly step forward before Merlin's surging out of his cot, sucking in a breath at the cold bite of the air as he comes forward to catch Arthur by the shoulders before he can fall.
"I'll get Gaius, let's just - "
"No! No, don't," Arthur snaps, and now that he's closer, Merlin can - god, Merlin can hear Arthur's teeth clattering together. "N-nobles from Tintagel are arriving tomorrow, they c-c-can't know."
"But - Arthur, I think your lips might be turning blue," Merlin points out reasonably, receiving another glare for his troubles. He sighs, and rubs Arthur's back distractedly as he tries to think of helpful things he could do. "Well, here, lie down," he offers, tugging Arthur further into the room, pushing him down onto the tiny cot and grimacing a little at the thinness of the blankets he drapes over the prince (he usually spells them warmer).
"It passes," Arthur promises, barely able to talk through his teeth chattering, through the way his entire body seems to be fighting against him, shaking so hard it's almost seizing. He gasps, winded, as another wave crashes over him, and curls into a pathetic little ball on the cot. Merlin's not entirely sure he didn't just hear a whimper, which is what decides him - he makes sure to drape the last blanket over Arthur's head and quickly moves over to the hearth, to where the fire is nothing but embers.
A small, whispered incantation later, the fire blazes back into life, sending heat into the small room. The light of the flames casts unsteady shadows on the walls and the shelves, and Merlin grabs the edge of the cot, dragging it screeching over the stones, closer to the hearth, til the bed is less than two feet away from the flames. "There. Better?"
The noise Arthur makes is one of vague approbation, and Merlin nods, relieved that he wasn't caught and that he'd been useful. "S'good."
"Let me go and wake Gaius, sire, he'd - "
"No," Arthur insists, pigheaded even during a ferocious bout of chills.
"Well, I can't really do much more for you, other than actually put you in the fire," Merlin snaps. "But if you think it'd help, by all means."
Arthur drags the blanket off his head (mussing his hair incredibly in the process), just enough to give Merlin a baleful look. And then he mumbles something, cheeks flushing even hotter. His eyes cut away nervously.
"Sorry?" Merlin asks, folding his arms in front of his chest, looking just as fiercely annoyed as Arthur does. Did. Til a moment ago.
"...needyoutogetintoo," Arthur mutters again, this time with his words vaguely discernible. Merlin's eyes widen, but then Arthur grunts like he's been punched and curls into himself so tightly that his mass in the bed appears to reduce by half. Merlin can see the blankets shaking.
Merlin sighs, but he's just not that cruel, and he can tell that Arthur is genuinely suffering - during daylight, such a set of circumstances would be cause for celebration, but now? Now he just leans down and tries to find the edge of Arthur's cocoon of blankets and furs and cloaks. After a minute of fruitless searching, he finally gives up and just tugs - ignoring Arthur's squawk as a few of the furs come loose enough that he can pull them fully away and settle gingerly into the cot, behind Arthur, bookending the prince between the fire and his manservant.
"Budge up a bit," Merlin orders, poking Arthur til he uncurls a fraction and allows Merlin a whole inch more. Frustrated, Merlin just mutters a couple of words he learnt last week and adds another foot of cot to his side, and then settles back into it, relieved. "All right?"
Arthur nods, the cloaks piled up near his head vibrating with the effort, but Merlin can tell he's lying - he's still shaking convulsively, though it sounds like he's trying to suppress his teeth clacking. Merlin frowns and insinuates a hand between the rest of the cloaks and furs and finds the familiar fabric of Arthur's shift, and hisses at the clammy heat roiling off of the skin beneath it. "You're burning up," he mutters, shifting closer, sliding his hand down to Arthur's bare arm, tsking at the gooseflesh he can feel.
"Freezing," Arthur protests, his voice clipped and harsh with the effort of speaking. "Put the blankets back," he orders, and Merlin considers obeying for a few seconds, before he has a better idea.
"Give me a moment," he says, tugging on the miles of fabric Arthur's swathed himself in, ignoring Arthur's whimpered protests til he manages to find Arthur himself, shaking even harder at the sudden draughts of frigid air. "Shh, here," he murmurs, not really bothering with something as stupid as self-consciousness, given the circumstances. He's pretty sure Uther will have him killed if Arthur dies on his cot, after all.
He finally manages to entirely untangle the knot of fabric from Arthur and shimmies closer, shushing Arthur as he gives another squawk, and trying not to take it personally as Arthur gives an all-over shiver as Merlin essentially spoons him, pressing the thin line of his chest to the prince's bulkier back. After a few nerve-wracking, breathless seconds, Arthur sighs and sinks back against him, and Merlin sighs as well and sets to putting the cloaks and blankets back to right.
He does let out a distressingly girly shriek when Arthur presses ice-cold feet to his legs, however. In front of him, Arthur's shoulders are shaking from what Merlin suspects to be laughter, and he grumbles and smacks Arthur's shoulder. "I should've just let you die," he mutters.
"Not dying," Arthur assures him, like it's supposed to make him feel better. "Better in the morning." And then his teeth clatter together so hard they threaten to leap out of his head, and he shudders and grabs Merlin's arm and tugs it across his chest, curling around it like it's a talisman, a token to help him win a duel. "God," he groans, the word wrenched out of him.
Merlin frets silently, and tries to make himself feel better by rearranging the blankets around Arthur's head and feet (judiciously applying a few heating spells as he goes - luckily Arthur's out of it enough to make magic relatively non-lethal). They stay like that for what seems ages - Arthur curled up over Merlin's arm, Merlin curled around him like a shield against the cold, the two of them twined together in ways that will be intensely embarrassing come morning.
He can feel Arthur's heartbeat, Merlin realises some time later - there's a quiet lull between spasms as Arthur's body gears itself up for another round of shivering, and in that eye of the storm, so to speak, Merlin can feel Arthur's heart thudding in his body, where Arthur has Merlin's fist pressed tight to his chest. "Warmer?" he thinks to ask, his mouth handling the word a bit clumsily - he's sleepy.
Arthur pauses to consider, and then nods. "Feet are always the hardest to get warm," he manages, just sounding tired now that they're in between bouts. "And the headache after." He sighs, and Merlin tsks and jams a leg between Arthur's, making him squeak.
"There. Better?"
Another small pause. "Oddly enough, yes. Oh, damnation - " Arthur starts, as the shaking begins again. Merlin exhales, and squeezes his arm around the prince a bit more, not even registering how he's rubbing Arthur's chest a bit, to comfort.
Merlin manages to keep his eyes open for another five minutes, possibly, before he gives up and falls back into sleep. Exhausted, Arthur isn't far behind.
--
The moon's still high when Merlin stirs, jogged awake by Arthur tossing and turning in the cot beside him. For a second he's very very confused and a little hopeful before he remembers what's happened, and then he sighs and tries to rub his eyes open. "S'matter?"
"Too hot," Arthur gasps, finally managing to push away the cloak that Merlin had wrapped around his head like a turban. His hair is sticking to his forehead and his skin is shining and pale. Merlin moves his hand (it's still on Arthur's chest, huh), and realises that Arthur's chills and fever have broken - he's slick with sweat all over.
"Ugh," he says, though he's relieved the chills are over. "No, don't - " Merlin orders, dragging Arthur's arms back down, away from where he's trying to shove all the blankets and cloaks off of them. "Not all at once, you'll just get cold again."
"Nonsense, I'm boiling," Arthur hisses, slapping at Merlin's hand like a twelve-year-old girl. "And don't tell me what to do!" he remembers to squawk, after a moment.
"Right, whatever, just. Listen to reason. I'll take two of the blankets off, all right?" Merlin says, as placating as he can, dragging the top two layers of fabric off of Arthur's side of the cot and onto his. "And after a bit, I'll take another off. Until you're not boiling."
Arthur grumbles and glares at Merlin over his shoulder, but subsides. "You're being very high-handed, you know. I shouldn't put up with it."
"You can throw me in gaol tomorrow, if you're not dead," Merlin promises, tugging the blankets down enough that the tips of Arthur's shoulders are visible underneath. "There. Go to sleep."
Arthur shifts, lying just enough on his back to be able to look at Merlin without getting a crick in his neck. "Annoying," he pronounces after a short pause.
"I'm not the only one," Merlin mutters, tugging Arthur's arms out of the blankets and on top of them as well, raising his eyebrows, longsuffering. "Better?"
Arthur's yes is rather begrudging, but he closes his eyes dutifully. In just a few moments, his breathing has steadied and lengthened into sleep. Merlin watches him for a bit, and removes the last of his own blankets and a huge fur, and shuffles down underneath the remaining twelve dozen. He casts a weak spell to help cool Arthur's brow and the back of his neck, and closes his eyes as well, listening to Arthur's breathing as he drifts off.
--
It's not yet dawn when Merlin wakes again, but the sky looks a bit lighter - the day is not far off, he thinks. He blinks, unsure why he'd be waking up at a time like this until he realises he's alone on the cot, and there's the sound of shuffling footsteps still in the room. "Mrh?" he manages, trying to sit up.
Arthur freezes, and then turns to give him a Look. "Don't do that."
"Where're you going?" Merlin asks, sounding almost petulant, and is promptly grateful that the dark can hide his blush and that he can blame the stupidity of the question on still being half asleep.
"Back to my quarters. I have patrol, first thing," Arthur explains quietly, shifting his gaze over to the fireplace, where the flames have died back down into embers. "Easier not to be missed."
"Mm. How d'you feel?" Merlin sits up a bit more, trying to blink his eyes open.
"Better. Not convulsing," Arthur spits, with as much disdain as he can muster, and Merlin frowns with the absolute knowledge that Arthur isn't annoyed at the inconvenience or at feeling terrible, he's genuinely frustrated with himself for having fallen ill, even temporarily. Merlin sighs and flumps back down onto his pillow, pushing the covers down far enough to still see Arthur, propping his head up with one arm.
"I'll ask Gaius to make something for headaches. I'll bring it before you leave," he decides, raising his eyebrows. Arthur nods, his shoulders slumping with relief, and they both exchange tiny smiles. "I - " Merlin begins again, but cuts himself off, unsure what he wants to say. "It's always safe to come here," he manages after a moment. "Safe, for you."
Arthur nods again, arms folded in front of him, and he seems to weigh the words for a moment or two. "I know it is. I'm glad," he says, not looking up, barely managing to cast a glance over at Merlin from below his eyelashes.
Merlin smiles, and feels lighter somehow, over his whole body. "Well. Good." He stretches, and then lies back down, burrowing luxuriously under all the cloaks and furs and blankets. "You're not going to take the furs back yet, are you?"
Arthur snorts. "No, I'll leave them here. Just say they need cleaning, if someone asks." Merlin makes a pleased noise and closes his eyes, wriggling underneath them for a moment before going still.
"You're not going to make me wear the hat when the nobles get here, are you?" he yawns, the outlines of his consciousness growing pleasantly fuzzy. He hears the shuffle and slip of Arthur's footsteps, the way a table groans as Arthur sits on it, the huff of laughter Arthur gives.
"Don't be silly, Merlin," Arthur says, his voice low and rare and happy. "Of course I am." Merlin halfheartedly grumbles something into his pillow, but otherwise can't be bothered to argue. "Almost dawn," Arthur murmurs a bit later, and Merlin can hear him moving around again (he's almost gone, at this point). "You were a great help." Merlin knows an indirect thank you when he hears it, and he presses his smile into the pillow, into the corner of one of Arthur's cloaks.
"Mrph," he manages, on another yawn, and he sinks farther away into sleep, farther and farther adrift until he's not even sure when Arthur leaves, til he's not even sure if he really heard the Sleep, you clod, til he's not sure if the warm, slight pressure of a hand on his head, fingers in his hair, was real or just a dream.
Feedback is adored!
Author: manipulant, or B
Word Count: ~2600
Rating: PG
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur UST
Warnings: None. Well, semi-graphic depiction of someone getting a badass case of chills, but maybe only I find that traumatic? D:
Summary: Arthur gets a badass case of the chills and staggers to his trusty manservant for help. Arthur's definition of "help" in this instance does NOT include the phrase "personal space." Merlin totally, totally minds. Totally. >:|
Notes: Cliche fic is cliche. :D?
There's a crash in Gaius's laboratory on the other side of the door, and Merlin jolts entirely awake, fear choking him, making his skin tingle. He sits up on his cot and immediately shivers at the cold of the night, watching his breath condense into a small, fragile cloud in front of him. And then:
"Merlin?"
The door's cracked open, and Merlin squints in what little moonlight there is. He can barely make out a vague outline of Arthur, or what appears to be Arthur, shaking underneath quite a few furs and cloaks. "Arthur?"
The Arthur-outline sways, and slumps back against the door, closing it with a slam. "Took me ages to get down here," he hisses, shuffling forward a few steps, close enough that Merlin can see that 1. Arthur is glaring (as ever) and 2. Arthur's cheeks are far too flushed and his eyes are far too bright for him to be entirely well. "Tomorrow morning you're finding closer quarters."
Merlin huffs, an almost involuntary reaction at this point, before he remembers that Arthur really shouldn't be in his room. He glances over to make sure he hid The Book earlier that evening, and then back at the prince. "Whatever. What's wrong?"
Arthur squares his shoulders, or tries to, and sags underneath the weight of the fabric on his shoulders. Merlin's eyes have grown accustomed enough to the dark to see Arthur well enough, and to see that he's shaking. "...Arthur, are you all right?" he asks, startled at how concerned he is.
The prince pauses, and then shakes his head, his mouth settling into a thin, uncomfortable line. He takes in a shaky breath and then expels it, both of the boys wincing at how it rattles deep inside him. "It's. ...It happens sometimes," he tries to explain, taking another wobbly step forward before Merlin's surging out of his cot, sucking in a breath at the cold bite of the air as he comes forward to catch Arthur by the shoulders before he can fall.
"I'll get Gaius, let's just - "
"No! No, don't," Arthur snaps, and now that he's closer, Merlin can - god, Merlin can hear Arthur's teeth clattering together. "N-nobles from Tintagel are arriving tomorrow, they c-c-can't know."
"But - Arthur, I think your lips might be turning blue," Merlin points out reasonably, receiving another glare for his troubles. He sighs, and rubs Arthur's back distractedly as he tries to think of helpful things he could do. "Well, here, lie down," he offers, tugging Arthur further into the room, pushing him down onto the tiny cot and grimacing a little at the thinness of the blankets he drapes over the prince (he usually spells them warmer).
"It passes," Arthur promises, barely able to talk through his teeth chattering, through the way his entire body seems to be fighting against him, shaking so hard it's almost seizing. He gasps, winded, as another wave crashes over him, and curls into a pathetic little ball on the cot. Merlin's not entirely sure he didn't just hear a whimper, which is what decides him - he makes sure to drape the last blanket over Arthur's head and quickly moves over to the hearth, to where the fire is nothing but embers.
A small, whispered incantation later, the fire blazes back into life, sending heat into the small room. The light of the flames casts unsteady shadows on the walls and the shelves, and Merlin grabs the edge of the cot, dragging it screeching over the stones, closer to the hearth, til the bed is less than two feet away from the flames. "There. Better?"
The noise Arthur makes is one of vague approbation, and Merlin nods, relieved that he wasn't caught and that he'd been useful. "S'good."
"Let me go and wake Gaius, sire, he'd - "
"No," Arthur insists, pigheaded even during a ferocious bout of chills.
"Well, I can't really do much more for you, other than actually put you in the fire," Merlin snaps. "But if you think it'd help, by all means."
Arthur drags the blanket off his head (mussing his hair incredibly in the process), just enough to give Merlin a baleful look. And then he mumbles something, cheeks flushing even hotter. His eyes cut away nervously.
"Sorry?" Merlin asks, folding his arms in front of his chest, looking just as fiercely annoyed as Arthur does. Did. Til a moment ago.
"...needyoutogetintoo," Arthur mutters again, this time with his words vaguely discernible. Merlin's eyes widen, but then Arthur grunts like he's been punched and curls into himself so tightly that his mass in the bed appears to reduce by half. Merlin can see the blankets shaking.
Merlin sighs, but he's just not that cruel, and he can tell that Arthur is genuinely suffering - during daylight, such a set of circumstances would be cause for celebration, but now? Now he just leans down and tries to find the edge of Arthur's cocoon of blankets and furs and cloaks. After a minute of fruitless searching, he finally gives up and just tugs - ignoring Arthur's squawk as a few of the furs come loose enough that he can pull them fully away and settle gingerly into the cot, behind Arthur, bookending the prince between the fire and his manservant.
"Budge up a bit," Merlin orders, poking Arthur til he uncurls a fraction and allows Merlin a whole inch more. Frustrated, Merlin just mutters a couple of words he learnt last week and adds another foot of cot to his side, and then settles back into it, relieved. "All right?"
Arthur nods, the cloaks piled up near his head vibrating with the effort, but Merlin can tell he's lying - he's still shaking convulsively, though it sounds like he's trying to suppress his teeth clacking. Merlin frowns and insinuates a hand between the rest of the cloaks and furs and finds the familiar fabric of Arthur's shift, and hisses at the clammy heat roiling off of the skin beneath it. "You're burning up," he mutters, shifting closer, sliding his hand down to Arthur's bare arm, tsking at the gooseflesh he can feel.
"Freezing," Arthur protests, his voice clipped and harsh with the effort of speaking. "Put the blankets back," he orders, and Merlin considers obeying for a few seconds, before he has a better idea.
"Give me a moment," he says, tugging on the miles of fabric Arthur's swathed himself in, ignoring Arthur's whimpered protests til he manages to find Arthur himself, shaking even harder at the sudden draughts of frigid air. "Shh, here," he murmurs, not really bothering with something as stupid as self-consciousness, given the circumstances. He's pretty sure Uther will have him killed if Arthur dies on his cot, after all.
He finally manages to entirely untangle the knot of fabric from Arthur and shimmies closer, shushing Arthur as he gives another squawk, and trying not to take it personally as Arthur gives an all-over shiver as Merlin essentially spoons him, pressing the thin line of his chest to the prince's bulkier back. After a few nerve-wracking, breathless seconds, Arthur sighs and sinks back against him, and Merlin sighs as well and sets to putting the cloaks and blankets back to right.
He does let out a distressingly girly shriek when Arthur presses ice-cold feet to his legs, however. In front of him, Arthur's shoulders are shaking from what Merlin suspects to be laughter, and he grumbles and smacks Arthur's shoulder. "I should've just let you die," he mutters.
"Not dying," Arthur assures him, like it's supposed to make him feel better. "Better in the morning." And then his teeth clatter together so hard they threaten to leap out of his head, and he shudders and grabs Merlin's arm and tugs it across his chest, curling around it like it's a talisman, a token to help him win a duel. "God," he groans, the word wrenched out of him.
Merlin frets silently, and tries to make himself feel better by rearranging the blankets around Arthur's head and feet (judiciously applying a few heating spells as he goes - luckily Arthur's out of it enough to make magic relatively non-lethal). They stay like that for what seems ages - Arthur curled up over Merlin's arm, Merlin curled around him like a shield against the cold, the two of them twined together in ways that will be intensely embarrassing come morning.
He can feel Arthur's heartbeat, Merlin realises some time later - there's a quiet lull between spasms as Arthur's body gears itself up for another round of shivering, and in that eye of the storm, so to speak, Merlin can feel Arthur's heart thudding in his body, where Arthur has Merlin's fist pressed tight to his chest. "Warmer?" he thinks to ask, his mouth handling the word a bit clumsily - he's sleepy.
Arthur pauses to consider, and then nods. "Feet are always the hardest to get warm," he manages, just sounding tired now that they're in between bouts. "And the headache after." He sighs, and Merlin tsks and jams a leg between Arthur's, making him squeak.
"There. Better?"
Another small pause. "Oddly enough, yes. Oh, damnation - " Arthur starts, as the shaking begins again. Merlin exhales, and squeezes his arm around the prince a bit more, not even registering how he's rubbing Arthur's chest a bit, to comfort.
Merlin manages to keep his eyes open for another five minutes, possibly, before he gives up and falls back into sleep. Exhausted, Arthur isn't far behind.
--
The moon's still high when Merlin stirs, jogged awake by Arthur tossing and turning in the cot beside him. For a second he's very very confused and a little hopeful before he remembers what's happened, and then he sighs and tries to rub his eyes open. "S'matter?"
"Too hot," Arthur gasps, finally managing to push away the cloak that Merlin had wrapped around his head like a turban. His hair is sticking to his forehead and his skin is shining and pale. Merlin moves his hand (it's still on Arthur's chest, huh), and realises that Arthur's chills and fever have broken - he's slick with sweat all over.
"Ugh," he says, though he's relieved the chills are over. "No, don't - " Merlin orders, dragging Arthur's arms back down, away from where he's trying to shove all the blankets and cloaks off of them. "Not all at once, you'll just get cold again."
"Nonsense, I'm boiling," Arthur hisses, slapping at Merlin's hand like a twelve-year-old girl. "And don't tell me what to do!" he remembers to squawk, after a moment.
"Right, whatever, just. Listen to reason. I'll take two of the blankets off, all right?" Merlin says, as placating as he can, dragging the top two layers of fabric off of Arthur's side of the cot and onto his. "And after a bit, I'll take another off. Until you're not boiling."
Arthur grumbles and glares at Merlin over his shoulder, but subsides. "You're being very high-handed, you know. I shouldn't put up with it."
"You can throw me in gaol tomorrow, if you're not dead," Merlin promises, tugging the blankets down enough that the tips of Arthur's shoulders are visible underneath. "There. Go to sleep."
Arthur shifts, lying just enough on his back to be able to look at Merlin without getting a crick in his neck. "Annoying," he pronounces after a short pause.
"I'm not the only one," Merlin mutters, tugging Arthur's arms out of the blankets and on top of them as well, raising his eyebrows, longsuffering. "Better?"
Arthur's yes is rather begrudging, but he closes his eyes dutifully. In just a few moments, his breathing has steadied and lengthened into sleep. Merlin watches him for a bit, and removes the last of his own blankets and a huge fur, and shuffles down underneath the remaining twelve dozen. He casts a weak spell to help cool Arthur's brow and the back of his neck, and closes his eyes as well, listening to Arthur's breathing as he drifts off.
--
It's not yet dawn when Merlin wakes again, but the sky looks a bit lighter - the day is not far off, he thinks. He blinks, unsure why he'd be waking up at a time like this until he realises he's alone on the cot, and there's the sound of shuffling footsteps still in the room. "Mrh?" he manages, trying to sit up.
Arthur freezes, and then turns to give him a Look. "Don't do that."
"Where're you going?" Merlin asks, sounding almost petulant, and is promptly grateful that the dark can hide his blush and that he can blame the stupidity of the question on still being half asleep.
"Back to my quarters. I have patrol, first thing," Arthur explains quietly, shifting his gaze over to the fireplace, where the flames have died back down into embers. "Easier not to be missed."
"Mm. How d'you feel?" Merlin sits up a bit more, trying to blink his eyes open.
"Better. Not convulsing," Arthur spits, with as much disdain as he can muster, and Merlin frowns with the absolute knowledge that Arthur isn't annoyed at the inconvenience or at feeling terrible, he's genuinely frustrated with himself for having fallen ill, even temporarily. Merlin sighs and flumps back down onto his pillow, pushing the covers down far enough to still see Arthur, propping his head up with one arm.
"I'll ask Gaius to make something for headaches. I'll bring it before you leave," he decides, raising his eyebrows. Arthur nods, his shoulders slumping with relief, and they both exchange tiny smiles. "I - " Merlin begins again, but cuts himself off, unsure what he wants to say. "It's always safe to come here," he manages after a moment. "Safe, for you."
Arthur nods again, arms folded in front of him, and he seems to weigh the words for a moment or two. "I know it is. I'm glad," he says, not looking up, barely managing to cast a glance over at Merlin from below his eyelashes.
Merlin smiles, and feels lighter somehow, over his whole body. "Well. Good." He stretches, and then lies back down, burrowing luxuriously under all the cloaks and furs and blankets. "You're not going to take the furs back yet, are you?"
Arthur snorts. "No, I'll leave them here. Just say they need cleaning, if someone asks." Merlin makes a pleased noise and closes his eyes, wriggling underneath them for a moment before going still.
"You're not going to make me wear the hat when the nobles get here, are you?" he yawns, the outlines of his consciousness growing pleasantly fuzzy. He hears the shuffle and slip of Arthur's footsteps, the way a table groans as Arthur sits on it, the huff of laughter Arthur gives.
"Don't be silly, Merlin," Arthur says, his voice low and rare and happy. "Of course I am." Merlin halfheartedly grumbles something into his pillow, but otherwise can't be bothered to argue. "Almost dawn," Arthur murmurs a bit later, and Merlin can hear him moving around again (he's almost gone, at this point). "You were a great help." Merlin knows an indirect thank you when he hears it, and he presses his smile into the pillow, into the corner of one of Arthur's cloaks.
"Mrph," he manages, on another yawn, and he sinks farther away into sleep, farther and farther adrift until he's not even sure when Arthur leaves, til he's not even sure if he really heard the Sleep, you clod, til he's not sure if the warm, slight pressure of a hand on his head, fingers in his hair, was real or just a dream.
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