you construct intricate rituals
Author: schweet_heart
Title: you construct intricate rituals
Rating: G
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur (implied)
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: The only reason he hadn’t gone straight to the infirmary was because Arthur had insisted on drawing a bath-only now it seemed he was expecting Merlin to be the one to get in it.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1785 words
Prompt: 534 (Bathe)
Author's Notes: Sorry, mods, this one got away from me a bit-it was all I could do to keep it under 2k 🫣
“Get in,” Arthur said brusquely.
Merlin, who had been intending to occupy himself by putting away Arthur’s laundry while the prince was in his bath, looked up from the armoire in momentary bafflement. “I’m sorry?”
“The bath,” Arthur said, pointing to it. “Get in.”
This did little to allay Merlin’s confusion. He glanced at the tub, recently filled and still faintly steaming, then back at the prince with his head tipped to one side.
“You want me to…get in your bath?”
“Yes, Merlin, that’s what I said, isn’t it?” Arthur’s tone had become a trifle testy, and he folded his arms across his chest. “You’re covered in mud and dripping everywhere. You can’t go back to Gaius’ like that-you’ll catch your death, for one thing, to say nothing of dirtying my floors.”
Merlin glanced down at himself, and then at Arthur’s chambers. They were far from spotless at the best of times, but he had to admit that he’d contributed more than his fair share of the grime this evening. It had been a long day and an even longer patrol, during which Merlin’s horse had been caught in a minor mudslide that had sent it plunging down a steep embankment. The horse had been fine, but Merlin had come off head first and spent several horrible moments thinking he might drown in the muck before Arthur had hauled him out by his neckerchief and started yelling at him to be more careful.
The end result was that Merlin was soaked through and shivering by the time they’d returned to the castle, with the added bonus of being scratched and sore from where he’d hit the ground and rolled. The only reason he hadn’t gone straight to the infirmary was because Arthur had insisted on drawing a bath-only now it seemed he was expecting Merlin to be the one to get in it.
“All right,” Merlin said, shrugging. He’d been anticipating a hurried scrub down with a bucket of icy water once he got back to his chambers, and that only after helping Arthur dress and laying out his supper, so he wasn’t about to turn down a warm bath by an open fire when it was right in front of him. “If you insist.”
He shed his jacket and neckerchief and began to undress before Arthur could change his mind, peeling his sopping tunic off and dropping it to the floor with a wet squelch. Arthur made a startled noise and turned his back abruptly.
“There’s a changing screen right there-”
“It’s fine,” Merlin said, already stepping out of his trousers. “I’m not shy.”
Arthur made another noise, this one more difficult to interpret. “I can see that,” he said, sounding resigned, but Merlin ignored him in favour of stepping into the hot water and sliding down until it covered his shoulders, letting out a sigh of pure bliss. Back in Ealdor, bathing typically involved a quick dip in a nearby stream, or a hurried wash with a wet cloth when the weather was bad. This kind of prolonged soak was a luxury that he’d never really had the time for outside of feast days, when the work in the village stopped temporarily in order to prepare for the celebrations. Even living with Gaius hadn’t been much better-between serving as the physician’s apprentice and taking care of Arthur, he hardly ever got the chance to bathe for an extended period of time.
When Merlin opened his eyes again, Arthur had turned back and was studying him with an unfamiliar expression, his eyes dark and hooded beneath his wet hair. He blinked and looked away when he realised Merlin was watching him. “I’ll have one of the other servants fetch you some clothes,” he said, clearing his throat. “And some food, too, while they’re about it. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“Mm, I could eat a horse,” Merlin agreed, before ducking his head under the water. The chill that had taken possession of his body since his fall was starting to ebb, washed away with the mud where it sluiced from his skin, and with it went the aching tension that had plagued him throughout the day’s ride. Arthur was safe, which was what mattered, and nobody had been too terribly injured in spite of the miserable weather. All in all, it had been a good day.
While Merlin scrubbed himself clean, Arthur puttered around his chambers, shedding his damp layers-he, unlike Merlin, had managed to remain reasonably dry despite the downpour, which was possibly some form of magic known only to royalty-and pulling on the soft, tan-coloured house coat that Merlin knew he loved. Without speaking, he dragged a low table and chair closer to the bath, and when the food arrived the two of them ate in companionable silence, listening to the sound of the rain beating against the windows and the fire crackling quietly in the grate.
Perhaps it was the warmth, or the wine that made him forget himself, but once he had finished removing the mud from all the parts of his body he could reach, Merlin said,
“Arthur, could you give me a hand, please?”
Arthur paused, a page in his book half turned. “Excuse me?”
“My back,” Merlin said, feeling himself flush but determined not to back down now that he’d said it. “I can’t reach it by myself.”
For an instant, Merlin expected the prince to scoff at him, offended at being asked to perform such a menial task, but Arthur didn’t. Instead, after a long moment, he put down his book and got to his feet, crossing slowly towards the tub.
“Lean forward,” he said, and Merlin did so, wrapping his arms around his knees as Arthur settled beside the bath and rolled up his sleeves. “Pass me the cloth.”
The bar of soap followed, and Merlin sat in mute amazement while Arthur sponged methodically across his shoulders and down the length of his spine, working briskly but not un-gently as he scoured the dirt from Merlin’s skin. There was a different kind of silence in the air now, one that lacked the companionable intimacy of before but which at the same time was not as awkward as Merlin would have expected. He could feel the awareness of it prickling over his skin, a sharp frisson not unlike the sensation that magic sometimes gave him, and was still trying to muster up the courage to break it when Arthur pressed inadvertently against a tender place, causing Merlin to flinch and hiss between his teeth at the sudden pain.
“Sorry,” Arthur said, and then: “You’ll have bruises there tomorrow.” He touched his fingertips gently to the spot, tracing the outline of a particularly solid rock Merlin had encountered on his way down the ridge. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck. Or your back.”
“You know me,” Merlin said, laughing nervously. His heart was beating hard, all of a sudden, though he couldn’t think why. “Mum used to say you could drop me over a cliff and I’d probably bounce. I guess now we know that she was right.”
Arthur’s fingers twitched briefly against his skin, then dropped away.
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time you decide to test the bonds of gravity,” he said drily. “There’s some arnica on my nightstand. Should I-?”
“Yes, please,” Merlin agreed, then faltered. “I mean. If you don’t mind.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I did.”
He heard the sounds of Arthur getting up and crossing the room, but kept his head down, his cheeks burning as he pressed them against his knees. It was strange how fragile his relationship with Arthur sometimes felt, even now that they had passed through the initial dislike and were settled into friendship. He knew that Arthur would die for him, and he would do the same for Arthur in a heartbeat, yet there were still moments when even the truest fealty seemed somehow inadequate; as if what he really longed for was something different-something he didn’t dare name, even to himself, lest he destroy it utterly.
“It’ll be cold,” Arthur warned, his voice gruff, and with a start Merlin realised the prince had returned without his noticing. “But it’ll help, so don’t whine about it.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Merlin huffed, though he did have to bite his tongue when the first drops hit his back and it was, as predicted, icy cold. “Would it kill you to warm it in your hands for a second first?”
“I told you not to whine,” Arthur retorted, but the next scoop was noticeably warmer, and Merlin hid his smile against his knees, letting the prince spread the salve over his back and shoulders without comment.
When he was done, Arthur rested a hand at Merlin’s nape for just a moment and squeezed, a casual gesture that might have meant anything but which rooted Merlin to the spot as surely if he’d been struck with a spell. He heard the prince getting up, murmuring something about seeing what had happened to Merlin’s clothes, and listened as the door creaked open and Arthur spoke to someone outside without registering any of it.
“They’re probably having a hard time finding anything in that pig sty you call a room-” Arthur was saying, and then stopped. “Merlin? Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Merlin said, muffled. He didn’t feel fine-he felt a little floaty and sort of dizzy, but not in a bad way. “Just-turn around so I can get out.”
“I thought you said you weren’t shy,” Arthur grumbled, but when Merlin finally levered himself out of the tub he was dutifully facing the far wall, holding out the drying cloth in one hand so that Merlin could take it. Merlin wrapped it around himself, feeling as though he had stumbled out of a forest and into a clearing for the first time in his life but unable to fully articulate why. It was only Arthur, arrogant and aggravating and inexplicably dear, familiar and yet now suddenly strange.
He cleared his throat. Arthur turned around, and for an instant Merlin thought he saw something like fellow feeling in Arthur’s eyes, but all he said was, “You’ll have to wear something of mine until they get here.”
He held out a tunic and a pair of trousers, and Merlin took them without thinking, carrying them behind the changing screen so that he could dress. The trousers were slightly too short and the tunic too big, but they were warm and soft and smelled like Arthur, and for the time being, at least, that was enough.
Title: you construct intricate rituals
Rating: G
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur (implied)
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: The only reason he hadn’t gone straight to the infirmary was because Arthur had insisted on drawing a bath-only now it seemed he was expecting Merlin to be the one to get in it.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1785 words
Prompt: 534 (Bathe)
Author's Notes: Sorry, mods, this one got away from me a bit-it was all I could do to keep it under 2k 🫣
“Get in,” Arthur said brusquely.
Merlin, who had been intending to occupy himself by putting away Arthur’s laundry while the prince was in his bath, looked up from the armoire in momentary bafflement. “I’m sorry?”
“The bath,” Arthur said, pointing to it. “Get in.”
This did little to allay Merlin’s confusion. He glanced at the tub, recently filled and still faintly steaming, then back at the prince with his head tipped to one side.
“You want me to…get in your bath?”
“Yes, Merlin, that’s what I said, isn’t it?” Arthur’s tone had become a trifle testy, and he folded his arms across his chest. “You’re covered in mud and dripping everywhere. You can’t go back to Gaius’ like that-you’ll catch your death, for one thing, to say nothing of dirtying my floors.”
Merlin glanced down at himself, and then at Arthur’s chambers. They were far from spotless at the best of times, but he had to admit that he’d contributed more than his fair share of the grime this evening. It had been a long day and an even longer patrol, during which Merlin’s horse had been caught in a minor mudslide that had sent it plunging down a steep embankment. The horse had been fine, but Merlin had come off head first and spent several horrible moments thinking he might drown in the muck before Arthur had hauled him out by his neckerchief and started yelling at him to be more careful.
The end result was that Merlin was soaked through and shivering by the time they’d returned to the castle, with the added bonus of being scratched and sore from where he’d hit the ground and rolled. The only reason he hadn’t gone straight to the infirmary was because Arthur had insisted on drawing a bath-only now it seemed he was expecting Merlin to be the one to get in it.
“All right,” Merlin said, shrugging. He’d been anticipating a hurried scrub down with a bucket of icy water once he got back to his chambers, and that only after helping Arthur dress and laying out his supper, so he wasn’t about to turn down a warm bath by an open fire when it was right in front of him. “If you insist.”
He shed his jacket and neckerchief and began to undress before Arthur could change his mind, peeling his sopping tunic off and dropping it to the floor with a wet squelch. Arthur made a startled noise and turned his back abruptly.
“There’s a changing screen right there-”
“It’s fine,” Merlin said, already stepping out of his trousers. “I’m not shy.”
Arthur made another noise, this one more difficult to interpret. “I can see that,” he said, sounding resigned, but Merlin ignored him in favour of stepping into the hot water and sliding down until it covered his shoulders, letting out a sigh of pure bliss. Back in Ealdor, bathing typically involved a quick dip in a nearby stream, or a hurried wash with a wet cloth when the weather was bad. This kind of prolonged soak was a luxury that he’d never really had the time for outside of feast days, when the work in the village stopped temporarily in order to prepare for the celebrations. Even living with Gaius hadn’t been much better-between serving as the physician’s apprentice and taking care of Arthur, he hardly ever got the chance to bathe for an extended period of time.
When Merlin opened his eyes again, Arthur had turned back and was studying him with an unfamiliar expression, his eyes dark and hooded beneath his wet hair. He blinked and looked away when he realised Merlin was watching him. “I’ll have one of the other servants fetch you some clothes,” he said, clearing his throat. “And some food, too, while they’re about it. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“Mm, I could eat a horse,” Merlin agreed, before ducking his head under the water. The chill that had taken possession of his body since his fall was starting to ebb, washed away with the mud where it sluiced from his skin, and with it went the aching tension that had plagued him throughout the day’s ride. Arthur was safe, which was what mattered, and nobody had been too terribly injured in spite of the miserable weather. All in all, it had been a good day.
While Merlin scrubbed himself clean, Arthur puttered around his chambers, shedding his damp layers-he, unlike Merlin, had managed to remain reasonably dry despite the downpour, which was possibly some form of magic known only to royalty-and pulling on the soft, tan-coloured house coat that Merlin knew he loved. Without speaking, he dragged a low table and chair closer to the bath, and when the food arrived the two of them ate in companionable silence, listening to the sound of the rain beating against the windows and the fire crackling quietly in the grate.
Perhaps it was the warmth, or the wine that made him forget himself, but once he had finished removing the mud from all the parts of his body he could reach, Merlin said,
“Arthur, could you give me a hand, please?”
Arthur paused, a page in his book half turned. “Excuse me?”
“My back,” Merlin said, feeling himself flush but determined not to back down now that he’d said it. “I can’t reach it by myself.”
For an instant, Merlin expected the prince to scoff at him, offended at being asked to perform such a menial task, but Arthur didn’t. Instead, after a long moment, he put down his book and got to his feet, crossing slowly towards the tub.
“Lean forward,” he said, and Merlin did so, wrapping his arms around his knees as Arthur settled beside the bath and rolled up his sleeves. “Pass me the cloth.”
The bar of soap followed, and Merlin sat in mute amazement while Arthur sponged methodically across his shoulders and down the length of his spine, working briskly but not un-gently as he scoured the dirt from Merlin’s skin. There was a different kind of silence in the air now, one that lacked the companionable intimacy of before but which at the same time was not as awkward as Merlin would have expected. He could feel the awareness of it prickling over his skin, a sharp frisson not unlike the sensation that magic sometimes gave him, and was still trying to muster up the courage to break it when Arthur pressed inadvertently against a tender place, causing Merlin to flinch and hiss between his teeth at the sudden pain.
“Sorry,” Arthur said, and then: “You’ll have bruises there tomorrow.” He touched his fingertips gently to the spot, tracing the outline of a particularly solid rock Merlin had encountered on his way down the ridge. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck. Or your back.”
“You know me,” Merlin said, laughing nervously. His heart was beating hard, all of a sudden, though he couldn’t think why. “Mum used to say you could drop me over a cliff and I’d probably bounce. I guess now we know that she was right.”
Arthur’s fingers twitched briefly against his skin, then dropped away.
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time you decide to test the bonds of gravity,” he said drily. “There’s some arnica on my nightstand. Should I-?”
“Yes, please,” Merlin agreed, then faltered. “I mean. If you don’t mind.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I did.”
He heard the sounds of Arthur getting up and crossing the room, but kept his head down, his cheeks burning as he pressed them against his knees. It was strange how fragile his relationship with Arthur sometimes felt, even now that they had passed through the initial dislike and were settled into friendship. He knew that Arthur would die for him, and he would do the same for Arthur in a heartbeat, yet there were still moments when even the truest fealty seemed somehow inadequate; as if what he really longed for was something different-something he didn’t dare name, even to himself, lest he destroy it utterly.
“It’ll be cold,” Arthur warned, his voice gruff, and with a start Merlin realised the prince had returned without his noticing. “But it’ll help, so don’t whine about it.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Merlin huffed, though he did have to bite his tongue when the first drops hit his back and it was, as predicted, icy cold. “Would it kill you to warm it in your hands for a second first?”
“I told you not to whine,” Arthur retorted, but the next scoop was noticeably warmer, and Merlin hid his smile against his knees, letting the prince spread the salve over his back and shoulders without comment.
When he was done, Arthur rested a hand at Merlin’s nape for just a moment and squeezed, a casual gesture that might have meant anything but which rooted Merlin to the spot as surely if he’d been struck with a spell. He heard the prince getting up, murmuring something about seeing what had happened to Merlin’s clothes, and listened as the door creaked open and Arthur spoke to someone outside without registering any of it.
“They’re probably having a hard time finding anything in that pig sty you call a room-” Arthur was saying, and then stopped. “Merlin? Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Merlin said, muffled. He didn’t feel fine-he felt a little floaty and sort of dizzy, but not in a bad way. “Just-turn around so I can get out.”
“I thought you said you weren’t shy,” Arthur grumbled, but when Merlin finally levered himself out of the tub he was dutifully facing the far wall, holding out the drying cloth in one hand so that Merlin could take it. Merlin wrapped it around himself, feeling as though he had stumbled out of a forest and into a clearing for the first time in his life but unable to fully articulate why. It was only Arthur, arrogant and aggravating and inexplicably dear, familiar and yet now suddenly strange.
He cleared his throat. Arthur turned around, and for an instant Merlin thought he saw something like fellow feeling in Arthur’s eyes, but all he said was, “You’ll have to wear something of mine until they get here.”
He held out a tunic and a pair of trousers, and Merlin took them without thinking, carrying them behind the changing screen so that he could dress. The trousers were slightly too short and the tunic too big, but they were warm and soft and smelled like Arthur, and for the time being, at least, that was enough.