One Prison is much like another - part 18
Author: archaeologist_d
Title: One Prison is much like another - part 18
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur, Leon
Summary: At least he got his memory back. But Arthur is too observant for a change.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 979
Camelot Drabble Prompt #594: Might
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
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“Where the hell have you been?” Arthur’s face was red as his cloak and he looked like a wounded bear. No, Merlin’s not sure that’s right. A bear has some dignity, some gravitas. Arthur seemed more like one of the sows in the village pigpen, all annoyed and pretentious as they grunt around in the mud.
“Ummm,” Merlin said, trying not to sound like someone hoping to get out of chores but Arthur just glared at him. “I had errands to run.” And he gives Arthur an idiotic smile, one of his best.
If anything, Arthur’s face twisted up even more, his mouth opening and closing as if he were about to yell again but trying to gain steam first before laying into Merlin. Arthur’s eyes narrowed, too. He didn’t look like he believed Merlin, not for a second.
Finally, stomping over to Merlin, looking him up and down, Arthur snapped, “All night? And don’t lie to me. Gaius said you were at the tavern. Again.”
Damn Gaius and his tavern excuses.
Thinking fast, Merlin said, “I did stop at the tavern.” Arthur looked like he was about to explode but Merlin couldn’t tell him the truth. “Just for a delivery. One of the barmaids had a rash and… then, I went hunting for herbs. In the forest. You know Gaius, he’s always trying to stock up, what with him healing people and all.”
“At night? In the dark? When you should be here taking care of my needs?”
“What needs? Dressing yourself isn’t an intelligence test, you know. Although you’d fail it for sure. And how hard is it to make a bed?” Too worried about what he was going to say to Arthur, Merlin hadn’t really paid attention to the state of the room, but as he glanced around, the bedcovers were all askew, clothes on the floor instead of in the basket, the remnants of dinner scattered on the table. The lazy sod couldn’t keep the bloody crumbs on the bloody plate?
It was a mess and Merlin hadn’t been gone that long.
But Arthur just puffed up his chest and glared. “I am a prince. I do not make beds. That’s your job.”
Arthur might have a point.
But rather than argue further because Merlin was dead tired from the fight for his life and taking care to make sure the eggs were safe and he still had to face Gaius, he just muttered something about useless arses, then started to collect the laundry at least and put the clothes into the basket.
Not satisfied with merely berating Merlin, Arthur followed him around the room, crowding him, making sure he was in the way, even going so far as to kick some of his tunics under his bed, then smirking when Merlin bent over to pick them up.
It would have been fine. Merlin was used to this kind of annoying, pompous behaviour from Arthur, but even though Kilgharrah had cured his ribs, he still had bruises that hurt. He tried to hide it, being careful not to bump into anything.
But he’d forgotten about the blood.
“What’s that?” Arthur said, pointing to Merlin’s sleeve. “Is that blood? Are you hurt?”
Shit. It was Sarc’s. Merlin remembered the bandit’s blood spattering when he’d hit the ground. Merlin had managed to brush most of it off but he didn’t think to look at the back of his sleeves. He’d been too busy trying to get away from the guards.
His mind was full of whirlwinds of worry, each trying to come up with some excuse that Arthur would accept. But all he could do was mumble, “Tripped. Got a bloody nose. I forgot all about it. But don’t worry, cabbagehead. I won’t get your precious tunics dirty with my ineptitude.”
“Only you could turn getting injured into a fine art,” Arthur said, sitting down finally and watching Merlin gather up the basket full of clothes. He brushed a few of the crumbs back onto the dirty plate. “I was surprised Gaius let you go by yourself. You need a custodian. First broken ribs and memory loss and now tripping over air. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were cursed.”
“Cursed with working for you, maybe,” Merlin grumbled, looking around to see if he’d missed any laundry.
“You should be honoured to deal with my dirty socks,” Arthur said, sounding at first smug, then staring at Merlin as if he’d just now noticed something that puzzled him. Finally, while Merlin glared, Arthur stood up again, taking the basket out of Merlin’s hands and setting it aside. He seemed quite put-out as he looked Merlin over. “What is going on? Did Gaius mistake your injuries? Your ribs are nothing to ignore. Or are you just that much of an idiot not willing to take care of yourself?”
Shit.
Clearing his throat, thinking about what to say next, Merlin didn’t get a chance. Arthur let out an annoyed harrumph. “But then knowing you, the answer is idiot.”
Merlin couldn’t give back as good as he got because, in the next second, there was a knock at the door and Leon poked his head in. “Sire, a message from Candleston castle has arrived. I thought it urgent.”
Arthur motioned him in. “Merlin was just leaving. I believe he has a discussion with Gaius to complete. Something about taking care of himself.”
That was his cue to get the hell out before Arthur figured out where Merlin had really gone.
With a quick nod to Leon, Merlin escaped into the hallway.
Things were getting worse and worse. That damn captain in charge of Sarc’s ruined castle sending a message? Instead of being as incompetent as the guards? If Arthur ever figured out that Merlin had gone back, there would be hell to pay.
At least Gaius would understand. Maybe.
Title: One Prison is much like another - part 18
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur, Leon
Summary: At least he got his memory back. But Arthur is too observant for a change.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 979
Camelot Drabble Prompt #594: Might
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
----------------
“Where the hell have you been?” Arthur’s face was red as his cloak and he looked like a wounded bear. No, Merlin’s not sure that’s right. A bear has some dignity, some gravitas. Arthur seemed more like one of the sows in the village pigpen, all annoyed and pretentious as they grunt around in the mud.
“Ummm,” Merlin said, trying not to sound like someone hoping to get out of chores but Arthur just glared at him. “I had errands to run.” And he gives Arthur an idiotic smile, one of his best.
If anything, Arthur’s face twisted up even more, his mouth opening and closing as if he were about to yell again but trying to gain steam first before laying into Merlin. Arthur’s eyes narrowed, too. He didn’t look like he believed Merlin, not for a second.
Finally, stomping over to Merlin, looking him up and down, Arthur snapped, “All night? And don’t lie to me. Gaius said you were at the tavern. Again.”
Damn Gaius and his tavern excuses.
Thinking fast, Merlin said, “I did stop at the tavern.” Arthur looked like he was about to explode but Merlin couldn’t tell him the truth. “Just for a delivery. One of the barmaids had a rash and… then, I went hunting for herbs. In the forest. You know Gaius, he’s always trying to stock up, what with him healing people and all.”
“At night? In the dark? When you should be here taking care of my needs?”
“What needs? Dressing yourself isn’t an intelligence test, you know. Although you’d fail it for sure. And how hard is it to make a bed?” Too worried about what he was going to say to Arthur, Merlin hadn’t really paid attention to the state of the room, but as he glanced around, the bedcovers were all askew, clothes on the floor instead of in the basket, the remnants of dinner scattered on the table. The lazy sod couldn’t keep the bloody crumbs on the bloody plate?
It was a mess and Merlin hadn’t been gone that long.
But Arthur just puffed up his chest and glared. “I am a prince. I do not make beds. That’s your job.”
Arthur might have a point.
But rather than argue further because Merlin was dead tired from the fight for his life and taking care to make sure the eggs were safe and he still had to face Gaius, he just muttered something about useless arses, then started to collect the laundry at least and put the clothes into the basket.
Not satisfied with merely berating Merlin, Arthur followed him around the room, crowding him, making sure he was in the way, even going so far as to kick some of his tunics under his bed, then smirking when Merlin bent over to pick them up.
It would have been fine. Merlin was used to this kind of annoying, pompous behaviour from Arthur, but even though Kilgharrah had cured his ribs, he still had bruises that hurt. He tried to hide it, being careful not to bump into anything.
But he’d forgotten about the blood.
“What’s that?” Arthur said, pointing to Merlin’s sleeve. “Is that blood? Are you hurt?”
Shit. It was Sarc’s. Merlin remembered the bandit’s blood spattering when he’d hit the ground. Merlin had managed to brush most of it off but he didn’t think to look at the back of his sleeves. He’d been too busy trying to get away from the guards.
His mind was full of whirlwinds of worry, each trying to come up with some excuse that Arthur would accept. But all he could do was mumble, “Tripped. Got a bloody nose. I forgot all about it. But don’t worry, cabbagehead. I won’t get your precious tunics dirty with my ineptitude.”
“Only you could turn getting injured into a fine art,” Arthur said, sitting down finally and watching Merlin gather up the basket full of clothes. He brushed a few of the crumbs back onto the dirty plate. “I was surprised Gaius let you go by yourself. You need a custodian. First broken ribs and memory loss and now tripping over air. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were cursed.”
“Cursed with working for you, maybe,” Merlin grumbled, looking around to see if he’d missed any laundry.
“You should be honoured to deal with my dirty socks,” Arthur said, sounding at first smug, then staring at Merlin as if he’d just now noticed something that puzzled him. Finally, while Merlin glared, Arthur stood up again, taking the basket out of Merlin’s hands and setting it aside. He seemed quite put-out as he looked Merlin over. “What is going on? Did Gaius mistake your injuries? Your ribs are nothing to ignore. Or are you just that much of an idiot not willing to take care of yourself?”
Shit.
Clearing his throat, thinking about what to say next, Merlin didn’t get a chance. Arthur let out an annoyed harrumph. “But then knowing you, the answer is idiot.”
Merlin couldn’t give back as good as he got because, in the next second, there was a knock at the door and Leon poked his head in. “Sire, a message from Candleston castle has arrived. I thought it urgent.”
Arthur motioned him in. “Merlin was just leaving. I believe he has a discussion with Gaius to complete. Something about taking care of himself.”
That was his cue to get the hell out before Arthur figured out where Merlin had really gone.
With a quick nod to Leon, Merlin escaped into the hallway.
Things were getting worse and worse. That damn captain in charge of Sarc’s ruined castle sending a message? Instead of being as incompetent as the guards? If Arthur ever figured out that Merlin had gone back, there would be hell to pay.
At least Gaius would understand. Maybe.