it will come out a rose by and by
Author: schweet_heart
Title: it will come out a rose by and by
Rating: G
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Arthur comes home injured from a routine patrol; Merlin isn't best pleased at having been left behind.
Warnings: Non-graphic description of medical care, including stitches.
Word Count: 1000 words
Prompt: 610 (Reckless)
Author's Notes: I finally wrote a thing \o/ Title from a quote which Google tells me is from Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.
When Arthur pushed open the door to his chambers, Merlin was already there, pacing back and forth between the bed and the window. A bath had been drawn and was steaming faintly in front of the fire, a tray of food resting on the table, and what looked like half of Gaius’ infirmary had been spread out across the bed in preparation for his arrival.
“There you are,” Merlin said, spinning on his heel as soon as the door opened. He looked Arthur over as he stalked across the room, taking in the state of him with pursed lips. “I thought this was meant to be a routine patrol.”
“It was.” Wearily, Arthur unbuckled his cloak and laid it over a chair. “Entirely routine.”
“On routine patrols,” Merlin said, biting off each word as he yanked at the fastenings of Arthur’s armour, “you usually take me with you. And you usually don’t come back all covered in blood.”
Arthur winced, and only partly because being manhandled hurt. “My father felt it would be for the best,” he said, “and I agreed with him. An unarmed man in that kind of situation is a liability; I really shouldn’t bring you along as often as I do.”
“I can take care of myself.” Off came the gauntlets and the vambraces, clattering in an undignified heap onto the floor. “You, on the other hand, apparently require constant supervision. Or is it just that you enjoy the occasional ambush?”
“Merlin.”
It was meant to be a warning-as ever, Merlin was skating a tenuous line between insubordination and treason-but it came out softer than he intended and Merlin paused, his hand pressed flat against Arthur’s chest.
“You could at least have told me you were going,” he said at last, his gaze fixed on some point above Arthur’s sternum. “I had to find out from Cook when I went to fetch your breakfast, and by then it was too late to catch you up.”
That had been the point, of course, which he had probably guessed; in the entire history of their acquaintance, Merlin had never stayed behind when he was ordered to, so Arthur had opted simply not to mention that he was leaving. Sneaking out in the early morning had made him feel like the worst kind of coward, even as he told himself it was for Merlin’s own good. Routine patrol or not, it wasn’t safe for Merlin to be trailing after him all the time, and he couldn’t have lived with himself if his selfishness had gotten his manservant killed.
The fact that he had recently developed feelings for said manservant was neither here nor there.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Merlin lifted the breastplate away and set it with the rest, careful now in spite of his anger, and Arthur rotated his shoulders and cracked his neck from side to side, relieved to be free from the weight of the metal. “I thought you’d have been glad for some time off.”
“Right. Glad.” Merlin huffed, removing Arthur’s chainmail and glowering at the sweat-soaked tunic beneath. “Just think how glad I’ll be when you go and get yourself killed. At least it will save me from going to the trouble.”
Despite what his father might have said, Arthur was not a reckless or impulsive man-at least, not when it came to the important things. He had long ago weighed up the pros and cons of kissing Merlin at moments like this, when he was making free with Arthur’s space and quietly furious, and had concluded that the risks far outweighed the possible rewards, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted. He watched as Merlin removed the last of his armour and started unlacing his tunic, waiting until the blazing eyes met his before he smirked.
“Why, Merlin," he said. "Anyone would think you actually cared.”
A flush spread across Merlin’s pale cheekbones-either embarrassment or apoplexy, it wasn't clear, though judging by the way he ground his teeth it was probably the latter.
“Well, they’d be wrong,” he said, pulling the tunic over Arthur’s head with infinite care. “I really wish the bandits had disembowelled you.”
He cleaned Arthur’s wounds with the same meticulous attention, as grim-faced and intent as if he expected the prince to keel over at any moment. In point of fact, however, Arthur had been lucky; though they had been caught by surprise, neither he nor any of his men had been badly hurt, and most of the blood he’d been covered in hadn’t been his own. At length, Merlin seemed to realise this, the tension gradually easing from his shoulders and jaw as his inspection revealed nothing more than superficial cuts and bruises.
“This one will need a couple of stitches,” he said, touching the skin beside the worst of Arthur’s injuries. “The rest should heal fine on their own, provided none of them gets infected.”
Arthur nodded. “Thank you,” he said, matching Merlin’s tone. “Shall I send for Gaius?"
“No need.” Producing a hooked needle from amidst the medical detritus, Merlin gestured for Arthur to sit down on the bed. “I can do it.”
It seemed like asking for trouble, letting Merlin get close to him with a sharp implement when he was in such a mood, but Arthur bit his tongue to keep from saying so, and Merlin’s hands were gentle as he set to work, as focused on his task as Arthur had ever seen him. Arthur turned his head away, more to conceal his expression than out of any kind of squeamishness, and pretended he didn’t notice as the tingle of Merlin’s magic spread out across his skin.
When he was done, Merlin stood still, poised in the circle of space between Arthur’s legs.
“Don’t leave me behind again,” he said quietly. “Arthur. Please.”
Arthur let out his breath, his chest aching.
“I won’t,” he said, feeling the pull of the thread where Merlin had pieced him together. “I promise.”
Title: it will come out a rose by and by
Rating: G
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Arthur comes home injured from a routine patrol; Merlin isn't best pleased at having been left behind.
Warnings: Non-graphic description of medical care, including stitches.
Word Count: 1000 words
Prompt: 610 (Reckless)
Author's Notes: I finally wrote a thing \o/ Title from a quote which Google tells me is from Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.
When Arthur pushed open the door to his chambers, Merlin was already there, pacing back and forth between the bed and the window. A bath had been drawn and was steaming faintly in front of the fire, a tray of food resting on the table, and what looked like half of Gaius’ infirmary had been spread out across the bed in preparation for his arrival.
“There you are,” Merlin said, spinning on his heel as soon as the door opened. He looked Arthur over as he stalked across the room, taking in the state of him with pursed lips. “I thought this was meant to be a routine patrol.”
“It was.” Wearily, Arthur unbuckled his cloak and laid it over a chair. “Entirely routine.”
“On routine patrols,” Merlin said, biting off each word as he yanked at the fastenings of Arthur’s armour, “you usually take me with you. And you usually don’t come back all covered in blood.”
Arthur winced, and only partly because being manhandled hurt. “My father felt it would be for the best,” he said, “and I agreed with him. An unarmed man in that kind of situation is a liability; I really shouldn’t bring you along as often as I do.”
“I can take care of myself.” Off came the gauntlets and the vambraces, clattering in an undignified heap onto the floor. “You, on the other hand, apparently require constant supervision. Or is it just that you enjoy the occasional ambush?”
“Merlin.”
It was meant to be a warning-as ever, Merlin was skating a tenuous line between insubordination and treason-but it came out softer than he intended and Merlin paused, his hand pressed flat against Arthur’s chest.
“You could at least have told me you were going,” he said at last, his gaze fixed on some point above Arthur’s sternum. “I had to find out from Cook when I went to fetch your breakfast, and by then it was too late to catch you up.”
That had been the point, of course, which he had probably guessed; in the entire history of their acquaintance, Merlin had never stayed behind when he was ordered to, so Arthur had opted simply not to mention that he was leaving. Sneaking out in the early morning had made him feel like the worst kind of coward, even as he told himself it was for Merlin’s own good. Routine patrol or not, it wasn’t safe for Merlin to be trailing after him all the time, and he couldn’t have lived with himself if his selfishness had gotten his manservant killed.
The fact that he had recently developed feelings for said manservant was neither here nor there.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Merlin lifted the breastplate away and set it with the rest, careful now in spite of his anger, and Arthur rotated his shoulders and cracked his neck from side to side, relieved to be free from the weight of the metal. “I thought you’d have been glad for some time off.”
“Right. Glad.” Merlin huffed, removing Arthur’s chainmail and glowering at the sweat-soaked tunic beneath. “Just think how glad I’ll be when you go and get yourself killed. At least it will save me from going to the trouble.”
Despite what his father might have said, Arthur was not a reckless or impulsive man-at least, not when it came to the important things. He had long ago weighed up the pros and cons of kissing Merlin at moments like this, when he was making free with Arthur’s space and quietly furious, and had concluded that the risks far outweighed the possible rewards, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted. He watched as Merlin removed the last of his armour and started unlacing his tunic, waiting until the blazing eyes met his before he smirked.
“Why, Merlin," he said. "Anyone would think you actually cared.”
A flush spread across Merlin’s pale cheekbones-either embarrassment or apoplexy, it wasn't clear, though judging by the way he ground his teeth it was probably the latter.
“Well, they’d be wrong,” he said, pulling the tunic over Arthur’s head with infinite care. “I really wish the bandits had disembowelled you.”
He cleaned Arthur’s wounds with the same meticulous attention, as grim-faced and intent as if he expected the prince to keel over at any moment. In point of fact, however, Arthur had been lucky; though they had been caught by surprise, neither he nor any of his men had been badly hurt, and most of the blood he’d been covered in hadn’t been his own. At length, Merlin seemed to realise this, the tension gradually easing from his shoulders and jaw as his inspection revealed nothing more than superficial cuts and bruises.
“This one will need a couple of stitches,” he said, touching the skin beside the worst of Arthur’s injuries. “The rest should heal fine on their own, provided none of them gets infected.”
Arthur nodded. “Thank you,” he said, matching Merlin’s tone. “Shall I send for Gaius?"
“No need.” Producing a hooked needle from amidst the medical detritus, Merlin gestured for Arthur to sit down on the bed. “I can do it.”
It seemed like asking for trouble, letting Merlin get close to him with a sharp implement when he was in such a mood, but Arthur bit his tongue to keep from saying so, and Merlin’s hands were gentle as he set to work, as focused on his task as Arthur had ever seen him. Arthur turned his head away, more to conceal his expression than out of any kind of squeamishness, and pretended he didn’t notice as the tingle of Merlin’s magic spread out across his skin.
When he was done, Merlin stood still, poised in the circle of space between Arthur’s legs.
“Don’t leave me behind again,” he said quietly. “Arthur. Please.”
Arthur let out his breath, his chest aching.
“I won’t,” he said, feeling the pull of the thread where Merlin had pieced him together. “I promise.”