On the Wings of Humans
Title: On the Wings of Humans
Fandom: Merlin (bbc)
Rating: PG
Length: 1,040
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Summary: Uther is sick. Arthur is desperate.
Note: Written for jacklemmon, prompt: someone wake me up, in participation of merlinarthurfqf's mini exchange. Um, my utilizing of the prompt is kind of vague and abstract…sorry.
It was the flu. Or something else. Something common. The exact same sickness everyone else in the kingdom was getting or recovering from. The same exact sickness Arthur had just a week ago.
Merlin had yet to get the illness, but it was only a matter of time. He was around it constantly, fetching after Gaius and tending to those ill.
The only difference this time: Uther wasn't recovering.
"Are you sure it's nothing magical?" Arthur asked, again, and Gaius, ever more patient than Merlin would have been after being asked for the seventh or eighth time, merely nodded sympathetically.
"It's a normal sickness, sire."
Arthur resumed his pacing, arms crossed over his chest. He glowered at his father or the bed he lay sunken in, his face pale and already looking dead. "No one else has died from it. My father has many enemy sorcerers; it would not be a stretch for one to take advantage of the situation."
"Sire, there have been other deaths," Gaius corrected.
Arthur glowered, silently demanding why he hadn't heard of any deaths.
"They were all infants or old folk. Peasants, my lord."
For a moment, Arthur looked like he was going to shout. Going to deny, yet again, that the King was dieing from something as mundane as the flu, but he smacked his mouth shut instead and stopped pacing, looking away from Gaius, Merlin, Morgana, and Gwen, all standing by the doorway. It was an obvious dismissal, but Merlin never heeded them anyway, so he wasn't going to move, except Morgana's hand circled his wrist lightly, guiding him out of the room. Gwen followed.
"Arthur's not ready to be king," Morgana whispered, her eyes hard yet wet. She blinked meaningfully at Merlin, ignoring Gwen's timid bumbling that she thought Arthur ready, would make a great king.
Merlin tended to agree with Gwen: Arthur at his worst would make a better king than Uther at his best. But Morgana kept staring at him, then nodded once, pointedly. Merlin thought he understood; he nodded back. It seemed well enough for Morgana, who glided away, Gwen trailing after her and shooting concerned looks over her shoulder.
Merlin watched them until they rounded a corner, then ran to Gaius's chambers. He figured he didn't have much time before Arthur would send Gaius away, and the moment Gaius realized what Merlin planned on doing, he'd put a stop to it.
He thought of Arthur, pacing, worried and scared, though he'd never admit it, and of Morgana, knowing something she refused to divulge but assumed Merlin understood anyway. And Merlin hoped he understood. By the time he finished making the poultice, Gaius eased the door open and smiled tiredly at Merlin.
"The prince asks for you."
Merlin nodded, a little breathless, and shoved the poultice in his clothes. He probably looked obviously guilty, but he had a prince to dash off to, and Gaius was so tired, that Gaius didn't bother calling him out.
He just needed to think of a reason for Arthur to leave the room, unless he wanted to wait for Arthur use the chamber pot. He started some rough calculations of when it was last that Arthur ate and drank, and when Arthur could reasonably be expected to excuse himself, when he opened the door to the King's bedchambers, and all thinking stuttered to a halt.
"Use your magic," Arthur demanded.
Merlin blinked. He processed what Arthur had said, realized he'd said what Merlin thought he said, then felt his mouth drop and face pale.
Arthur whirled around, facing Merlin. "Use your magic," he repeated earnestly.
"I--I wouldn't--won't--hurt you," Merlin hastened to say. "I'd do anything for you. I promise. I use my magic for you--to save you and…and do your chores and such…"
"Merlin." Arthur rolled his eyes, looking back at the King, comatose in bed, then grabbed Merlin's arm, fingers digging into his flesh, and pulled him to Uther's bedside. "I don't have time for this. Just cure him. Like you did with Guinevere's father."
Merlin tried very hard not to go into shock. Or faint.
"We can talk later, okay? Just cure him before it's too late."
Merlin nodded, and he felt pretty sure he kept nodding as he reached in the folds of his clothes for the poultice, but he wasn't sure. He slipped it under Uther's pillow, feeling like he'd done wrong, and belatedly realizing Morgana may have simply meant for him to be there for Arthur and to help him. Too late. He whispered the spell, watching as the poultice glowed and Uther's face slowly regained colour.
"Your eyes," Arthur murmured, reaching out and touching the skin under Merlin's left eye. "They change colour."
Merlin smiled awkwardly at him.
"Right." Arthur snapped his hand back and looked at his father. "He's cured now?"
"Should be. He looks less…dead-like." Merlin felt like he was missing something, but he didn't miss the way Arthur swayed where he stood.
Arthur walked to the basin of water and rung out the rag, dabbing at Uther's forehead.
Merlin felt exhausted, strung out and worried. Like he'd run around Camelot. Or had been running up and down the castle stairs, fetching useless things for Arthur. Skin still a little clammy, he sunk into the chair by the window, his eyes falling closed, and focused on his breathing. He hoped nothing would go wrong--that no one would be accused of sorcery this time.
A few moments of dabbing later, Arthur set the rag next to the basin and stepped in front of Merlin. "Thank you," he said, and Merlin murmured, "I'd do anything for you," because he didn't understand but needed Arthur to know this.
Arthur took a deep breath, eased himself to the floor, and rested his head against Merlin's knees. "Merlin, thank you."
They probably looked ridiculous, would look even more ridiculous if Uther woke up in the next moment and glanced at them, servant on the chair and prince kneeling before him, forehead against servant's knees. But Merlin found he didn't care. He moved his hands from his thighs and to Arthur's hair, stroking through the golden locks.
He let his eyelids fall closed again, focusing on Arthur's steady, heavy breaths against his legs.
Fandom: Merlin (bbc)
Rating: PG
Length: 1,040
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Summary: Uther is sick. Arthur is desperate.
Note: Written for jacklemmon, prompt: someone wake me up, in participation of merlinarthurfqf's mini exchange. Um, my utilizing of the prompt is kind of vague and abstract…sorry.
It was the flu. Or something else. Something common. The exact same sickness everyone else in the kingdom was getting or recovering from. The same exact sickness Arthur had just a week ago.
Merlin had yet to get the illness, but it was only a matter of time. He was around it constantly, fetching after Gaius and tending to those ill.
The only difference this time: Uther wasn't recovering.
"Are you sure it's nothing magical?" Arthur asked, again, and Gaius, ever more patient than Merlin would have been after being asked for the seventh or eighth time, merely nodded sympathetically.
"It's a normal sickness, sire."
Arthur resumed his pacing, arms crossed over his chest. He glowered at his father or the bed he lay sunken in, his face pale and already looking dead. "No one else has died from it. My father has many enemy sorcerers; it would not be a stretch for one to take advantage of the situation."
"Sire, there have been other deaths," Gaius corrected.
Arthur glowered, silently demanding why he hadn't heard of any deaths.
"They were all infants or old folk. Peasants, my lord."
For a moment, Arthur looked like he was going to shout. Going to deny, yet again, that the King was dieing from something as mundane as the flu, but he smacked his mouth shut instead and stopped pacing, looking away from Gaius, Merlin, Morgana, and Gwen, all standing by the doorway. It was an obvious dismissal, but Merlin never heeded them anyway, so he wasn't going to move, except Morgana's hand circled his wrist lightly, guiding him out of the room. Gwen followed.
"Arthur's not ready to be king," Morgana whispered, her eyes hard yet wet. She blinked meaningfully at Merlin, ignoring Gwen's timid bumbling that she thought Arthur ready, would make a great king.
Merlin tended to agree with Gwen: Arthur at his worst would make a better king than Uther at his best. But Morgana kept staring at him, then nodded once, pointedly. Merlin thought he understood; he nodded back. It seemed well enough for Morgana, who glided away, Gwen trailing after her and shooting concerned looks over her shoulder.
Merlin watched them until they rounded a corner, then ran to Gaius's chambers. He figured he didn't have much time before Arthur would send Gaius away, and the moment Gaius realized what Merlin planned on doing, he'd put a stop to it.
He thought of Arthur, pacing, worried and scared, though he'd never admit it, and of Morgana, knowing something she refused to divulge but assumed Merlin understood anyway. And Merlin hoped he understood. By the time he finished making the poultice, Gaius eased the door open and smiled tiredly at Merlin.
"The prince asks for you."
Merlin nodded, a little breathless, and shoved the poultice in his clothes. He probably looked obviously guilty, but he had a prince to dash off to, and Gaius was so tired, that Gaius didn't bother calling him out.
He just needed to think of a reason for Arthur to leave the room, unless he wanted to wait for Arthur use the chamber pot. He started some rough calculations of when it was last that Arthur ate and drank, and when Arthur could reasonably be expected to excuse himself, when he opened the door to the King's bedchambers, and all thinking stuttered to a halt.
"Use your magic," Arthur demanded.
Merlin blinked. He processed what Arthur had said, realized he'd said what Merlin thought he said, then felt his mouth drop and face pale.
Arthur whirled around, facing Merlin. "Use your magic," he repeated earnestly.
"I--I wouldn't--won't--hurt you," Merlin hastened to say. "I'd do anything for you. I promise. I use my magic for you--to save you and…and do your chores and such…"
"Merlin." Arthur rolled his eyes, looking back at the King, comatose in bed, then grabbed Merlin's arm, fingers digging into his flesh, and pulled him to Uther's bedside. "I don't have time for this. Just cure him. Like you did with Guinevere's father."
Merlin tried very hard not to go into shock. Or faint.
"We can talk later, okay? Just cure him before it's too late."
Merlin nodded, and he felt pretty sure he kept nodding as he reached in the folds of his clothes for the poultice, but he wasn't sure. He slipped it under Uther's pillow, feeling like he'd done wrong, and belatedly realizing Morgana may have simply meant for him to be there for Arthur and to help him. Too late. He whispered the spell, watching as the poultice glowed and Uther's face slowly regained colour.
"Your eyes," Arthur murmured, reaching out and touching the skin under Merlin's left eye. "They change colour."
Merlin smiled awkwardly at him.
"Right." Arthur snapped his hand back and looked at his father. "He's cured now?"
"Should be. He looks less…dead-like." Merlin felt like he was missing something, but he didn't miss the way Arthur swayed where he stood.
Arthur walked to the basin of water and rung out the rag, dabbing at Uther's forehead.
Merlin felt exhausted, strung out and worried. Like he'd run around Camelot. Or had been running up and down the castle stairs, fetching useless things for Arthur. Skin still a little clammy, he sunk into the chair by the window, his eyes falling closed, and focused on his breathing. He hoped nothing would go wrong--that no one would be accused of sorcery this time.
A few moments of dabbing later, Arthur set the rag next to the basin and stepped in front of Merlin. "Thank you," he said, and Merlin murmured, "I'd do anything for you," because he didn't understand but needed Arthur to know this.
Arthur took a deep breath, eased himself to the floor, and rested his head against Merlin's knees. "Merlin, thank you."
They probably looked ridiculous, would look even more ridiculous if Uther woke up in the next moment and glanced at them, servant on the chair and prince kneeling before him, forehead against servant's knees. But Merlin found he didn't care. He moved his hands from his thighs and to Arthur's hair, stroking through the golden locks.
He let his eyelids fall closed again, focusing on Arthur's steady, heavy breaths against his legs.