Merlin fic: Delirium
Delirium
Merlin/Arthur, G-rated, about 1350 words, canon-era futurefic and self-indulgent hurt/comfort
Prompt: delirium and a worried Arthur.
Thirsty...he was so thirsty. Merlin felt withered, like an old tree too dry to stand against the summer sun. His face was blazing hot, and he hurt everywhere - his skin was too tight, his body too heavy. He wanted to call out for Gaius, but his throat wasn't working; it hurt more than he thought he could bear, but there was no help for it. He didn't even have the strength to open his eyes. He could smell the pungent odor of Gaius's strongest tincture.
"We must get some water into him," came Gaius' voice, from very near.
An arm slipped beneath his shoulders, but even that slight pressure was painful. He hunched weakly on the arm supporting him.
"Give me the cup," a second voice said - Arthur, right next to him. "Merlin, drink."
Merlin wanted to call him bossy, to tease him, but he didn't have the energy to tease. He wanted the water so much, and Arthur was there, Arthur wanted him to drink it, so he would. The cup tipped against his lips, and Merlin eagerly tried to take in the water, anything to ease his parched throat. The moment the first drops passed his lips, the pain in his throat welled up and prevented him from swallowing. He coughed and retched, and Arthur's arm tightened around his shoulders as he gently wiped Merlin's mouth. "Easy, easy," Arthur murmured, his voice quiet and hoarse, and Merlin clung to the sound of it, fighting the wave of nausea.
"He's getting worse," said another voice behind him. It was Gwaine, and Merlin vaguely wondered why so many people were there, and why he was so hot. "Arthur, do you think--"
"Shut up," Arthur said, such strain in his voice that Merlin tried to lift a hand. Arthur caught it and set Merlin's hand back against his belly. His arm withdrew and Merlin's head dropped against a soft pillow. "I forbid you to say it."
"I care for him, too, but you don't want to face the fact that he's dying, and there's not much more to be done," Gwaine said sharply.
There was a scuffling noise then, and a great deal of harsh cursing and grunting, and Merlin thrashed his head, seeking Arthur, because he wasn't dying, he wasn't.
"Be still, my boy," Gaius said, and a cool cloth pressed against Merlin's face. Merlin tossed his head; he wanted Arthur, but as soon as that burst of energy was gone, he had no more strength to seek him, and he lay still, exhausted.
Time slipped, then, and Merlin thought he saw Arthur at the foot of his bed, beautiful and golden, wrapped in tendrils of fire, Merlin's magic all around him like a sunlit halo. He was smiling, not angry as he had been when Merlin told him of his magic, but full of forgiveness.
"I'm sorry, Arthur, please," Merlin said, reaching out for him, but the words caught against the lump in his throat, strangling him. He choked, and gasped for breath.
"Don't talk, don't, Merlin," Arthur said, and he wasn't at the foot of the bed at all, but beside Merlin, bending close to him with a dark glimmer of fear in his eyes. Merlin touched the bruised shadows on Arthur's pale face, and frowned. No one had been taking care of his king, that much was plain. Arthur was never afraid, not like this. That look scared Merlin down to the heart.
A moment later, Arthur gathered him into his arms, and in a moment of fevered clarity, Merlin knew -- he must truly be dying, because nothing else could cause Arthur to hold him so, not when any others could see. "Merlin, please," Arthur said, his lips gentle against the shell of Merlin's ear. "You must get better. You must...Merlin, you have to heal. I already know...it doesn't matter, do you understand? Merlin, please."
There was such distress in Arthur's voice. Merlin curled his fingertips into Arthur's shirt; it was one of his oldest, so smooth and threadbare. Merlin could remember Arthur wearing it to bed one evening, when Arthur had first tumbled him down into the sheets. Arthur's hands had been so rough, and his lips so soft. He turned his face toward Arthur's chest, breathing in the comforting familiar scent of laundry soap and Arthur's skin, and sighed out a breath.
"He is too weak, sire. He cannot access the power to do what you're asking of him," Gaius said.
"Gaius, he can't swallow, he can't take in water. The fever is burning him away to nothing." Arthur's arms tightened around him. "You can do it."
"Sire," Gaius said, and the sound of the word was pure devastation. "You know I would do anything for Merlin, but--"
"But I should be more cautious? I should remember what happened the last time?" Arthur's face was against Merlin's face, and it was wet. He choked out a bitter laugh. "I haven't learned my lesson, it seems."
"There is always a danger--"
"Do you think I of all people don't know that?" Arthur nuzzled into Merlin's neck, and then lifted his head. "Now I know how my father felt, when my mo--" His voice broke, and Merlin clutched harder at Arthur's shirt, and was pulled closer in return.
There was a long pause, and Arthur whispered to Merlin, "You must fight, Merlin. Be your usual ridiculous contrary self, and fight for your life, damn you." He lifted his head and said, "Gaius, please. I will not endure this loss. I will not."
"If you command me to do it, sire--"
"I do."
"Then so be it."
A shuffling sound, and the scrape of a chair being dragged closer, and Arthur was pushing Merlin away, leaving him. Suddenly it seemed important that Arthur never leave him again, and Merlin reached for Arthur, who caught his hand, clasping it between his own. Merlin forced his eyes open, to see his king. Arthur's face blazed with a determination Merlin knew all too well, and as Gaius's hand settled on Merlin's brow, Arthur's jaw set.
"Sleep, Merlin," Arthur said, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to Merlin's palm.
Blackness came for him, but the golden arc of magic was all around him, and the unease of long secrecy made Merlin's heart flutter as he sank into darkness, Arthur's strength at his side.
In the morning, he woke to find Gaius asleep in the chair beside his bed -- not his bed, but Arthur's bed, which made no sense at all. Gwaine was sleeping also, slumped across Arthur's desk, his face pillowed on his hand. His nose was red and crooked, and he looked wretched.
Arthur stirred beside him, sleeping stretched out at Merlin's side as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His hand was curled around Merlin's wrist, like he was afraid Merlin might escape in the night. All of his knuckles were bruised. Merlin thought of him, golden and tender in Merlin's feverish, wistful memory. Worry coiled in his belly. He had sacrificed his secrets entirely, before he'd fallen ill, and they hadn't had time to reconcile it, any of it. And yet, Arthur was still there, beside him.
"Arthur," Merlin croaked, coughing a little.
Arthur jerked awake and sat up, turning wildly toward Merlin. A broad, joyful grin split his face, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to Merlin's forehead.
"Last night, I feared you were not long for this world," he confessed softly, brushing Merlin's hair back from his sweaty forehead.
Merlin looked at Arthur, at his messy hair and his rumpled clothes, and the generally awful state he was in, and said, "Who would take care of you, if I didn't?"
"Who indeed," Arthur said, his cheek pressed to Merlin's.
Merlin closed his eyes and wrapped his fingers around Arthur's wrist, capturing Arthur's strong, steady heartbeat beneath his fingertips.
~end~
Merlin/Arthur, G-rated, about 1350 words, canon-era futurefic and self-indulgent hurt/comfort
Prompt: delirium and a worried Arthur.
Thirsty...he was so thirsty. Merlin felt withered, like an old tree too dry to stand against the summer sun. His face was blazing hot, and he hurt everywhere - his skin was too tight, his body too heavy. He wanted to call out for Gaius, but his throat wasn't working; it hurt more than he thought he could bear, but there was no help for it. He didn't even have the strength to open his eyes. He could smell the pungent odor of Gaius's strongest tincture.
"We must get some water into him," came Gaius' voice, from very near.
An arm slipped beneath his shoulders, but even that slight pressure was painful. He hunched weakly on the arm supporting him.
"Give me the cup," a second voice said - Arthur, right next to him. "Merlin, drink."
Merlin wanted to call him bossy, to tease him, but he didn't have the energy to tease. He wanted the water so much, and Arthur was there, Arthur wanted him to drink it, so he would. The cup tipped against his lips, and Merlin eagerly tried to take in the water, anything to ease his parched throat. The moment the first drops passed his lips, the pain in his throat welled up and prevented him from swallowing. He coughed and retched, and Arthur's arm tightened around his shoulders as he gently wiped Merlin's mouth. "Easy, easy," Arthur murmured, his voice quiet and hoarse, and Merlin clung to the sound of it, fighting the wave of nausea.
"He's getting worse," said another voice behind him. It was Gwaine, and Merlin vaguely wondered why so many people were there, and why he was so hot. "Arthur, do you think--"
"Shut up," Arthur said, such strain in his voice that Merlin tried to lift a hand. Arthur caught it and set Merlin's hand back against his belly. His arm withdrew and Merlin's head dropped against a soft pillow. "I forbid you to say it."
"I care for him, too, but you don't want to face the fact that he's dying, and there's not much more to be done," Gwaine said sharply.
There was a scuffling noise then, and a great deal of harsh cursing and grunting, and Merlin thrashed his head, seeking Arthur, because he wasn't dying, he wasn't.
"Be still, my boy," Gaius said, and a cool cloth pressed against Merlin's face. Merlin tossed his head; he wanted Arthur, but as soon as that burst of energy was gone, he had no more strength to seek him, and he lay still, exhausted.
Time slipped, then, and Merlin thought he saw Arthur at the foot of his bed, beautiful and golden, wrapped in tendrils of fire, Merlin's magic all around him like a sunlit halo. He was smiling, not angry as he had been when Merlin told him of his magic, but full of forgiveness.
"I'm sorry, Arthur, please," Merlin said, reaching out for him, but the words caught against the lump in his throat, strangling him. He choked, and gasped for breath.
"Don't talk, don't, Merlin," Arthur said, and he wasn't at the foot of the bed at all, but beside Merlin, bending close to him with a dark glimmer of fear in his eyes. Merlin touched the bruised shadows on Arthur's pale face, and frowned. No one had been taking care of his king, that much was plain. Arthur was never afraid, not like this. That look scared Merlin down to the heart.
A moment later, Arthur gathered him into his arms, and in a moment of fevered clarity, Merlin knew -- he must truly be dying, because nothing else could cause Arthur to hold him so, not when any others could see. "Merlin, please," Arthur said, his lips gentle against the shell of Merlin's ear. "You must get better. You must...Merlin, you have to heal. I already know...it doesn't matter, do you understand? Merlin, please."
There was such distress in Arthur's voice. Merlin curled his fingertips into Arthur's shirt; it was one of his oldest, so smooth and threadbare. Merlin could remember Arthur wearing it to bed one evening, when Arthur had first tumbled him down into the sheets. Arthur's hands had been so rough, and his lips so soft. He turned his face toward Arthur's chest, breathing in the comforting familiar scent of laundry soap and Arthur's skin, and sighed out a breath.
"He is too weak, sire. He cannot access the power to do what you're asking of him," Gaius said.
"Gaius, he can't swallow, he can't take in water. The fever is burning him away to nothing." Arthur's arms tightened around him. "You can do it."
"Sire," Gaius said, and the sound of the word was pure devastation. "You know I would do anything for Merlin, but--"
"But I should be more cautious? I should remember what happened the last time?" Arthur's face was against Merlin's face, and it was wet. He choked out a bitter laugh. "I haven't learned my lesson, it seems."
"There is always a danger--"
"Do you think I of all people don't know that?" Arthur nuzzled into Merlin's neck, and then lifted his head. "Now I know how my father felt, when my mo--" His voice broke, and Merlin clutched harder at Arthur's shirt, and was pulled closer in return.
There was a long pause, and Arthur whispered to Merlin, "You must fight, Merlin. Be your usual ridiculous contrary self, and fight for your life, damn you." He lifted his head and said, "Gaius, please. I will not endure this loss. I will not."
"If you command me to do it, sire--"
"I do."
"Then so be it."
A shuffling sound, and the scrape of a chair being dragged closer, and Arthur was pushing Merlin away, leaving him. Suddenly it seemed important that Arthur never leave him again, and Merlin reached for Arthur, who caught his hand, clasping it between his own. Merlin forced his eyes open, to see his king. Arthur's face blazed with a determination Merlin knew all too well, and as Gaius's hand settled on Merlin's brow, Arthur's jaw set.
"Sleep, Merlin," Arthur said, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to Merlin's palm.
Blackness came for him, but the golden arc of magic was all around him, and the unease of long secrecy made Merlin's heart flutter as he sank into darkness, Arthur's strength at his side.
In the morning, he woke to find Gaius asleep in the chair beside his bed -- not his bed, but Arthur's bed, which made no sense at all. Gwaine was sleeping also, slumped across Arthur's desk, his face pillowed on his hand. His nose was red and crooked, and he looked wretched.
Arthur stirred beside him, sleeping stretched out at Merlin's side as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His hand was curled around Merlin's wrist, like he was afraid Merlin might escape in the night. All of his knuckles were bruised. Merlin thought of him, golden and tender in Merlin's feverish, wistful memory. Worry coiled in his belly. He had sacrificed his secrets entirely, before he'd fallen ill, and they hadn't had time to reconcile it, any of it. And yet, Arthur was still there, beside him.
"Arthur," Merlin croaked, coughing a little.
Arthur jerked awake and sat up, turning wildly toward Merlin. A broad, joyful grin split his face, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to Merlin's forehead.
"Last night, I feared you were not long for this world," he confessed softly, brushing Merlin's hair back from his sweaty forehead.
Merlin looked at Arthur, at his messy hair and his rumpled clothes, and the generally awful state he was in, and said, "Who would take care of you, if I didn't?"
"Who indeed," Arthur said, his cheek pressed to Merlin's.
Merlin closed his eyes and wrapped his fingers around Arthur's wrist, capturing Arthur's strong, steady heartbeat beneath his fingertips.
~end~