Precipitation Part 1 (Arthur/Merlin)
Title: Precipitation Part 1
Author: greymantledlady
Rating: G
Warnings: Um, Arthur being a prat? :)
Summary: ‘Merlin!’ Arthur explodes - and then stops, because Merlin has dropped to his knee on the floor, his face turned away and his arms cradled oddly to his chest; and his shoulders are shaking a little. And something in Arthur’s chest twists sharply, and he hears himself saying in quite a different voice, ‘Merlin? Merlin!’
AO3: Precipitation
Arthur doesn’t know what it is about Merlin.
Except that he’s irritating and odd and not-at-all adorable, and Arthur wants him to be around all the time without quite knowing why he wants it. And sometimes he has a bizarre compulsion to sit Merlin down in his own big chair, and wrap him up in a soft lambskin and bring him gifts, heap them on him, like roast chicken and sweet apples and fluffy kittens and flowers, of all things. Things that would make a gentle, soft, irritating person like Merlin happy, make his smile come out like sunbeams after rain.
He doesn’t know what Merlin does to make Arthur feel like that. It’s all very strange, and sort of - nerve-wracking, and confusing, and Arthur doesn’t quite know how to handle it.
Usually, with strange, confusing, out-of-the-ordinary things, you can use spears and arrows and weapons against them, but he can hardly run at Merlin and his sweet smile with a sword. So instead Arthur finds himself making life difficult for Merlin in small ways; he tells Merlin to redo jobs he’s just finished, tips water on his head, shouts at him for stupid things. He doesn’t know what makes him do it, but it’s a sort of unpleasant, panicky compulsion, as though he’s taking revenge on Merlin for being Merlin and making Arthur always want to be near him.
And Merlin just takes it all with a wry grin, or an exasperated huff, or a cheeky comment - but no matter whether he’s tired or annoyed or resigned, there’s always that indecipherable look in his eyes.
Arthur hates that look. It makes something twist uncomfortably in his chest, and he ends up bullying Merlin even more, though he doesn’t know if it makes him feel better or worse.
~
It’s one of those days, and Arthur’s just come in from training, ranting at Merlin about how useless he is all the way back to his chambers for no real reason than to let off steam. He strips off his armour, and Merlin’s more than usually clumsy with helping unbuckle the straps, so Arthur snaps at him and shoves the whole pile into his arms when it’s finally off.
Merlin flinches violently, and makes a sort of hissing sound. And then the whole pile is toppling out of his arms and clattering hideously onto the floor.
‘Merlin!’ Arthur explodes - and then stops, because Merlin has dropped to his knee on the floor, his face turned away and his arms cradled oddly to his chest; and his shoulders are shaking a little. And the thing in Arthur’s chest twists sharply, and he hears himself saying in quite a different voice, ‘Merlin? Merlin!’
He drops down next to Merlin just as Merlin tries to get up and scoot away, and Arthur wraps his hand around his thin shoulder to keep him there. Merlin shrinks back involuntarily, in a very un-Merlinish way, and when Arthur looks at his face there are pain-lines carved around his mouth and eyes.
‘You’re hurt!’ Arthur says stupidly, and pushes the scattered bits of armour out of the way so he can get closer to see. It’s Merlin’s left arm, that much is obvious from the way he’s holding it against himself, protecting it with the other. And Merlin’s bottom lip is clenched in his teeth so hard that it’s going white.
Arthur reaches for him, but Merlin pulls back and says, sharply, 'Don't touch it!'
'I just want to help,' Arthur says, hurt.
‘Haven’t you done enough?’ Merlin mutters, but not soft enough, and Arthur hears it. His chest twists again. It must show on his face, because Merlin glances up and says wearily, ‘Look, Arthur, m’sorry, all right? Just - hurts.’ And he looks so small and downcast that Arthur finds himself moving involuntarily to touch him, to comfort him. He realises just in time, and pulls his hands back, clearing his throat.
‘We should get you to Gaius,’ he says gruffly. ‘Come on.’ And he stands up and turns a little away as he waits for Merlin. Merlin clumsily kicks the scattered armour as he gets to his feet, and makes a little sharp worried sound as he does so, glancing at Arthur as though he expects to be snapped at.
Arthur looks away, tight-lipped, suddenly, inexplicably angry; not with Merlin, who is expecting his anger, but with - with everything else in the world except Merlin. Or is it Merlin he’s angry with? Merlin Merlin Merlin Merlin. It’s all he ever seems to think about, damn it all.
‘Come on,’ he says again, curt; and Merlin droops his head down and follows.
It’s very silent on the way to Gaius’s chambers. Merlin isn’t talking, just walking along looking white and wilted. Arthur keeps stealing little glances at him, to make sure he’s not going to collapse or anything, because that’s just the sort of thing Merlin would do, the big girl. It’s a good thing Arthur’s there, just in case. If he hadn’t noticed Merlin probably would have gone around all day and half-killed himself.
‘Next time, tell me,’ Arthur says abruptly into the sound of their footsteps, and he doesn’t look at Merlin. But he feels Merlin turn his head, and it seems like Merlin is watching him for a long time as they walk, and Arthur’s ears feel hot. ‘Watch where you’re going,’ he says. ‘You’ll fall over and make an utter fool of yourself.’
He glances at Merlin, just for a tiny second, because he can’t help it, and there’s the strangest look on Merlin’s face, a soft look. It makes something swoop and flip dangerously in Arthur’s stomach, and he swallows nervously.
Then they’re at Gaius’s chambers, and Arthur opens the door and goes through, Merlin trailing behind him.
Gaius looks up with his eyebrows cocked, and Arthur says without preamble, ‘Merlin’s hurt his arm.’ He pulls out a bench and steers Merlin onto it, his hand curling over Merlin’s shoulder before he quite realises it; but Merlin doesn’t recoil this time, just goes still and meekly lets himself be seated.
Gaius bends over Merlin and takes the arm in his hands. Merlin flinches, and Arthur realises that his hand is still curled lightly around Merlin’s scrawny shoulder, because he can feel little shivers going through him. He tightens his hand, and says, ‘Be careful, Gaius,’ which is of course quite unnecessary. Gaius doesn’t deign to answer.
There’s a few minutes of silence, in which Merlin shivers and shivers, and bites off little gasps of pain under Gaius’s searching fingers, and Arthur holds his shoulder tightly and tries to stop feeling so sick and worried and cold in his stomach. After a moment’s hesitation he grips Merlin’s other shoulder as well, steadying him and rubbing his thumbs soothingly over the bony little protrusions on Merlin’s back. He’s never noticed before quite how thin Merlin is.
‘It’s fractured,’ Gaius says, sternly. ‘What were you thinking, Merlin, to not come to me immediately? Not too bad a break, but you’re lucky it’s still aligned. I suppose you thought it would just go away of its own accord, did you?’
Merlin turns his face away. ‘Something - something like that,’ he says, and Arthur shifts uncomfortably, because he should have noticed, and instead he’d shoved that armour at Merlin and hurt him.
‘How did it happen?’ Gaius asks. Arthur, standing behind Merlin with his hands on his shoulders, has only a back view of soft dark curls and a pale strip of skin at his neck, but he can tell by the little jerking movement that Merlin swallows. The bony shoulders hunch a little beneath Arthur’s hands, and without thinking Arthur starts moving his thumbs over them again, making calming little circles.
Then Merlin says softly, ‘It just happened in training, that’s all,’ and the bottom drops out of Arthur’s stomach. Merlin had been training with the knights, today, acting as a sparring partner - or sparring block - and sometimes as a moving target. And Arthur hadn’t thought he’d hurt Merlin, but he also hadn’t exactly checked very carefully, because if one paid too much attention to Merlin when he was adorably tousled and panting and sweat-streaked, one found themselves wanting to touch him, and put their arm around him, and pull him close into their side. So Arthur had kept his distance, and now Merlin was hurt.
‘Was it - was it me, Merlin?’ he asks after a moment.
‘You didn’t mean to!’ Merlin says loudly, and then starts trying to turn around to see Arthur’s face, the idiot. He jostles his arm in the trying, before Arthur can stop him, and cringes and cradles it again.
‘You utter idiot!’ Arthur says hotly, coming round to the side so that he can shake an accusing finger in Merlin’s face. ‘Did you - did you think I - what were you thinking? As though I would expect you to go on with a broken arm! You’re so stupid!’
‘Well at least I’m not a - not a royal dollophead who thinks he can walk around all day insulting people!’ Merlin flashes back. His eyes are a little red-rimmed, and he sniffs angrily and clumsily tries to wipe his face on his good arm, glaring at Arthur.
Gaius clears his throat loudly. ‘I am going to go and find some splints for that arm,’ he says sternly. ‘I will be back in ten minutes.’ He doesn’t say after you have finished fighting, but it is heavily suggested by the eyebrow he gives them.
After the door closes behind him, Merlin takes a long, rather shaky breath, and then says in a quiet voice, ‘I’m sorry.’ He’s hunched over himself, still cradling the arm, and something about him makes Arthur’s heart hurt.
‘No,’ Arthur says, a bit too loudly, and paces a bit, two steps and back again. ‘You shouldn’t - I’m sorry. I - I shouldn’t have shouted. I should have checked to see you were all right.’
Merlin’s head comes up at that, his dark blue eyes finding Arthur’s face and searching it for a moment. He sniffs again, and Arthur notices guiltily that his lashes are a little bit damp.
But then Merlin grins, and it’s like sunshine after rain again, even in his white face. ‘And you shouldn’t have insulted me all those times? It wasn’t very nice.’
Arthur grins back, warmth blossoming in his chest. ‘Don’t push it, Merlin,’ he warns, and sits down next to him on the bench. ‘I’ll help you get that shirt off so Gaius can splint your arm.’
It’s an awkward process, trying to manoeuvre the shirt off over the arm without jostling it. Merlin flinches and shudders a few times, pressing his lips tightly together and hunching his shoulders. But Arthur holds him steady when that happens, and manages to guide the shirt gently over his head.
Merlin’s arm is swollen and bruised, an ugly purple stain spreading across more than two hand-spaces of his pale skin. Arthur huffs out a little breath, a warm protectiveness gathering inside him, and dares to sling his arm gently around Merlin, his fingers wrapping around his opposite shoulder. Merlin’s skin is warm and soft, so soft. Arthur strokes his thumb over it a little, and he feels Merlin tremble against him.
There’s an odd feeling inside Arthur’s stomach, like a hundred pigeons taking off and fluttering away, and all the breath seems to have left his lungs. He looks down at Merlin, and Merlin’s eyes are glazed and his lips are parted; and Arthur watches rather dazedly as Merlin’s pale throat moves as he swallows…
And the door clatters, and they both jump violently; and by the time Gaius has come over with an armful of bandages, Arthur is clearing his throat loudly and standing well out of arms’ reach. Merlin looks rather dazed, and Gaius tuts when he sees him. Arthur turns away, because he feels inexplicably dizzy, somehow, and for some reason his heart is pounding high in his throat, and he can’t shake the picture of Merlin’s long pale swallowing neck.
Arthur needs to get out. Away. Now.
Before he does anything stupid, like - like. Well. Before he does anything stupid.
‘I - must go to see to my, uh, chambers,’ he says in a rather strangled voice, clenching and flexing his fingers by his side. Gaius is raising a sceptical eyebrow, but Arthur doesn’t wait to see it, just turns and strides away before he can change his mind. His feet feel oddly heavy, dragging, like metal being heaved away from a lodestone.
At the door, he turns his head involuntarily to look back at the bench, and Merlin’s watching him with a white wistful face that makes something tug inside Arthur’s chest. He hesitates, and then raises a stiff hand in farewell.
Merlin gives him a sweet, slight, hopeful half-smile, and Arthur gulps and flees.
~
Next: Part 2
Song choice: Jungle Drum (Emiliana Torrini) because that's how Arthur feels. ;)
greymantledlady's fic masterlist
Author: greymantledlady
Rating: G
Warnings: Um, Arthur being a prat? :)
Summary: ‘Merlin!’ Arthur explodes - and then stops, because Merlin has dropped to his knee on the floor, his face turned away and his arms cradled oddly to his chest; and his shoulders are shaking a little. And something in Arthur’s chest twists sharply, and he hears himself saying in quite a different voice, ‘Merlin? Merlin!’
AO3: Precipitation
Arthur doesn’t know what it is about Merlin.
Except that he’s irritating and odd and not-at-all adorable, and Arthur wants him to be around all the time without quite knowing why he wants it. And sometimes he has a bizarre compulsion to sit Merlin down in his own big chair, and wrap him up in a soft lambskin and bring him gifts, heap them on him, like roast chicken and sweet apples and fluffy kittens and flowers, of all things. Things that would make a gentle, soft, irritating person like Merlin happy, make his smile come out like sunbeams after rain.
He doesn’t know what Merlin does to make Arthur feel like that. It’s all very strange, and sort of - nerve-wracking, and confusing, and Arthur doesn’t quite know how to handle it.
Usually, with strange, confusing, out-of-the-ordinary things, you can use spears and arrows and weapons against them, but he can hardly run at Merlin and his sweet smile with a sword. So instead Arthur finds himself making life difficult for Merlin in small ways; he tells Merlin to redo jobs he’s just finished, tips water on his head, shouts at him for stupid things. He doesn’t know what makes him do it, but it’s a sort of unpleasant, panicky compulsion, as though he’s taking revenge on Merlin for being Merlin and making Arthur always want to be near him.
And Merlin just takes it all with a wry grin, or an exasperated huff, or a cheeky comment - but no matter whether he’s tired or annoyed or resigned, there’s always that indecipherable look in his eyes.
Arthur hates that look. It makes something twist uncomfortably in his chest, and he ends up bullying Merlin even more, though he doesn’t know if it makes him feel better or worse.
~
It’s one of those days, and Arthur’s just come in from training, ranting at Merlin about how useless he is all the way back to his chambers for no real reason than to let off steam. He strips off his armour, and Merlin’s more than usually clumsy with helping unbuckle the straps, so Arthur snaps at him and shoves the whole pile into his arms when it’s finally off.
Merlin flinches violently, and makes a sort of hissing sound. And then the whole pile is toppling out of his arms and clattering hideously onto the floor.
‘Merlin!’ Arthur explodes - and then stops, because Merlin has dropped to his knee on the floor, his face turned away and his arms cradled oddly to his chest; and his shoulders are shaking a little. And the thing in Arthur’s chest twists sharply, and he hears himself saying in quite a different voice, ‘Merlin? Merlin!’
He drops down next to Merlin just as Merlin tries to get up and scoot away, and Arthur wraps his hand around his thin shoulder to keep him there. Merlin shrinks back involuntarily, in a very un-Merlinish way, and when Arthur looks at his face there are pain-lines carved around his mouth and eyes.
‘You’re hurt!’ Arthur says stupidly, and pushes the scattered bits of armour out of the way so he can get closer to see. It’s Merlin’s left arm, that much is obvious from the way he’s holding it against himself, protecting it with the other. And Merlin’s bottom lip is clenched in his teeth so hard that it’s going white.
Arthur reaches for him, but Merlin pulls back and says, sharply, 'Don't touch it!'
'I just want to help,' Arthur says, hurt.
‘Haven’t you done enough?’ Merlin mutters, but not soft enough, and Arthur hears it. His chest twists again. It must show on his face, because Merlin glances up and says wearily, ‘Look, Arthur, m’sorry, all right? Just - hurts.’ And he looks so small and downcast that Arthur finds himself moving involuntarily to touch him, to comfort him. He realises just in time, and pulls his hands back, clearing his throat.
‘We should get you to Gaius,’ he says gruffly. ‘Come on.’ And he stands up and turns a little away as he waits for Merlin. Merlin clumsily kicks the scattered armour as he gets to his feet, and makes a little sharp worried sound as he does so, glancing at Arthur as though he expects to be snapped at.
Arthur looks away, tight-lipped, suddenly, inexplicably angry; not with Merlin, who is expecting his anger, but with - with everything else in the world except Merlin. Or is it Merlin he’s angry with? Merlin Merlin Merlin Merlin. It’s all he ever seems to think about, damn it all.
‘Come on,’ he says again, curt; and Merlin droops his head down and follows.
It’s very silent on the way to Gaius’s chambers. Merlin isn’t talking, just walking along looking white and wilted. Arthur keeps stealing little glances at him, to make sure he’s not going to collapse or anything, because that’s just the sort of thing Merlin would do, the big girl. It’s a good thing Arthur’s there, just in case. If he hadn’t noticed Merlin probably would have gone around all day and half-killed himself.
‘Next time, tell me,’ Arthur says abruptly into the sound of their footsteps, and he doesn’t look at Merlin. But he feels Merlin turn his head, and it seems like Merlin is watching him for a long time as they walk, and Arthur’s ears feel hot. ‘Watch where you’re going,’ he says. ‘You’ll fall over and make an utter fool of yourself.’
He glances at Merlin, just for a tiny second, because he can’t help it, and there’s the strangest look on Merlin’s face, a soft look. It makes something swoop and flip dangerously in Arthur’s stomach, and he swallows nervously.
Then they’re at Gaius’s chambers, and Arthur opens the door and goes through, Merlin trailing behind him.
Gaius looks up with his eyebrows cocked, and Arthur says without preamble, ‘Merlin’s hurt his arm.’ He pulls out a bench and steers Merlin onto it, his hand curling over Merlin’s shoulder before he quite realises it; but Merlin doesn’t recoil this time, just goes still and meekly lets himself be seated.
Gaius bends over Merlin and takes the arm in his hands. Merlin flinches, and Arthur realises that his hand is still curled lightly around Merlin’s scrawny shoulder, because he can feel little shivers going through him. He tightens his hand, and says, ‘Be careful, Gaius,’ which is of course quite unnecessary. Gaius doesn’t deign to answer.
There’s a few minutes of silence, in which Merlin shivers and shivers, and bites off little gasps of pain under Gaius’s searching fingers, and Arthur holds his shoulder tightly and tries to stop feeling so sick and worried and cold in his stomach. After a moment’s hesitation he grips Merlin’s other shoulder as well, steadying him and rubbing his thumbs soothingly over the bony little protrusions on Merlin’s back. He’s never noticed before quite how thin Merlin is.
‘It’s fractured,’ Gaius says, sternly. ‘What were you thinking, Merlin, to not come to me immediately? Not too bad a break, but you’re lucky it’s still aligned. I suppose you thought it would just go away of its own accord, did you?’
Merlin turns his face away. ‘Something - something like that,’ he says, and Arthur shifts uncomfortably, because he should have noticed, and instead he’d shoved that armour at Merlin and hurt him.
‘How did it happen?’ Gaius asks. Arthur, standing behind Merlin with his hands on his shoulders, has only a back view of soft dark curls and a pale strip of skin at his neck, but he can tell by the little jerking movement that Merlin swallows. The bony shoulders hunch a little beneath Arthur’s hands, and without thinking Arthur starts moving his thumbs over them again, making calming little circles.
Then Merlin says softly, ‘It just happened in training, that’s all,’ and the bottom drops out of Arthur’s stomach. Merlin had been training with the knights, today, acting as a sparring partner - or sparring block - and sometimes as a moving target. And Arthur hadn’t thought he’d hurt Merlin, but he also hadn’t exactly checked very carefully, because if one paid too much attention to Merlin when he was adorably tousled and panting and sweat-streaked, one found themselves wanting to touch him, and put their arm around him, and pull him close into their side. So Arthur had kept his distance, and now Merlin was hurt.
‘Was it - was it me, Merlin?’ he asks after a moment.
‘You didn’t mean to!’ Merlin says loudly, and then starts trying to turn around to see Arthur’s face, the idiot. He jostles his arm in the trying, before Arthur can stop him, and cringes and cradles it again.
‘You utter idiot!’ Arthur says hotly, coming round to the side so that he can shake an accusing finger in Merlin’s face. ‘Did you - did you think I - what were you thinking? As though I would expect you to go on with a broken arm! You’re so stupid!’
‘Well at least I’m not a - not a royal dollophead who thinks he can walk around all day insulting people!’ Merlin flashes back. His eyes are a little red-rimmed, and he sniffs angrily and clumsily tries to wipe his face on his good arm, glaring at Arthur.
Gaius clears his throat loudly. ‘I am going to go and find some splints for that arm,’ he says sternly. ‘I will be back in ten minutes.’ He doesn’t say after you have finished fighting, but it is heavily suggested by the eyebrow he gives them.
After the door closes behind him, Merlin takes a long, rather shaky breath, and then says in a quiet voice, ‘I’m sorry.’ He’s hunched over himself, still cradling the arm, and something about him makes Arthur’s heart hurt.
‘No,’ Arthur says, a bit too loudly, and paces a bit, two steps and back again. ‘You shouldn’t - I’m sorry. I - I shouldn’t have shouted. I should have checked to see you were all right.’
Merlin’s head comes up at that, his dark blue eyes finding Arthur’s face and searching it for a moment. He sniffs again, and Arthur notices guiltily that his lashes are a little bit damp.
But then Merlin grins, and it’s like sunshine after rain again, even in his white face. ‘And you shouldn’t have insulted me all those times? It wasn’t very nice.’
Arthur grins back, warmth blossoming in his chest. ‘Don’t push it, Merlin,’ he warns, and sits down next to him on the bench. ‘I’ll help you get that shirt off so Gaius can splint your arm.’
It’s an awkward process, trying to manoeuvre the shirt off over the arm without jostling it. Merlin flinches and shudders a few times, pressing his lips tightly together and hunching his shoulders. But Arthur holds him steady when that happens, and manages to guide the shirt gently over his head.
Merlin’s arm is swollen and bruised, an ugly purple stain spreading across more than two hand-spaces of his pale skin. Arthur huffs out a little breath, a warm protectiveness gathering inside him, and dares to sling his arm gently around Merlin, his fingers wrapping around his opposite shoulder. Merlin’s skin is warm and soft, so soft. Arthur strokes his thumb over it a little, and he feels Merlin tremble against him.
There’s an odd feeling inside Arthur’s stomach, like a hundred pigeons taking off and fluttering away, and all the breath seems to have left his lungs. He looks down at Merlin, and Merlin’s eyes are glazed and his lips are parted; and Arthur watches rather dazedly as Merlin’s pale throat moves as he swallows…
And the door clatters, and they both jump violently; and by the time Gaius has come over with an armful of bandages, Arthur is clearing his throat loudly and standing well out of arms’ reach. Merlin looks rather dazed, and Gaius tuts when he sees him. Arthur turns away, because he feels inexplicably dizzy, somehow, and for some reason his heart is pounding high in his throat, and he can’t shake the picture of Merlin’s long pale swallowing neck.
Arthur needs to get out. Away. Now.
Before he does anything stupid, like - like. Well. Before he does anything stupid.
‘I - must go to see to my, uh, chambers,’ he says in a rather strangled voice, clenching and flexing his fingers by his side. Gaius is raising a sceptical eyebrow, but Arthur doesn’t wait to see it, just turns and strides away before he can change his mind. His feet feel oddly heavy, dragging, like metal being heaved away from a lodestone.
At the door, he turns his head involuntarily to look back at the bench, and Merlin’s watching him with a white wistful face that makes something tug inside Arthur’s chest. He hesitates, and then raises a stiff hand in farewell.
Merlin gives him a sweet, slight, hopeful half-smile, and Arthur gulps and flees.
~
Next: Part 2
Song choice: Jungle Drum (Emiliana Torrini) because that's how Arthur feels. ;)
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