Look After You (Merlin/Arthur) Part 2
Title: Look After You - Part 2
Author: greymantledlady
Rating: G
Warnings: None, just sick!Arthur and lots of cuddles and fluff and sweetness. :)
Summary: Arthur makes a grumbling sound and holds tighter, one of Merlin's knees trapped warmly between his legs, his hand fisted in Merlin's shirt. Merlin blushes even more hotly as the shirt slips off his shoulder, grabbing at it to pull it back. 'Arthur!' he hisses. 'Arthur, let go of me, please! There's someone at the door!'
Beautiful cover art made by Nicci on AO3! Check out her other Merlin photomanips here.
AO3: Look After You
Previous: Part 1
~
It feels… nice, holding Arthur as he sleeps. Nice. Right, as though Merlin’s arms were made to curl around Arthur’s broad chest, as though their bodies were designed to fit against one another comfortably.
Merlin’s chest is against Arthur’s back, his cheek against Arthur’s hair. He rubs his nose in it, gently, listening to Arthur’s slow congested breathing. Then he dips his head and noses daringly at Arthur’s neck, nudging through strands of silky gold to reach Arthur’s skin.
Arthur smells good, in an earthy, safe sort of way. Merlin breathes in that warm Arthur-smell, falling into a light dozing sleep.
At some stage he’s aware of Arthur shifting, rolling over in the circle of Merlin’s arms. Merlin curls too, so that now his cheek is resting on Arthur's chest. Arthur's arm circles over him, naturally and easily, pulling him closer, and Merlin snuggles against him, half-asleep.
He dreams, the sort of comfortable dozy half-sentient dreams one has when utterly relaxed. He and Arthur are curled up in the woods, late summer sunlight drifting through leaves in dappled shades of green and gold. The bright clear sound of a wren comes from the trees above, and then there's a unicorn smiling fondly at them. A little logical part of Merlin's mind quibbles that unicorns don't smile, and certainly not fondly, but it's a dream, after all; anything's allowed.
'H'lo unicorn,' Merlin mumbles, smiling happily at it with his head still nestled against Arthur. The unicorn dips its graceful head in acknowledgement. But then it seems to hear something, and looks up and around. It's tapping one grey hoof - tap-tap - tap-tap - tap-tap.
Merlin frowns and groans. The tapping is awfully loud.
Tap-TAP!
He jolts awake. Warm - bed - Arthur! What -? Oh - Arthur. Arthur was sick. Arthur had wanted to be held. And someone was tapping at the door - neat, tidy taps, but definitely growing politely impatient.
Merlin flails about in under Arthur's covers, trying to extract himself from Arthur's sheets and Arthur's firm grip about his waist, and Arthur's legs all tangled up with his own. His face is warm, from sleep and something more, and his shirt and scarf are askew.
Arthur makes a grumbling sound and holds tighter, one of Merlin's knees trapped warmly between his legs, his hand fisted in Merlin's shirt. Merlin blushes even more hotly as the shirt slips off his shoulder, grabbing at it to pull it back. 'Arthur!' he hisses. 'Arthur, let go of me, please! There's someone at the door!'
Arthur grunts and coughs and opens bleary eyes, looking utterly disoriented. Even in his fluster, Merlin can't help the little warm curl around his heart, and he moves Arthur's arms gently down as his grip reluctantly slackens.
He tries to straighten his clothing up before he opens the door, but his hair is impossibly rumpled and his eyes are bleary from sleep. And of course it's George at the door, stupid boring perfect George, and though he's far too well trained to comment, Merlin can see his eyes running over Merlin's dishevelment and thinking things.
'What is it?' Merlin asks, trying to sound calm and polite. It comes out as rather awkward and nervous, though, shifty, and George's neat eyebrows raise by a tiny fraction.
'His Majesty required myself to check on the Prince. His Majesty had not seen him today and wished to ensure that the Prince would be present at the ambassador's meeting.'
Merlin stares at him blankly for a moment. He reels it off like a book. How does he talk like that all the time?
'Ah - yes, yes, of course,' he stumbles, and then pulls himself together. 'I mean, yes. Prince Arthur has been unwell this morning, but he will be there. Unless - ' He looks hopefully at George again. 'You don't think it'd be all right for him to miss it? He's really sick, sore throat and everything.'
George looks prim and disapproving. 'It wouldn't be for me to say,' he sniffs.
Merlin sighs. 'Thanks then, I suppose. I'll get him there.'
He closes the door with a sigh of relief - George flusters him out of his wits sometimes. It's a good thing George had come, though, or Merlin might have slept right through and forgotten to wake Arthur, and although he really, really wishes that he could let Arthur go on sleeping like that, peaceful and warm - he can't. Arthur would get into trouble, and his father would go and make him feel like a big disappointment again, and Arthur's face would make Merlin's heart hurt.
He goes back over to Arthur's bed and perches on it. Arthur's eyes open as Merlin softly touches his shoulder; they're heavy-lidded, but more lucid, and Merlin smiles encouragingly, patting him a little bit.
'Just George,' he says quietly, 'reminding us about that meeting.'
'Remind'ng us,' Arthur croaks, and his eyes focus on Merlin's face. 'S'nice.'
'Nice?'
'Smiling.' And Arthur reaches up slowly and brushes Merlin's face with gentle sleep-clumsy fingers.
Merlin jumps. Oh. Maybe not so lucid, then. But he can't help reaching up and closing his hand around Arthur's, and he can't help grinning stupidly down at Arthur, because Arthur thinks his smile is nice! Even if it's only when he's sick and confused.
And Arthur smiles sleepily back up at him, and maybe he doesn't realise it, but his fingers clutch at Merlin's and squeeze.
Merlin squeezes back and clears his throat, his heart singing. 'Come on,' he says. 'Let’s get you to this meeting. Then afterwards you can come back here and go back to bed, and I'll make you some more of the warm honey drink, all right? Actually, I'll make you some now as well, it'll help you if you need to talk in the meeting.'
‘Mm,’ Arthur mumbles.
Merlin gets Arthur up, and dressed, somehow, with little coaxing touches and his hand on Arthur’s shoulder to steady him. Arthur looks rather awful, his face pasty, holding his mouth and neck stiff because it hurts to swallow. His nose is pink, which Merlin finds oddly endearing.
Arthur sways, a bit, and Merlin quickly catches his arm around himself in a half-hug, and steers Arthur so he’s sitting down on the bed. ‘Oh, Arthur,’ he says remorsefully. ‘I’m sorry. You really shouldn’t be out of bed; any physician would say so.’
Arthur clears his throat raspingly, with painful slowness, and croaks, ‘C’n’t let father down. Have to,’ and Merlin nods ruefully.
He brings Arthur a new draught of the honey drink; and if he leaves his hand resting on Arthur’s back while he sips - and even maybe rubs a little - Arthur still doesn’t seem to mind.
When it’s time, they make their way down to the chamber where Uther and the ambassadorial delegation are waiting. Arthur’s actually staggering as he walks; and the hallways are deserted, so Merlin slips under his arm again.
‘C’mon, just lean on me again,’ he coaxes. ‘Then you can walk in there on your own.’
Arthur does as he says, leaning on him heavily. ‘Don’t kn’w - why - like this,’ he says huskily, sparing his words. ‘Stup’d.’
Just before they go in, when Merlin lets go and steadies Arthur on his feet, Arthur rasps, ‘M’rlin - stay - pl’se? B’hind me?’
‘All right,’ Merlin agrees softly. ‘I’ll be right behind your chair the whole time. You’re doing very well. Just a bit longer,’ the last of which is not strictly true, but Arthur is woozy and needs encouragement, and Merlin is not one for having scruples about the odd well-meaning white lie.
Then they walk in, and Arthur is brilliant. He pushes his shoulders back and plasters a valiant princely expression on his face as he walks in and sits down, and he greets Uther and the delegation in whole sentences, though Merlin can see that it’s paining him. Pity wells up all about Merlin’s heart, and pride at how brave Arthur is. He wants to put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, squeeze it, but of course he can’t, so he just stands as close behind Arthur’s chair as he can manage and tries to just sort of project towards Arthur as though he can lend him his own strength.
The session drags on, of course, as Merlin had known it would, and Arthur’s face is pale and lined with sweat, and his lids are drooping. He keeps needing to cough, and bravely suppressing it into his fist; and Merlin sees him heroically stop at least three sneezes.
Uther is really a terrible parent, Merlin thinks, because he hasn’t even noticed how sick Arthur is. He’s all diplomacy and statesmanship, iron-fist-inside-the-glove; and the wrapping up and farewells and so on seem to take forever. Merlin keeps an anxious eye on Arthur.
Finally, it’s over, and he hustles Arthur out, rather skilfully making it seem as though Arthur is the one doing the leading. They get back to Arthur’s chambers, somehow, though Arthur is just a big, woozy, floppy mess by now and Merlin has to keep talking to him all the way back, because he looks as though he’s about to go to sleep on his feet.
Merlin closes the door behind them. ‘Here, just sit down on the bed,’ he soothes. ‘Come on. That’s right.’
‘Not a baby,’ Arthur croaks, but his eyes are glassy.
‘I know,’ says Merlin seriously. ‘You did so well out there, Arthur. So well. I was - I was proud of you.’ He ducks his head and busies himself with helping Arthur off with his boots, but Arthur seems pleased, in a sick puppy sort of way. He touches Merlin’s head; it’s probably meant to be a ruffle, but his hand is too sluggish and it turns into a kind of pat, which Merlin finds rather sweet.
‘Into bed with you,’ he says. ‘Back to sleep.’
But Arthur tilts his head back, tiredly, to look into Merlin’s face. ‘W’th you,’ he says, and clumsily grips at Merlin’s hand. ‘Stay. Please?’
Merlin doesn’t know what to say, because he wants to, has always wanted to. He wants to curl up with Arthur as he sleeps, today and every day of his life. He wants to look after him when he’s sick, hold his hand when he’s well, stand by his shoulder when he’s worried, laugh with him when he’s happy. He wants that, and he can’t say it, can never say it.
And if he does this again, goes to sleep with Arthur in his arms, only because Arthur’s sick and needs comfort - if he does, it will hurt when he wakes up and has to go away.
‘Arthur,’ he says in a low voice, turning his face away. ‘Arthur, no. I can’t - please don’t make me.’
Arthur frowns. And then he reaches out to take Merlin’s other hand, and looks up, and meets Merlin’s eyes with his own. They’re tired, and droopy, but focused, as though Arthur’s concentrating on the most important thing of all, the thing that needs all of his attention despite his weariness, despite how sick he feels. Arthur ducks his head to clear his throat, and lifts it again.
‘No,’ Arthur says, and his voice is gravelly and painful, but he’s articulating very carefully and clearly. ‘I mean… stay. With me. Alw’ys. Please. Merlin,’ and he squeezes his hands.
Merlin just looks at him for a moment, uncomprehending, and Arthur huffs in tired annoyance, eyelids drooping. He tugs at Merlin’s hand again, glances up to make sure he has his attention, and then turns his face down and kisses - kisses Merlin’s wrist, softly, just on the little knob below his thumb. Merlin, frozen in shock, can only focus on the warm moistness of Arthur’s exhale against his skin, on the chapped roughness of Arthur’s lips.
And then Arthur tips his head impatiently towards the pillows, and motions for Merlin to take his boots off, just as though he hasn’t just turned Merlin’s little well-ordered world upside down. And Merlin gulps, and - sits down, dazedly, and looks at his hands.
‘Arthur,’ he says in a strained voice, ‘I - you - what?’
Arthur’s already dropping his head heavily on the pillows as though he has no more strength left to hold it up. ‘Sleep - now. Pl’se. Talk later.’ And when he forces his eyes open again and sees Merlin’s face, he croaks, forcefully, ‘Promise,’ and then goes off into a fit of horrid coughing into his sleeve.
Then somehow Merlin’s boots are wrestled off and tossed to the floor and he’s coming at Arthur and putting his arms around him and holding him tightly. Arthur cuddles him, warm and drowsy and exhausted from coughing, and pets his hair with a slow hand; and Merlin presses his face into Arthur’s shirt.
And Arthur’s arms are around him and Arthur’s breathing is in his hair, and Arthur’s promise is still echoing softly in his mind as he drifts off to sleep.
~
Longest Author's Note ever below the picture, or you can go straight on to Part 3!
~
~
Longest Author’s Note Ever:
Apparently I can’t not write romantic revelations for these two. This fic was never really supposed to get to this stage; but someone said I should continue and make them into a ‘proper couple’. And I found myself thinking, Well, it’s Merlin and Arthur; why not?
*sighs* Hence, this chapter. Yes, Arthur has the worst timing in the world, but I kind of feel like this is actually something he would do - declare his love with the worst sore throat ever and promptly go to sleep. Poor Merlin! :) I bet he had sweet dreams though.
So-o; now I’m thinking about writing the Talk that Arthur’s promised - if only because I want Merlin to tease him about his atrocious timing. ;)
And there’s still the modern-day reverse fic, which I will get to, I swear. Because imagine a newly returned Arthur trying to work out things like how to boil the kettle to get a hot-water bottle filled. (‘Merlin! How does this work again? Do I twist it?’) And how to phone the doctor (because he’s only ever watched Merlin use the phone before). Too cute!
In other news; I now have a weird headcanon that the unicorn from 1x11 sort of mystically watches over Arthur and Merlin, slips into their subconscious like in Merlin's dream, and ships them as hard as the Slash Dragon. :D
Also, I think that George could totally hear Merlin hissing at Arthur, before he opened the door; and as for what he was thinking, well - let's just say that innocent little Merlin probably had no idea about what kind of conclusion George actually came to.
~
greymantledlady's fic masterlist
Author: greymantledlady
Rating: G
Warnings: None, just sick!Arthur and lots of cuddles and fluff and sweetness. :)
Summary: Arthur makes a grumbling sound and holds tighter, one of Merlin's knees trapped warmly between his legs, his hand fisted in Merlin's shirt. Merlin blushes even more hotly as the shirt slips off his shoulder, grabbing at it to pull it back. 'Arthur!' he hisses. 'Arthur, let go of me, please! There's someone at the door!'
Beautiful cover art made by Nicci on AO3! Check out her other Merlin photomanips here.
AO3: Look After You
Previous: Part 1
~
It feels… nice, holding Arthur as he sleeps. Nice. Right, as though Merlin’s arms were made to curl around Arthur’s broad chest, as though their bodies were designed to fit against one another comfortably.
Merlin’s chest is against Arthur’s back, his cheek against Arthur’s hair. He rubs his nose in it, gently, listening to Arthur’s slow congested breathing. Then he dips his head and noses daringly at Arthur’s neck, nudging through strands of silky gold to reach Arthur’s skin.
Arthur smells good, in an earthy, safe sort of way. Merlin breathes in that warm Arthur-smell, falling into a light dozing sleep.
At some stage he’s aware of Arthur shifting, rolling over in the circle of Merlin’s arms. Merlin curls too, so that now his cheek is resting on Arthur's chest. Arthur's arm circles over him, naturally and easily, pulling him closer, and Merlin snuggles against him, half-asleep.
He dreams, the sort of comfortable dozy half-sentient dreams one has when utterly relaxed. He and Arthur are curled up in the woods, late summer sunlight drifting through leaves in dappled shades of green and gold. The bright clear sound of a wren comes from the trees above, and then there's a unicorn smiling fondly at them. A little logical part of Merlin's mind quibbles that unicorns don't smile, and certainly not fondly, but it's a dream, after all; anything's allowed.
'H'lo unicorn,' Merlin mumbles, smiling happily at it with his head still nestled against Arthur. The unicorn dips its graceful head in acknowledgement. But then it seems to hear something, and looks up and around. It's tapping one grey hoof - tap-tap - tap-tap - tap-tap.
Merlin frowns and groans. The tapping is awfully loud.
Tap-TAP!
He jolts awake. Warm - bed - Arthur! What -? Oh - Arthur. Arthur was sick. Arthur had wanted to be held. And someone was tapping at the door - neat, tidy taps, but definitely growing politely impatient.
Merlin flails about in under Arthur's covers, trying to extract himself from Arthur's sheets and Arthur's firm grip about his waist, and Arthur's legs all tangled up with his own. His face is warm, from sleep and something more, and his shirt and scarf are askew.
Arthur makes a grumbling sound and holds tighter, one of Merlin's knees trapped warmly between his legs, his hand fisted in Merlin's shirt. Merlin blushes even more hotly as the shirt slips off his shoulder, grabbing at it to pull it back. 'Arthur!' he hisses. 'Arthur, let go of me, please! There's someone at the door!'
Arthur grunts and coughs and opens bleary eyes, looking utterly disoriented. Even in his fluster, Merlin can't help the little warm curl around his heart, and he moves Arthur's arms gently down as his grip reluctantly slackens.
He tries to straighten his clothing up before he opens the door, but his hair is impossibly rumpled and his eyes are bleary from sleep. And of course it's George at the door, stupid boring perfect George, and though he's far too well trained to comment, Merlin can see his eyes running over Merlin's dishevelment and thinking things.
'What is it?' Merlin asks, trying to sound calm and polite. It comes out as rather awkward and nervous, though, shifty, and George's neat eyebrows raise by a tiny fraction.
'His Majesty required myself to check on the Prince. His Majesty had not seen him today and wished to ensure that the Prince would be present at the ambassador's meeting.'
Merlin stares at him blankly for a moment. He reels it off like a book. How does he talk like that all the time?
'Ah - yes, yes, of course,' he stumbles, and then pulls himself together. 'I mean, yes. Prince Arthur has been unwell this morning, but he will be there. Unless - ' He looks hopefully at George again. 'You don't think it'd be all right for him to miss it? He's really sick, sore throat and everything.'
George looks prim and disapproving. 'It wouldn't be for me to say,' he sniffs.
Merlin sighs. 'Thanks then, I suppose. I'll get him there.'
He closes the door with a sigh of relief - George flusters him out of his wits sometimes. It's a good thing George had come, though, or Merlin might have slept right through and forgotten to wake Arthur, and although he really, really wishes that he could let Arthur go on sleeping like that, peaceful and warm - he can't. Arthur would get into trouble, and his father would go and make him feel like a big disappointment again, and Arthur's face would make Merlin's heart hurt.
He goes back over to Arthur's bed and perches on it. Arthur's eyes open as Merlin softly touches his shoulder; they're heavy-lidded, but more lucid, and Merlin smiles encouragingly, patting him a little bit.
'Just George,' he says quietly, 'reminding us about that meeting.'
'Remind'ng us,' Arthur croaks, and his eyes focus on Merlin's face. 'S'nice.'
'Nice?'
'Smiling.' And Arthur reaches up slowly and brushes Merlin's face with gentle sleep-clumsy fingers.
Merlin jumps. Oh. Maybe not so lucid, then. But he can't help reaching up and closing his hand around Arthur's, and he can't help grinning stupidly down at Arthur, because Arthur thinks his smile is nice! Even if it's only when he's sick and confused.
And Arthur smiles sleepily back up at him, and maybe he doesn't realise it, but his fingers clutch at Merlin's and squeeze.
Merlin squeezes back and clears his throat, his heart singing. 'Come on,' he says. 'Let’s get you to this meeting. Then afterwards you can come back here and go back to bed, and I'll make you some more of the warm honey drink, all right? Actually, I'll make you some now as well, it'll help you if you need to talk in the meeting.'
‘Mm,’ Arthur mumbles.
Merlin gets Arthur up, and dressed, somehow, with little coaxing touches and his hand on Arthur’s shoulder to steady him. Arthur looks rather awful, his face pasty, holding his mouth and neck stiff because it hurts to swallow. His nose is pink, which Merlin finds oddly endearing.
Arthur sways, a bit, and Merlin quickly catches his arm around himself in a half-hug, and steers Arthur so he’s sitting down on the bed. ‘Oh, Arthur,’ he says remorsefully. ‘I’m sorry. You really shouldn’t be out of bed; any physician would say so.’
Arthur clears his throat raspingly, with painful slowness, and croaks, ‘C’n’t let father down. Have to,’ and Merlin nods ruefully.
He brings Arthur a new draught of the honey drink; and if he leaves his hand resting on Arthur’s back while he sips - and even maybe rubs a little - Arthur still doesn’t seem to mind.
When it’s time, they make their way down to the chamber where Uther and the ambassadorial delegation are waiting. Arthur’s actually staggering as he walks; and the hallways are deserted, so Merlin slips under his arm again.
‘C’mon, just lean on me again,’ he coaxes. ‘Then you can walk in there on your own.’
Arthur does as he says, leaning on him heavily. ‘Don’t kn’w - why - like this,’ he says huskily, sparing his words. ‘Stup’d.’
Just before they go in, when Merlin lets go and steadies Arthur on his feet, Arthur rasps, ‘M’rlin - stay - pl’se? B’hind me?’
‘All right,’ Merlin agrees softly. ‘I’ll be right behind your chair the whole time. You’re doing very well. Just a bit longer,’ the last of which is not strictly true, but Arthur is woozy and needs encouragement, and Merlin is not one for having scruples about the odd well-meaning white lie.
Then they walk in, and Arthur is brilliant. He pushes his shoulders back and plasters a valiant princely expression on his face as he walks in and sits down, and he greets Uther and the delegation in whole sentences, though Merlin can see that it’s paining him. Pity wells up all about Merlin’s heart, and pride at how brave Arthur is. He wants to put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, squeeze it, but of course he can’t, so he just stands as close behind Arthur’s chair as he can manage and tries to just sort of project towards Arthur as though he can lend him his own strength.
The session drags on, of course, as Merlin had known it would, and Arthur’s face is pale and lined with sweat, and his lids are drooping. He keeps needing to cough, and bravely suppressing it into his fist; and Merlin sees him heroically stop at least three sneezes.
Uther is really a terrible parent, Merlin thinks, because he hasn’t even noticed how sick Arthur is. He’s all diplomacy and statesmanship, iron-fist-inside-the-glove; and the wrapping up and farewells and so on seem to take forever. Merlin keeps an anxious eye on Arthur.
Finally, it’s over, and he hustles Arthur out, rather skilfully making it seem as though Arthur is the one doing the leading. They get back to Arthur’s chambers, somehow, though Arthur is just a big, woozy, floppy mess by now and Merlin has to keep talking to him all the way back, because he looks as though he’s about to go to sleep on his feet.
Merlin closes the door behind them. ‘Here, just sit down on the bed,’ he soothes. ‘Come on. That’s right.’
‘Not a baby,’ Arthur croaks, but his eyes are glassy.
‘I know,’ says Merlin seriously. ‘You did so well out there, Arthur. So well. I was - I was proud of you.’ He ducks his head and busies himself with helping Arthur off with his boots, but Arthur seems pleased, in a sick puppy sort of way. He touches Merlin’s head; it’s probably meant to be a ruffle, but his hand is too sluggish and it turns into a kind of pat, which Merlin finds rather sweet.
‘Into bed with you,’ he says. ‘Back to sleep.’
But Arthur tilts his head back, tiredly, to look into Merlin’s face. ‘W’th you,’ he says, and clumsily grips at Merlin’s hand. ‘Stay. Please?’
Merlin doesn’t know what to say, because he wants to, has always wanted to. He wants to curl up with Arthur as he sleeps, today and every day of his life. He wants to look after him when he’s sick, hold his hand when he’s well, stand by his shoulder when he’s worried, laugh with him when he’s happy. He wants that, and he can’t say it, can never say it.
And if he does this again, goes to sleep with Arthur in his arms, only because Arthur’s sick and needs comfort - if he does, it will hurt when he wakes up and has to go away.
‘Arthur,’ he says in a low voice, turning his face away. ‘Arthur, no. I can’t - please don’t make me.’
Arthur frowns. And then he reaches out to take Merlin’s other hand, and looks up, and meets Merlin’s eyes with his own. They’re tired, and droopy, but focused, as though Arthur’s concentrating on the most important thing of all, the thing that needs all of his attention despite his weariness, despite how sick he feels. Arthur ducks his head to clear his throat, and lifts it again.
‘No,’ Arthur says, and his voice is gravelly and painful, but he’s articulating very carefully and clearly. ‘I mean… stay. With me. Alw’ys. Please. Merlin,’ and he squeezes his hands.
Merlin just looks at him for a moment, uncomprehending, and Arthur huffs in tired annoyance, eyelids drooping. He tugs at Merlin’s hand again, glances up to make sure he has his attention, and then turns his face down and kisses - kisses Merlin’s wrist, softly, just on the little knob below his thumb. Merlin, frozen in shock, can only focus on the warm moistness of Arthur’s exhale against his skin, on the chapped roughness of Arthur’s lips.
And then Arthur tips his head impatiently towards the pillows, and motions for Merlin to take his boots off, just as though he hasn’t just turned Merlin’s little well-ordered world upside down. And Merlin gulps, and - sits down, dazedly, and looks at his hands.
‘Arthur,’ he says in a strained voice, ‘I - you - what?’
Arthur’s already dropping his head heavily on the pillows as though he has no more strength left to hold it up. ‘Sleep - now. Pl’se. Talk later.’ And when he forces his eyes open again and sees Merlin’s face, he croaks, forcefully, ‘Promise,’ and then goes off into a fit of horrid coughing into his sleeve.
Then somehow Merlin’s boots are wrestled off and tossed to the floor and he’s coming at Arthur and putting his arms around him and holding him tightly. Arthur cuddles him, warm and drowsy and exhausted from coughing, and pets his hair with a slow hand; and Merlin presses his face into Arthur’s shirt.
And Arthur’s arms are around him and Arthur’s breathing is in his hair, and Arthur’s promise is still echoing softly in his mind as he drifts off to sleep.
~
Longest Author's Note ever below the picture, or you can go straight on to Part 3!
~
~
Longest Author’s Note Ever:
Apparently I can’t not write romantic revelations for these two. This fic was never really supposed to get to this stage; but someone said I should continue and make them into a ‘proper couple’. And I found myself thinking, Well, it’s Merlin and Arthur; why not?
*sighs* Hence, this chapter. Yes, Arthur has the worst timing in the world, but I kind of feel like this is actually something he would do - declare his love with the worst sore throat ever and promptly go to sleep. Poor Merlin! :) I bet he had sweet dreams though.
So-o; now I’m thinking about writing the Talk that Arthur’s promised - if only because I want Merlin to tease him about his atrocious timing. ;)
And there’s still the modern-day reverse fic, which I will get to, I swear. Because imagine a newly returned Arthur trying to work out things like how to boil the kettle to get a hot-water bottle filled. (‘Merlin! How does this work again? Do I twist it?’) And how to phone the doctor (because he’s only ever watched Merlin use the phone before). Too cute!
In other news; I now have a weird headcanon that the unicorn from 1x11 sort of mystically watches over Arthur and Merlin, slips into their subconscious like in Merlin's dream, and ships them as hard as the Slash Dragon. :D
Also, I think that George could totally hear Merlin hissing at Arthur, before he opened the door; and as for what he was thinking, well - let's just say that innocent little Merlin probably had no idea about what kind of conclusion George actually came to.
~
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