Hit The Ground Running

Arthur is woken by an insistent knocking on his door, and when he cracks his eyes open, it's still dark outside and he can hear the rain pouring down.

"Go away," he calls out, aware that he sounds childish and grumpy, and Merlin grunts beside him. The knocking stops briefly.

"Sire, the King requests your presence in the Great Hall."

"He's not getting it," Arthur retorts, and Merlin's arm snakes over his chest. "I'm asleep."

"He says that it's urgent, sire, and if you refuse, I should bring you forcibly."

"I'd like to see you try," he mutters as the warlock presses his lips lightly against his shoulder, and he sighs. "Tell him I'll be there momentarily."

"Yes, sire."

Arthur listens as the guard's footsteps fade, and closes his eyes, fully intent on going back to sleep, but Merlin pushes at his side firmly.

"Fine, I'm going," he grumbles and his advisor shifts off him so that he can sit up with a yawn, running a hand through his hair and scratching his chest. He reaches out blindly to brush his hand against Merlin's cheek, then rolls out of bed. His joints are aching.

"I'll not be long," he murmurs as he pulls on clothes haphazardly in the dark, and hears what could be a noise of acquiescence from behind him as he shuts the door quietly.

This had better be good.

"I have just received urgent news of an uprising near the border to Sendrighs and I must depart immediately to prevent war between our kingdoms. You'll be Regent whilst I'm gone."

Arthur blinks, still mostly asleep, as he walks into the room. Uther had started talking before he was even halfway through the door.

"Why can't I go? You're needed more here, surely?" he contends and Uther turns to him, takes in his attire, and frowns.

"Those aren't your clothes," he points out, voice stern. Arthur looks down at him and realises that no, they're not – he's barefoot and wearing a blue tunic and breeches that are an inch too short. He shrugs.

"Mine are being washed, I'm borrowing Merlin's," he explains with a wave, "but that's irrelevant. What's with the urgency? And what is it that means I can't do it? I've never acted as Regent before, how long will you be gone for?"

"A few weeks, at a guess. And being Regent is not a chore, Arthur. Gaius can help you if necessary, but I wouldn't think that you'd need it at all."

Arthur yawns, not bothering to hide it, and leans heavily against his chair. The torches are burning low in their brackets, casting long shadows, and Uther is fully dressed and ready to leave.

"If you're sure that you don't want me to do this for you...?" he offers, resting his chin on his forearms where they lay on the back of his chair, and Uther shakes his head, moving to leave.

"You're better off here. Merlin and Gaius can help if you encounter any difficulties."

"I wasn't aware that you had that much faith in Merlin."

"I don't," Uther snaps, turning back to him as he reaches the doors. "But you clearly do. Oh, and Arthur?"

The Prince forces his eyes to stay open as his father peers at him.

"Don't forget, we're holding a banquet in nine days."

Arthur drops his head onto his arms again.

"I don't believe him," he groans as he sits back down onto his bed five minutes later, nudging Merlin's shoulder with his knee. The warlock's face is pressed into his pillow. "He's appointed me Prince Regent whilst he goes off gallivanting at the borders, and only sees fit to tell me this as he's leaving, and expects me to be OK with this. Merlin, are you listening?"

"Of course, I wasn't trying to sleep or anything," his advisor grumbles, but he hauls himself onto his back anyway, arm thrown above his head and glaring up through sleepy eyes. Arthur can't resist himself and bends his head to kiss him briefly, feeling Merlin smiling even as he pulls away. "Not that I don't appreciate the affection, but… I thought you were complaining about Uther."

"Yes, I was," Arthur growls, settling himself down beside Merlin on top of the covers and the warlock curls into his side as best he can. "What's worse, we're holding a banquet for the nearby towns in nine days and I've got to organise it now. Morgana will be in her element, I bet she'll make this deliberately hard for me."

"You should have more faith in her," Merlin admonishes gently, nuzzling his neck, and Arthur feels the tension fading. And even though it's hard to stay angry when all he can feel is overwhelming love and contentment washing over him, he can still hold onto his last shred of resentment.

"I grew up with her," he retorts, but even now his tone is belied by his hands, which are tracing patterns over his advisor's back. "I ran out of faith after she deliberately washed my clothes so that they came out bright pink. I still don't know how she managed that."

He feels Merlin's chuckle through his ribs, and sighs.

"I'm not going to get any sympathy from you, am I?" he asks wryly, staring up at his hangings, and Merlin shakes his head.

"Not at this time at night, anyway. Now get my clothes off and come to bed. You're probably stretching them."

Arthur wonders once more how it came to this, but complies anyway.

Merlin is snoring lightly by the time he climbs in beside him, and the prince gathers him into his arms before drifting off himself.

"Are you in a more charitable mood this morning?" Merlin asks as he throws cold water over his face, and Arthur glares at him from where he's picking at his breakfast.

"I don't know, are you?" he snaps back, and his advisor gives him an affronted look. He immediately feels bad but doesn't apologise.

"I just think that there's probably a reason why Uther's doing this, that's all," he retorts, throwing his washcloth across the room. It sparks gold and hits Arthur's head. "I think this is a perfect opportunity to show him that you are perfectly capable of leading the country yourself with no major mishaps. You ought to stop feeling so sorry for yourself and just get on with it."

"It's easy for you to say," he mutters, discarding of the washcloth angrily and knowing that Merlin's right, but he's in a stubborn mood this morning and the warlock is one of the few people that won't stand for it. Morgana is another.

"When I was appointed your manservant, did I complain about having it thrust upon me? No, I got on with it, despite you being a prat. When I was promoted to advisor, did I complain? No, I got on with it. You can do the same."

Arthur sighs, and for the second time in twelve hours drops his head onto his forearms. He hears Merlin walk up behind him, footsteps sure and steady on the cold stone floor and then his advisor's hands are warm on his neck, on tangling in his hair and other reaching down to slide under his tunic and against his chest.

"I'm acting like an idiot, aren't I?" he asks hopelessly, and Merlin drops his forehead to Arthur's hair. When he speaks, the Prince can feel his breath over his neck and he shivers.

"You're just getting worked up about nothing. I'm going to be here to help you the whole time, you know that. You've been attending large banquets since you were able to talk, and I'll ask Gwen to keep Morgana out of your way. You'll be fine – stop worrying so much."

"You keep me sane, Merlin," he replies, almost reverently as he sits up straight, and with a laugh and a press of lips to his hair Merlin releases him and walks through to his own room, returning with clean clothes.

"Only because nobody else will, let's be honest," he points out, and Arthur grins.

Then there's another bout of knocking at his door accompanied by Morgana's voice. There's a mischievous lilt to it that he can hear through the oak even though he can't make out what she's saying.

"You're going to give yourself a headache if you keep doing that, you know," Merlin observes mildly as he goes to answer the door.

Arthur merely grunts from where his head is buried and prays for the floor to swallow him up.

You'll never know if you don't go
You'll never shine if you don't glow