Coughs racked Arthur's body till it felt he might die. D**m he was thirsty. Much to his bitter annoyance, the water jug was on the table, almost ten feet away from where he lay on his bed. Where was Merlin when he needed him?
Probably at the tavern again.
Sweat matted hair to his head—it made him feel oddly trapped and uncomfortable.
He stared at the jug, so close, but too far to reach without standing—something he could barely do. Gaius said he would be bedridden for a week by the looks of things. Bronchitis, he had said. Or something like that. A particularly bad case of it.
Now, Arthur wasn't one for self-pitying. A bit of dweller sometimes and selfish, sure but not a self-pitier. However, the only thought he had right then was, why him? Why did he have to be the one who got sick? He already had enough pressure, what with Uther expecting so much of him, being unable to show his feelings for Gwen, and being currently undecided of what he thought about magic—another thing he had to keep from his father.
He coughed again looked at the water jug, sitting there teasingly. He'd tried to get up on several occasions but failed every time he was hit with a wave of dizziness.
Bet you're so proud of yourself, he thought at the jug. Sitting there where I can't reach you. Why can't you be closer?
The answer was obvious of course; because Merlin didn't put the jug closer, he put it on the table. And where was he now? Only God knew.
Stupid Merlin. Stupid water jug. Stupid bronchitis. Stupid table!
As if mental rants would get the water closer, but Arthur couldn't yell for a servant to come in and bring it to him—his throat was too dry. So what was a sick prince to do other than yell inside his head?
Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why can't you just move?
Much to Arthur's surprise, it did. The metal jug jumped straight up in the air, sending water everywhere and sprinkling the bed covers. The jug however landed with a loud bang on the stone floor, probably getting a nice sized dent in the process.
Arthur sat shocked and stared at the foot of the bed, blocking his view of where the poor water jug landed.
What, he thought. Was that?
