Hello everybody! I'm back with my first Merlin fanfiction. I've been lurking in the Merlin fandom for a long time, reading other people's work, but I've not published one of my own yet. I have more (longer) stories on their way, both for Merlin and for other fandoms, but this is just a quick thing that I felt like I needed to write.
(SOMEWHAT IMPORTANT BUT NOT REALLY) As I said in the summary, this is about Arthur noticing how Merlin changed after the Dorocha attack, but there's a little more history behind this that I feel the need to share. Two years ago, my little sister had a stroke. She was eleven at the time, and it took everyone by surprise. We still don't know the cause of it. But I notice the after effects of the stroke almost everyday. She still has difficulty forming her thoughts into words, and you have to push her to get her to say what she wants instead of just giving up. It's not super noticeable, but it's there.
Anyway, for some reason, that's been on my mind lately, and I felt the need to write about it, so I did. I really wanted to share it with someone, but I'm too embarrassed to share it with anyone I know in real life, and this is the only place that I can really post it. But I know that this sight is not for posting random stories and other stuff, it's for fanfiction. And because of that, this story was born.
So sorry for the long author's note that most of you probably skipped anyway. Without further adieu, on with the drabble. I hope you enjoy, please tell me what you think!
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin
{Line Break}
At first you don't see it, but it's there nonetheless. It's the little things. You notice how he starts to wear an extra layer. You notice how he shivers even when it's warm out. You notice how he tries to stand by the fire as often as he can. He tries to hide it, but you notice.
Most people wouldn't notice, but you know him too well. You can see the differences that slip under other people's radar. It's not obvious, but it's there, and you notice.
When people ask, he waves it off. "It's just a cold," he says. You hate those words. Those words are a casual dismissal of what he did. Those words down play how stupidly heroic he was. He doesn't want to acknowledge what happened, and you notice.
You can remember that night so vividly. You can remember how cold he felt in your arms. You can remember how scared you felt. You can remember the exact moment when you realised that you might never see your friend alive again. That night changed you. It changed him too, and you notice.
At first you don't see it, but it's there nonetheless. It's the little things that serve as a reminder of that night. And you notice.