First off, let me just say that all you fine people who have sent me messages: I am going to answer you. Eventually. I promise. I still love talking to all of you, and I do feel awful, if that justifies anything.
Now that that's out of the way (hehe), this fic is a gift for carinims01, who requested a post-The Voice in the Dream fic where Merlin has a nightmare about his past and Arthur is there to comfort him. It's also a gift to myself, because I had the idea for some simple, heart-touching hurt/comfort via sick!Merlin, and so I took the chance to wrap up two fics into one. Hope you like it, carinims01, even though it is a little extra than what you requested. :)
For those who don't know me as a writer here, you might want to check out my fic The Voice in the Dream before you read this, because there are elements that won't make sense unless you know the history of the story. (This setting is about three weeks after Arthur and Merlin battle Morgana and Aithusa and destroy Excalibur.)
I think that's about it. Oh, and also, my mom, sisters, and I are moving into a really old house, and my room is going to be at one end by itself; it has a metal, spiral staircase leading up to it and a built-in desk and an outside balcony. Oh, yes.
Hope you enjoy the story!
"He had dreamt only during thunderstorms, when the atmosphere was charged and livid with the energy. Mostly, storms only brought nightmares."
~part ii, The Voice in the Dream (found on my profile)
Our Brother's Keeper
"Do you want any more to drink, Colin?"
Merlin, at the soft inquiry close to his ear, looked up from where he had been toying aimlessly with the cooked vegetables on his plate.
"No, thanks, Gwen," he answered with a little smile over his shoulder, as the sound of Elyan's happy laughter erupted in the background from the other side of the restaurant table and was joined by Arthur's beside him.
"You've hardly eaten," the gentle young woman—so very, very young in his old eyes, just the same as she was when she was a fresh, strong queen—noted with a glance down into his dish, as she laid her hand with unconscious affection upon his shoulder. "If you didn't like it, I can go into the back and get together your usual. It won't hurt my feelings at all if you tell me the recipe wasn't very good; it was just a little something Aunt Gemma and I threw together."
"Oh, that's nice of you," he said quickly—as quickly as his sluggish mind would let him anyway—and with honest gratitude, "but it was actually delicious. I'm just not very hungry tonight."
He looked back down and continued to shift the asparagus and red peppers with his fork, and so he did not see it when Guinevere looked at him with some uncomprehending emotion that was mixed with a bit of concern, because Merlin always loved whatever she made and oftentimes finished his plate before even Arthur. (Though her new boyfriend had had at first insisted she needn't work at her aunt's café any longer, because she was his one and only girl and he would take care of her always from now on, she actually enjoyed it even more now that she got to wait on her beloved king and some of their greatest friends at least three times a week, so far.)
"All right, then," she said acceptingly at Merlin's words, and she started to let it go at that and gather up the rest of the empty dishes from their table, but then her concern for their dear warlock won out and she added in a low voice, "Merlin, are you all right? You're a bit pale."
Merlin seemed slightly surprised, and when he smiled at her again, now that she was looking, his smile did look rather weary.
"I just haven't been feeling…normal today," he admitted softly, so as not to interrupt the conversation going on between Elyan and Arthur at the table with him, but of course Arthur was always close enough to him these days to hear nearly anything he said (not that he was complaining; it was really a nice feeling, considering all the lonely centuries he'd waited).
"What's wrong, Col?" the Once and Future King (who was, perhaps, not a king in name any longer, but would forever be in heart) asked from his other side.
Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes so that his friends would not think it was directed at them. He'd been hoping since he'd awoken that morning that he would get through the day without having attention drawn to this very unusual feeling in the pit of his stomach. Of course, he had been feeling increasingly worse for the past two hours, since the day had begun to slow and tiredness started seeping in, so he really couldn't expect perceptive Guinevere not to see how quiet he was. It was only that he couldn't very well explain this peculiar feeling even to himself, much less to those around him who really didn't understand much of what he said anyway.
"I feel…" he trailed off for a moment, searching to choose the proper word, "…strange."
"No offense meant at all, Colin," said Elyan where he sat smiling with newfound joy Guinevere hadn't seen in years, "but you actually are just a little strange, you have to admit."
Merlin chuckled lightly at the irony behind that statement; in light of the past months, with his finding Arthur, and Arthur's remembering their pasts, and their battling Morgana, and Guinevere's finding them, and their finding Elyan, and the Elyan's remembering, "a little strange" was something of an understatement.
"Just a little?" he joked, a bit tiredly.
"A little," the man repeated with a playful grin at the warlock whom they'd all come to adore within just a few weeks of knowing him.
"Are you sick, Colin?" Gwen questioned, and the sincere concern in her voice matched exactly with Ancient Gwen's, a fact which never ceased to make Merlin smile when he noticed it.
Then, the old warlock registered what his queen had said to him, and he pondered for another, slow moment until finally he said,
"I don't…know."
Arthur rolled his eyes upward just subtly and regarded Merlin with an odd sort of affection.
"Do you feel sick?" he asked in that particular tone of voice with which only he was allowed to address Merlin (because if anyone else dared, Arthur would halt him immediately and demand that he apologize for his disrespect toward an honorable man).
"I don't know," came the repeated answer.
Gwen bent down a bit and gave him a funny look of question.
"It's been so long since I've been sick," he explained patiently (as he explained everything they didn't understand about him or their strange dreams or Morgana or just anything at all), "I don't even remember how it feels. I couldn't get sick—while I was immortal, I mean….It's such a weird feeling."
This last was mostly to himself; now that his mind wasn't wandering, he felt himself to be so lightheaded that he did not even realize he had said it aloud.
Guinevere saw the ocean-blue of his eyes steadily dimming over, and the amusement in her gentle face was gone as she pressed her palm instinctively against his too-white forehead.
"Arthur," said she with worry lacing her tone, "he's got a fever; he's burning up."
As she pulled out the chair behind her and sat down across from the warlock, Arthur reached over and pressed the backs of his fingers against Merlin's forehead for a moment. (Things like this always made Merlin a bit startled, because in the olden days, King Arthur had always been so hard to show his affections, especially physically; this Arthur had a gentle inclination toward the opposite, and Merlin loved it as much as he assumed Guinevere probably did, being that they were the two most important in Arthur's life.)
"She's right," the blonde man confirmed inarguably, and tugged at Merlin's jacket until the other man was looking at him. "How long have you been feeling this way?"
Merlin blinked at him, not even able to invent a joke to make at all the attention, and simply answered in a weakening voice,
"Since this morning. I felt better for a while, but now I feel worse. Is this how all ordinary people feel?"
"Is anything hurting, Merlin? Do you feel achy at all?" Guinevere, as they all were wont to do, had reverted back to calling him by his original name; in moments like these when they were truly worried for him, the man wasn't smiling, playful best friend "Col" or smart, loyal colleague "Colin" anymore—he was "Merlin," the treasured warlock who deserved their attention and love for all he'd done for them.
Merlin, though he was certainly more tired than he could remember being in a long time, could not miss the abject worry clouding Gwen's beautiful eyes, or that palpable concern he could sense behind him from the men; though it took him rather longer than usual to gather together his words, he managed a smile as he took Guinevere's hand in his own.
"My head," he explained calmly in response to her, "and my chest feels…tight, or something. You needn't concern yourself, dear."
"You're burning up," she said again, despite his (somewhat old-fashioned) assurances, as she settled her other hand atop his hot wrist. "Arthur…"
But her boyfriend (and future husband, they all knew) was already a step ahead of her.
"I'll take him home," he volunteered himself as he stood and grasped his jacket from the back of his chair. "Come on, Colin; you don't need to be out in this cold if you're running a fever."
Merlin felt himself flush not entirely from the fever but from the unnecessary fuss as well. Still, now that they weren't running about the city at work as they had been, he could not deny that he was feeling rather shaky in addition to the lightheadedness. He wondered if this was how all those people he'd treated in his various medical capacities over the centuries had been feeling all along. It was such a strange sensation to know that his body was almost as fragile now as theirs, now that his immortality was at last gone and he was free to move on when the time came. That was a revelation he knew he would never quite get over.
He allowed Arthur to pull him somewhat roughly to his feet, and then shared a rueful smirk with Elyan.
"I'm fine, really," he said as Arthur unintentionally half-choked him with his scarf. "Sorry we have to leave early."
"No worries, mate," Elyan answered with a smile on his own. "Just get a bit of rest, got it?"
Merlin nodded with a grateful smile, and then yanked his warm, red scarf away from Arthur so that he could actually tie it properly around his neck without being strangled. The once-king grinned childishly at the dark look Merlin shot him when he deliberately pulled his favorite black beanie too far over the warlock's head.
"Eat some chicken soup," Gwen was suggesting helpfully. "That always does the trick, in my experience."
"Thanks," Merlin said distractedly, elbowing Arthur evenly as he straightened his beanie.
Gwen chuckled at their non-verbal bickering and felt a wave of affection for her two most favorite men in the world; not for the first time in the past three weeks, she found herself wondering how incredible it was that, before she'd moved to London, her life had been so uneventful and lonely, filled with boredom and cheating boyfriends and an indescribable feeling of longing, and now she was the (one and only) girlfriend of Arthur—the Arthur, her Arthur—and now she and her brother had a friend more special than she ever could have believed existed in this world.
She followed them to the door and welcomed it when Arthur kissed her face gently.
"See you later, darling," his low voice murmured in her ear. "Thank you for the dinner."
"Why, you're welcome, my lord."
She pulled back and curtseyed, and he grinned widely, his breathtaking blue eyes sparking alive with memories from their distant (but not so distant) pasts, when she was but a maidservant and he was a prince, and they had been irrevocably in love then as well.
"Col, remind me again why it took me so long the first time to—"
Whatever he was about to say died on his tongue, and Arthur's and Gwen's smiles vanished at exactly the same moment.
"Merlin?"
The warlock, who they thought had simply been watching them in silence, shook his head sharply at the sound of his king's voice calling out his name and pushed himself straight where he'd been leaning heavily against the wall. Even that little motion made him unsteady, however, and Arthur grasped his arm in instinct to hold him upright, watching through suddenly clouded sapphire eyes as he pressed his palm against his head with a concealed wince.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm fine. Just…a lot more tired than I thought, that's all."
Arthur regarded his friend's face carefully, trying to shield the weighty concern from his own expression so as not to draw attention from any of the chatting customers around them. He could not resist pressing his index finger against the pulse in Merlin's wrist, and it was both the rapid pounding (with the extra, third heartbeat thrown in, the one that existed to pump Merlin's precious magic through his veins in addition to his dragonlord blood) and the warlock's overheated skin which made Arthur's frown deepen even more.
"All right," he said, and his voice was certainly nowhere near teasing anymore, "come on, Col; we're going home right now."
As he placed one hand on Merlin's arm and the other around his back to keep him steady, Arthur turned back to Gwen.
"Tell your aunt I'll give you the money for our meals tomorrow."
Guinevere nodded without hesitation and held the door open for them.
"Of course; don't worry about it," she assured, her eyes never leaving Merlin's pale face. "Do you want me to come with you?"
Merlin started to speak, but his brain was running so exasperatingly slow all of a sudden, and there was a twinge of discomfort in his chest, so Arthur beat him to it.
"No, it's fine. I've got him. I'll call you later."
Merlin glanced back through blearily eyes as Arthur pushed him into the passenger seat of his Z4; he smiled hearteningly at Gwen, who looked rather small and especially lovely standing in the tall doorway of her aunt's restaurant with that troubled expression and that gray sweater with the too-long sleeves. She smiled in return and waved at him as Arthur pulled away from the curb with practiced ease.
It was several moments' time before Merlin realized his vision had gone dark, and he blinked the fever-sweat from his eyes to see that they were five blocks away from Gemma's though it had felt like only seconds. He shifted with discomfort in his seat and moved his aching head so that it wasn't resting against the hard window.
Arthur cast him a brief glance that was certainly filled with concern now that there was no one else to see.
"You can use your magic now," he said, trying to keep his voice low so as not to startle his friend in the silence of the car.
Merlin swallowed and shifted again, swiping the sleeve of his fawn jacket over his forehead.
"I can't cure the common cold," he replied bluntly.
Even though Arthur's mind was heavy with worry at the weakness in Merlin's voice, he could not stop a disbelieving bark of laughter.
"You have got to be kidding me," he declared as he turned the wheel sharply to get onto their familiar street. "Not even magic can cure the common cold. That's typical."
Merlin's eyes, though quite bleary, were dancing as she shared a humorous look with his king.
"I know, it's ridiculous," he agreed with a breathy laugh of his own, which hastily turned into a twinge of a frown as he felt another, tiny pain in his chest. "More than that, though—I haven't been sick since before you were crowned king of Camelot. I can't even remember the last time. I think that this is just my body's getting used to the threat of getting sick again. It's better if I just let it take its time."
Arthur nodded, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip, as he pulled his car into the garage alongside their apartment building.
Merlin nearly tripped over the threshold of his apartment, but he recovered himself before Arthur could find use to get more worried.
"I'm sorry we had to leave early," he felt he should say, as he sniffed and then subsequently sneezed.
Arthur allowed himself to laugh aloud at his friend's sneezing face.
"It's fine," he said kindly. "I have to go over those papers before the morning, anyway."
Merlin glanced over his shoulder, simultaneously pulling off his black beanie and smoothing down his hair out of habit, and saw where said documents were still piled up on his kitchen counter.
"Oh, right," he mumbled without enthusiasm.
"I'll just look over them down here," Arthur told him mercifully, "and you can sleep while I do, if you want. I don't think signing my name is a two-man task."
Merlin tugged off his scarf, sighing in relief and nodding thankfully, despite that he usually did sit up with Arthur to keep him company at late-night work.
Arthur followed him inside while he collapsed in a limp heat on the sofa in the sitting room, his eyes closing on their own accord.
The Once and Future King watched his warlock as he rubbed at his face, looking for all the world like a child of three when he was in fact a man of one thousand, five hundred something. The king smiled and shook his head; it had been only three weeks now since he had, as they called it, "awoken"—come to realize all the depth of his own soul, his life as the Once and Future King and his and Merlin's shared destiny. That truth, and everything that came along with it, was what he had always been missing in this lifetime, before Merlin had appeared and sent crumbling all of that security he'd had.
He wondered what he ever would have done if he hadn't found Merlin. He wondered what they both would have done. It was amazing, to look back on everything that had happened in Camelot all those centuries ago, and realize that the bond between them was greater than he'd ever even suspected—spanning even beyond time to unite them again.
As he settled into the old armchair from some exotic land which had become his favorite in Colin's crowded flat, he swiped up the papers to examine and murmured, fondly,
"'Night, Col."
Merlin shifted under a blanket he'd levitated to himself from God knew where, and his eyes twitched beneath his lids as he answered back stuffily,
"God neaht, min hlaford." (1)
Arthur propped his feet upon the centuries-old coffee table, content with that feeling of safety he got only when he was in the presence of his trusted warlock, and happy to care for him in return for all the times Merlin had done the same first without cause.
It was then that the rain started to pour.
To be continued
(1) Because if you're like me, you're probably always curious to know things: Old English for "Good night, my lord."
Thanks for reading! Hope you're liking it; I just love writing sick!Merlin. He's so pitifully cute; if I were Arthur, I'd just cuddle him and never let him go. (But that might creep him out, so...) Next chapter will be posted in about a week, probably. Let me know how you liked/disliked it so far! :)