Tea was laid out as royally as Merlin could manage, with the honey he routinely forgot present and accounted for, but Arthur hadn't noticed, nor was he drinking the cup Merlin had poured.
He was pacing.
Merlin busied himself, tidying up the chamber, stoking the fire in the hearth and turning down Arthur's bed. He would pay good coin for a bossy, "Hurry up, Merlin" or a sharp, "Stop fussing about!" but Arthur just kept walking, arms in a tight knot across his chest, head bowed.
He'd asked twice if the prince wished to bathe, but Arthur wasn't likely to answer when he was so pre-occupied, so Merlin began heating the water and filling the tub anyway, the clink of the bucket handle and splash of the water soothingly familiar.
He pushed aside the tray of scented oils that somehow reappeared every time Merlin disposed of it. It was the maids' idea of pampering, to be sure, but certainly not his or Arthur's.
Arthur preferred the rough grit of the bar soap Merlin had assumed everyone used. He brought it in with the bathing towels his first day as servant and Arthur never complained, so he stocked the supply armoire with it whenever the housekeepers made up a new batch.
It was good for the trail, too: nothing breakable about a cake of soap.
He pushed his shirtsleeves up above his elbows, rested his forearms on the side of the tub and turned the soap in the damp cloth, looking up to watch Arthur still wearing a groove in the oak floor with his scuffed boots.
Merlin stood, the soap and cloth set aside, and reached for Arthur's shoulders to stop him on his next pass by. "The water's ready."
Arthur nodded, his eyes focused on the wall beyond Merlin as Merlin waited.
Arthur didn't often ask for help disrobing. He generally held to the notion that only ladies needed that degree of attention. His armour, some of his practice gear, the occasional dress jacket, sure. Those he expected Merlin to help him on and off with, but today's simple breeches and tunic were nothing Merlin had ever handled while they were still on Arthur's person. He'd picked them up off the floor often enough, of course, but to remove them himself, this was new.
"Do you wish me to-" Merlin's hands made an abortive gesture at the closure of the crimson tunic, a simple tie that honestly didn't truly need undoing. "Arthur?"
He just sighed and waved a hand in the air absently, still not looking at Merlin. "Yes, yes, fine."
Merlin bit his lip and pulled the laces free, stoically ordering his libido to disconnect entirely from his body and let him get through this with as much respect as the situation commanded.
He clutched the hem of the tunic, his fingertips fairly tingling as they brushed along Arthur's sides. Arthur lifted his arms in the air as Merlin tugged the top off over his head; Merlin had to go up on tiptoes for a second, but he managed it fairly smoothly.
His face burned and he turned his back abruptly under pretence of folding and discarding the tunic when Arthur's hands dropped to work the laces of his trousers. Thank goodness Arthur wasn't so distracted he expected Merlin to take care of that, too.
Merlin poured more heated water into the tub, slid the bearskin rug closer by, turned to the cabinet to retrieve two folds of linen and only looked back when he heard the telltale slide of Arthur's body into the water, his long, soft sigh and the creak of the floor underneath as Arthur stretched out as much as the tub allowed.
The water was fogged with heat and a little soap, yet clear enough to bring a flush to Merlin's cheeks, though he truly couldn't see much. He averted his eyes, reaching for the cloth and dipping it in the water at Arthur's feet.
He'd never been this involved in Arthur's bathing, not since the time when Arthur had been too ill to clean himself. There hadn't been a tub involved, though, or so much skin. He'd only done what cleaning he could as Arthur laid in Gaius' sick bed.
And then there had been the time Arthur lay dying on the forest floor.
That time, Merlin's mind had been on anything but Arthur's nudity as he'd sponged the wound left by the woodsman's arrow, desperately casting whatever healing spells he could think of, applying foul-smelling poultices and praying, cursing, even shaking Arthur. He'd touched Arthur then, not as a servant or... as he'd guiltily wished, but he'd lost all inhibition and sense of propriety. Knowing he was about to lose Arthur, he hadn't been able to help himself, truly.
He'd taken only the barest of liberties, but it was more than he'd ever dared, more than he knew Arthur would ever allow.
While Arthur lay unconscious and dying, Merlin had slapped his cheek, smoothed his hair, propped Arthur's head on his lap when night fell. He'd wrapped arms around Arthur, wishing he could strip him of his mail to be that much closer. He'd held Arthur all night, periodically pressing his cheek to Arthur's to check his temperature, which had risen as the hours passed.
His skin remembered every one of those touches now that he was feeling Arthur again, though this was a decidedly different experience, with a healthy, conscious Arthur and the sharp, clean scent of soap filling the air.
It seemed such a basic, sensible thing to have a second set of hands when one bathed. As awkward as it might be to be seen so completely naked, he could only imagine how wonderful it would feel to have your feet lifted and washed, one at a time, to have your every aching muscle pulled out into relaxation by a soft, slippery cloth gliding along them.
Or hands. He could imagine hands, everywhere.
He pushed up his sleeves as they slipped down, reaching into the tub and picked up Arthur's leg, his fingers circling under Arthur's ankle to support it. The slippery cloth silk against his palm, Merlin closed his eyes and memorized the warm slide of Arthur's skin just on the other side of that cloth as he began to wash him.
Arthur groaned as Merlin ran the cloth around the back of his heel, up the sole of his foot, scrubbed across the pads of his toes. Merlin's fingers made it up to the back of Arthur's knee before his cowardice overcame him, anything higher too much temptation and he moved, switching to the other foot. That drew an equally impressive noise of appreciation and no protest, so he continued.
"You have no idea how that feels," Arthur moaned.
Merlin guessed he would have said it, even if hehad been thinking clearly and realized just how true it was. Obviously, they both knew that Merlin would never have had the opportunity to be pampered like this.
Merlin didn't respond, but when he shifted up the side of the tub to take Arthur's hand, he paused, waiting for Arthur to open his eyes, to give him a dismissive look or curt word.
When none came, Merlin took a deep breath, then left the cloth hanging on the ornate edge of the tub. He wouldn't do this by halves, not when Arthur was either desperate enough to practically ask him for it or so far gone he hadn't noticed he'd been practically asking for it. Either way, Arthur needed him, and at the moment, Merlin could think of nothing to give but this.
He shook his head, fought the urge to sayanything because whatever it was, it wouldn't be the thing Arthur needed to hear.
He only needed to hear that his father would live, that the illness was cured, that Gaius puzzled it out and fixed everything before coming to tell them.
But any reassurances Merlin could give would fall on deaf ears, and besides, Arthur finally seemed to be calming a bit in the bath.
Merlin bit his lip, hoping his fears were unfounded and this was just another bath to do just that: sooth a savage beast.
Truth be told, Merlin winced at the thought, this was likely Arthur's last bath as Crown Prince. His next might be attended by Gods knew how many servants, and none of them Merlin.
Merlin knew they were accustomed to each other, thought Arthur evenliked him most of the time, but he still couldn't shake the fear that he would be relegated to a minor attendant when Arthur became King, reduced to almost nothing in Arthur's daily life. He feared he wasn't valuable enough yet, at least as far as Arthur knew, to be more to him.
He swallowed hard and blinked back too much emotion. Arthur didn't need his selfishness on top of the grief; he needed only to be touched, to be distracted. And that much, Merlin thought, he could give.
He lifted Arthur's large hand - larger than his and that was saying something - and scraped his nail gently under each of Arthur's, sure he was doing it crudely, but Arthur didn't so much as flinch. He rubbed the lengths of every digit between his palm and fingers as he went, squeezing and pulling gently, pressing circles along each knuckle, moving slowly up to Arthur's palm, to his wrist until Arthur's entire hand was slack in his own.
Gods, how he wanted to bend his head and place his mouth on that wrist. It was so close and it was something he thought about, fixated on, whenever he caught a flash of wrist from under a cuff, saw Arthur draw on his gloves or spin his sword fluidly using only that flick of his wrist he was so famous for. His wrists were strong where Merlin's were thin, the tendons standing out even in repose.
Sometimes in the still, blue night in the tower, he'd imagine Arthur there with him, the two of them tangled together on his small cot, Arthur's arms around him. He'd close his eyes, bend his head and imagine the dizzy rush of freedom as he pressed his lips to Arthur's wrist, his chest, his throat.
Merlin bit his lip and looked away, reached for the cloth again and ran it up the length of Arthur's arm. "I'm going to keep going until you stop me."
He'd meant it lightly, a sort-of joke to pull Arthur a little more into the present with him, but also as a warning, because while Arthur never prepared his own bath, he also never requested assistance like Merlin was giving him now.
Not that he was complaining. Gods, no.
Arthur's mouth quirked and his eyes slit open to show the slightest bit of steel blue. "You stop and you'll sleep in the stocks tonight, you have my word."
Merlin grinned and shook his head. "Yes, Sire."
That liberty granted, Merlin rewet the cloth and reached for the soap again, wincing as the back of his hand brushed against Arthur's side. He slowly withdrew it, intent on keeping his eyes anywhere but beneath the water, wincing away from a reproach that never came. He lathered Arthur's arm, circled his bicep slowly, rinsed the cloth out, lathered it up again.
Arthur's chest rose with a deep breath and Merlin paused, the cloth dripping soap down Arthur's shoulder, just over the ragged, silvery lines of the Questing Beast's mark. "Um."
"Get on with it. I won't bite." Arthur sounded half-asleep, and that was a very good thing.
It meant Merlin might have a chance to return to the library, to get back to work.
Back to work that wasn't pleasure, and Merlin was at once in a hurry to go and adamantly decided against ever leaving Arthur's bedchamber again.
Taking a deep breath to still his nerves, he scrubbed the cloth down Arthur's broad chest to the waterline, forcing his hand to move slowly, to not rush in his embarrassment. There was no way Arthur could guess how much Merlin wanted this, how hard it was to separate himself from the half-accidental brush of his knuckles against the hard muscles of Arthur's chest.
Arthur's breathing grew deeper still and Merlin drew the cloth around again, slowly. He looked at Arthur's face, but Arthur had his eyes closed, his lips parted just a little, and Merlin took that as relaxation and permission in one. He trailed the cloth down below the water line, swiped over Arthur's stomach and up his side, across to the other side and up, then under Arthur's chin, his throat, behind his ears and down his neck, gently urging Arthur to move forward with his other hand.
Arthur's shoulder was wet and warm under his fingertips as Arthur leaned forward in the tub, ducking his head.
The firelight against Arthur's skin painted, long, inviting lines from Arthur's neck down his broad back, but Merlin determinedly didn't dip lower than the water line. He paused, rubbing slow circles over the place where Arthur would have had a scar if Taliesin hadn't cast such a powerful spell.
He wished it had been his own magic that healed the wound. Though it was ridiculous even to him, he felt as though the smooth, unblemished skin there was a glaring reminder of his failure to protect Arthur.
A moan drew him back to awareness, Arthur's head rising slightly as he spoke. "My back is all knots tonight, if you think you're up to the task of working a few of them out."
The wash rag slipped into the water as Merlin pressed his palms into the tight muscles of Arthur's shoulders, eliciting a groan. Arthur leaned further forward in the tub, his back a smooth curve under Merlin's kneading hands.
He kept his touch firm, but didn't use his fingertips harshly as the knight-trainers tended to. He'd watched them carefully on occasion, knowing he might have to attend Arthur the same way while on campaign or a hunting trip someday. This wasn't about treating a cramp or spasm, it was about Arthur relaxing.
And Arthur wasn't laid out on the ground on some battlefield camp, he was in a gleaming copper tub, up to his chest in warm, soapy water and Merlin felt anxious about both his own reaction and about having no clue how to ask Arthur if the pressure was right, if he was finding the sorest places.
Just as he was about to ask, Arthur hummed his approval, sighing, "Perfect."
Merlin took a deep breath of the warm, clean air. Truly, he knew what to do already, knew Arthur's body almost as well as his own. He mightn't have seen Arthur so thoroughly or all at once before now, but the Prince went about shirtless nearly every night and morning, and he'd had strained muscles before.
And Merlin could do this without letting his hormones run the show.
The knots under his fingertips were palpable, and it was easy enough to hear the deep noises of relief Arthur made when he pressed his knuckles in at just the right angle.
The sounds gave him confidence and filled him with something like pride. He was doing this, making Arthur feel better in the middle of this nightmare, giving him peace in chaos.
Still, it was impossible to not be affected by the smoothness of Arthur's skin, by those low, satisfied moans, by the warmth radiating between his hands and Arthur's body. It felt like magic thrumming between them, reflecting back and forth, building upon itself.
Merlin had bit his lip to soreness by the time he felt Arthur's shoulders finally release their tension and Arthur shifted back in the tub again.
"Much better," Arthur murmured. "Seems you've been paying attention."
Merlin cupped his hands, scooping up the still-warm water, letting it flow down over Arthur's back and shoulders. "I always do," he whispered, not trusting his voice to be anything like steady.
Having lost the wash cloth somewhere in the water below, he trailed his open hand down Arthur's other arm and smoothed his thumbs over the pulse point in his wrist, down the palm, opening the fingers.
He massaged Arthur's left hand as he had the right, sure to clean under each fingernail and give each digit the attention he'd paid the others. He couldn't resist touching all the way up the lines of muscle from wrist to shoulder, one hand smoothing over the scar from Kilgharrah's talons, his other hand still literally holding Arthur's hand as he silently cursed the dragon for ever having touched Arthur. All that talk of Merlin's destiny being linked to Arthur's, and with one swipe, he could have ruined everything.
Merlin paused, hands savouring the last calm, still moment of Arthur's skin against his palms. He unconsciously squeezed the hand in his, then winced as he realized what he was doing, but Arthur seemed not to notice. Merlin squeezed again, quickly, and let go completely, setting Arthur's hand on the edge of the tub.
He sat back on his heels and sighed. Gods, but Arthur was a vision. His hairline was damp with perspiration, his eyelids softly closed, lips parted as he drew in long, slow breaths, one after another.
Those breaths calmed Merlin as well, and he found himself matching them, breathing in sync with Arthur, who hummed in contentment as he rested bonelessly against the back of the tub, looking thoroughly sated.
That's what someone's hands- Arthur's hands - would have done to him, too, he supposed. Perhaps more. Definitely more.
Merlin wiped his fingers dry on his trousers and reached to brush a fallen lock of hair from Arthur's eyes.
Arthur's face turned to press into his touch, and Merlin sucked in a breath, suddenly alarmingly aware of the boundaries he had crossed. He'd never touched him so intimately - not while Arthur was conscious. He hadn't thought, he'd just reached out, and the bath was strangely liberating with Arthur so pliant and fingers froze, Arthur's cheek heating against his palm.
He was right to be cautious, for as soon as he'd stilled, those blue eyes snapped open and Arthur's fingers closed hard over his wrist.
"Arthur, I-" He shivered, not knowing where the words were coming from, but they were little more than a whisper. The warm water streaming from Arthur's hand down his own forearm and wetting his sleeve was just a goad to his nervousness. "Shall I wash your hair?"
Arthur's hand fell from his wrist back to the tub's edge, closing white-knuckled as he pulled himself forward again, his words echoing against the surface of the water beneath his bowed head. "Sorry, Merlin. You- caught me by surprise. Please, continue."
Merlin went to the washstand for the pitcher and knelt at the end of the tub, filling the container with water from behind Arthur's back. Silently casting a subtle warming spell, he dipped his hand in to make sure he hadn't overdone it. The temperature was perfect. He was improving, or perhaps it was the motivation.
As gently as he could manage without seeming too cautious, he brushed his hand up Arthur's shoulder and neck to warn him. "Tell me if the water is too warm."
Arthur's head came up then, eyes closed, chin tilting high, and Merlin realized he was meant to keep the water from pouring over the Prince's face. How the nobility ever managed to clean themselves was beyond him.
He slid his hand into the blond hair, smoothing it away from Arthur's forehead, then cupped his palm across as a barrier. Pouring the water slowly, he brushed his palm back over Arthur's hair, following the flow of water with his fingers clear down to the nape of Arthur's neck.
Merlin's mother had done this for him once, when he was very ill. If he closed his eyes, he could still remember it, how he'd been able to feel how much she'd cherished him just through her touch.
His eyes had filled with tears at the flood of emotion then, and they did now, as he willed Arthur to feel him, to realize that Merlin would always be at his side, ready and willing to care for his every need, even something as mundane as this.
Arthur's eyebrows rose and he moaned in pleasure, Merlin's heart racing as he smiled and concentrated on letting his own deep emotions trickle to the surface and flow out through his fingertips. Is this how it was done? Could Arthur truly feel what he was feeling?
"Good God," Arthur sighed and leaned back in the tub again, heedless of the water splashing on the stone floor and all over Merlin's lap.
Merlin started but did his best to ignore the warm spread there, though itwas somewhat grounding, which helped. It brought him solidly into the present, back to his task.
The same soap he'd washed Arthur's body with seemed somehow inadequate for his hair, though it had always been good enough for Merlin's.
Still, he wasn't about to risk experimenting with the gaudily-coloured, pungent liquids the ladies had left. He reached for the bar of soap again and lathered his hands, pulling them slowly through Arthur's hair, massaging the lather into his scalp from temples to the nape of his neck, then going back over it just for good measure.
"Keep your eyes closed." Merlin bit his lip, wiped the suds from his hands on his legs - it hardly mattered, wet as his trousers already were - and reached for the pitcher, gently casting the same warming spell on the water again. "I'm going to rinse it now."
Arthur gave a small nod and leaned slightly forward again, though not nearly as far as before. Merlin again lifted his guarding hand to shield Arthur's closed eyes from the soap and let the water slowly pour over the Prince's head.
When he heard Arthur's hum of approval, he began stroking his hand back again, his fingers running through the hair this way and that to make sure it was completely clean. The warm water and slick soap flowed over the back of his hand, Arthur's hair sliding through his fingertips. He slowly threaded them through one last time, then smoothed it from front to back and skimmed his fingers down Arthur's neck.
If he didn't stop there, he could all too easily slip beyond duty into something else, something that Arthur surely wouldn't appreciate.
Sliding lazily forward, knees coming up out of the water and head settling back to the rim, Arthur sighed, hair dripping fat drops of water onto Merlin's knees where they pressed against the tub.
When he set the pitcher again on the floor beside him, Merlin felt as drained as Arthur looked. His shoulders ached and his head was throbbing with all the carefully-concealed tension. Arthur, on the other hand, appeared absolutely relaxed, which was a rare and decidedly good thing, especially tonight.
Merlin sat back on his heels and stayed perfectly motionless, fighting the urge to rest his head alongside Arthur's on the tub's edge, unwilling to either break the peaceful quiet or risk another presumptuous invasion of Arthur's personal space. He'd wager Arthur would be uncomfortable enough just knowing what Merlin had done already without the added humiliation of being quite so obviously adored by a servant.
He turned his face to the fire and blinked. Despite Arthur's clear need for this coaxing into relaxation, Merlin felt clammy with guilt. How could he have enjoyed any situation that brought Arthur so low?
No. He hadn't enjoyed the cause of Arthur's distress, and he hadn't precisely enjoyed the bath, either. He'd ached through every minute of it, just as he had when Arthur had been injured.
Along with the rather torturous thrill of touching, of being so close to Arthur and the desire he couldn't quite quash as he let himself look, a humbling realization washed over him. Arthur hadn't refused his touch, had even seemed to welcome it.
He jerked his eyes away. He needed to focus, and that could not happen half a foot away from Arthur's bathing tub. He looked down at his own lap, a sodden mess where he'd been splashed, where Arthur's hair was even now dripping on him, and sighed, pushing to his feet.
"There. Done. I'll let you...er... finish up. Here." Merlin handed him a fresh washing cloth and the bar of soap and quickly turned away, wordlessly casting a thorough drying charm at his legs and reaching to the bench for the lengths of linen Arthur would use to dry himself.
He could hear Arthur splashing and the rasping slide of the bar of soap along Arthur's body. He dared just a glance over his shoulder before looking back to the fire. "Shall I return to Gaius after you're done bathing, or would you rather I-"
Merlin twisted around in alarm as Arthur abruptly stood, water rushing over the sides of the tub in waves. He snatched a cloth from Merlin and slapped the soap in Merlin's empty hand.
Merlin kept his startled gaze fastened on Arthur's shoulder as the Prince wiped his face and wrapped the towel around his hips.
"You're to stay here with me, Merlin. Do you need a mandate from the King before you'll get it through your thick skull?"
The words stung after such an - he wanted to think - intimate moment, but really, they shouldn't have hurt. It was nothing to Arthur to be touched like that, he had probably always had someone bathe him before Merlin had shown up. They'd probably bathed him all over, too, and not once been grateful for the task as Merlin had been, wrong as he knew it was.
No, it was nothing to Arthur to be touched as Merlin had touched him.
He swallowed hard and shook his head, gently moving around Arthur, opening the second cloth over his unscarred shoulders, towelling away the drops of water that reflected the firelight. He wiped all the way down to the small of Arthur's back before he realized Arthur had gone perfectly still.
"Did you not want me to- er..." Merlin stepped back, the length of cloth pulled taut between his upraised hands.
Arthur turned to face him, one hand clasping tightly on Merlin's shoulder for balance as he stepped from the tub, heedless of the river of water that came with him. "My robe. And hang my nightclothes on the screen. I wouldn't wish to offend your delicate sensibilities."
"They're not as delicate as you might think." Merlin smirked and fetched the robe, holding it open and, belying his own brave words, averting his eyes as Arthur turned into it.
Arthur gave him an incredulous look, reaching inside the robe to pull the damp cloth from around his waist and press it to Merlin's stomach with a smirk. "How they could possibly be after all this time is a mystery, Merlin, but you blush as prettily as Gwen and don't believe for a second I don't notice."
Merlin dropped his head, hands clutching the damp cloth, his face blazing with equal parts anger and embarrassment. "Well, I'm not thepretty one here, am I?"
Arthur laughed, though it didn't sound merry. "That's true enough," he teased. "You're all gangly limbs and clumsiness like a fledgling colt."
"And you're dripping all over my newly-mopped floor like a wet rag,Sire . Here." He thrust the crumpled linen to Arthur's chest and turned to put another log on the fire. As he dropped the piece of wood in his haste, the embers rushed up and out, scorching the sleeve of his tunic and making him jump. He patted them down and clenched his fists. Why did he have to constantly prove every one of Arthur's insults true as soon as the words were flung at him?
Arthur moved behind the screen and began dressing, the robe tossed to the flagstones for Merlin to pick up later. "Before you burn down the castle, go fetch your nightclothes and a tray of fruit. No wine. And find Leon."
"Yes, Sire." Merlin rose and made to leave, stopping short with his hand on the doorknob. "Mynightclothes? "
Because he had never, not even camping in the wilderness or staying in his own mother's house, worn nightclothes in front of Arthur. He might have done, had he owned any nightclothes, but there had been no sense in spending what little coin he had on something so frivolous. He had to bathe and leave his previous day's clothing with the laundress every morning anyhow, so what was the point in changing into something clean for sleeping?
"You'll be sleeping here if we manage sleep at all tonight. I need a sounding board, Merlin, and you're as good as I've got with father ill. I don't fancy you prancing about my quarters nude, so yes,nightclothes ."
Merlin opened the door and nodded back over his shoulder, not meeting Arthur's eyes. He was blushing again and had to bite back a retort to the prancing remark. "Of course, Sire."
He'd known about the antechamber from day one, when Gwen had shown him where to put his things and informed him that he would be sleeping there. He hadn't a home of his own, after all, and she'd just assumed he was in need of a bed. A bed with a real mattress, filled with down and bits of cloth instead of hay. Covered in clean, fresh linens and a thick pelt from a bear Arthur had felled himself. He'd considered it, for about a minute, but back then Arthur's cutting remarks hadn't been in jest and Merlin had been uncomfortable even helping him on with his coat.
Arthur had only looked a bit surprised as Merlin left for Gaius' quarters when he was dismissed that first night. He'd never asked - or commanded - Merlin to stay.
Actually, Merlin had had a nap on that sweet bed sometimes when Arthur had a lie-in or was ill. Well, no, he hadn't napped, exactly. He'd lain awake with the door cracked open so he could listen to the prince take each deep breath in his sleep. He'd listen for the rhythm to falter, or Arthur's all-too-common mumbled sleep-speech. He'd rise and sort breakfast, then, knowing Arthur would wake soon. He'd only ever dared eavesdropping on a handful of occaisions, and felt awfully guilty after, every time.
Now he was commanded to stay there, on that sinfully comfortable bed, with Arthur sick with worry only a wall away. There was no way he could sleep there. No way he would so much assit on that bed unless Arthur was already deeply asleep. And the door would stay open between them, just in case. As to nightclothes, well, he would kip a nightshirt from the laundry, he supposed, though he couldn't fathom actuallywearingit in front of Arthur.
The prince hadn't been exactly wrong about his gangly limbs.
He strode quickly to the knight's quarters, spreading the word that Leon was to go to Arthur as soon as he was found. He nodded his thanks and fled when the request was delivered, not wanting to be away from Arthur any longer than he had to.
The kitchen attendants scrambled to find enough fresh fruit and cheese to fill a large silver platter as he leaned on the scarred wooden table and closed his eyes.
The servants bustled around him, but left him be. His position, though he never actually felt it to be true, was one to be respected. Arthur's manservant; trusted, relied upon, ever-present. They all knew how well he must know his master, how many secrets he kept so closely guarded that not even the most daring of the maids could pry them away.
Not that they had a chance using feminine wiles on him, but they didn't realize that.
Yes, of course he knew Arthur's every habit, knew every detail of Arthur right down to the way he sprawled across the bed in his sleep and the soulful pout he never, ever let anyone but Merlin see. He was probably the only person in the world who knew that when Arthur brooded, it was at the corner window nearest his bed, his arms crossed as if he was literally trying to hold in his pain or anger.
Not that it ever served to hide his distress as far as Merlin was concerned. The prince was actually considerably free with his emotions around him behind closed doors, but the second anyone else walked in the room, Arthur schooled his features.
Was he honestly that comfortable around Merlin now, or was it that he was just so used to Merlin's presence that he didn't bother hiding what he was feeling?
"'Ere you are, Sor." A tug on his elbow startled him, but he didn't jump. Too many brief naps on his feet left him accustomed to being woken abruptly. All the servants did it - took what rest they could get whenever and wherever they could manage.
He lifted the tray with a nod and a smile of thanks, setting it against one hip for balance. They'd loaded it down, that was for sure, at least two of every kind of fruit, some of which Merlin could have sworn couldn't be grown this time of year. The scent of the strawberries was especially tempting, but Merlin resisted. Arthur would never finish them all, and he didn't feel much like eating anyhow.
