Eleven
Arthur goes straight down to Gaius' chambers, throwing the door open wide, eyes reflecting this action as they survey the scene.
A small, pale figure with tousled sweat-damp dark hair lies unresponsive and swathed inbandages, in the middle of a camp bed. Gaius' had set it up near the large age-stained worktable, against the cool stone of the walls. The old man himself was slumped wearily in a rickety wooden chair at the bedside, old, wrinkled hands clasping one of the pale skeletal ones than hung limply atop the blankets. A wet rag was laid on the boy's fevered forehead, and the only colour in the porcelain face was two spots of a horribly unhealthy red blotched on each cheek, like someone had comically applied that thick lumpy makeup Morgana had bought (and had promptly smeared all over the inside of his wardrobe in revenge for forbidding her from sword training with the men on a daily practice, so that when he opened it to retrieve his royal circlet, he got covered in the damable stuff) once.
Arthur finds a sad smile on his lips, as he takes a seat on the floor next to the bed, eyes never leaving his friend.
"Sire..." Gaius murmurs, and then looks down at him with tired old eyes. "Would you rather have a chair?"
Arthur shakes his head, and murmurs "this is fine" before laying his own hands over Gaius's.
Against the young Prince's rough sword-callused palms, the old man's frail hands feel like thin paper, soft and fragile, patched and liver spotted and wrinkled with age, strong blue veins dancing their way under the delicate skin. The knuckles and clenched tight over Merlin's hand with surprising strength, as if they wish to keep reaffirming he's still there. Still alive. Arthur stares at the pale face of his friend until his eyelids feel heavy and start to slide down. He didn't realise how tired he is.
Exhausted in fact.
"He'll be fine." Gaius's murmurs quietly, as if trying to convince himself more than Arthur. With one hand he gently turns over the cloth on the boy's head to the cooler side. "He has a high fever, but he's healing well. His injuries..." here the old man trails off, looking forlornly down at the crisp white bandages, eyes lingering over the ones on his chest and round his head. He cups a pasty cheek and gently allows a thumb to sweep over the curved surface, fingers sometimes dipping low to trace over the ridiculous curve of those ears. "Oh Merlin..."
Arthur sighs. He knows Merlin will have scars from some of his injuries, if he's truthful, he knows that probably most will scar over. It doesn't take much to scar the skin, as he knows from his own experience, and from seeing other knights with injuries. He takes note of the long, red scratchy lines etched into the flesh and heavy black and purple bruises that are not hidden by bandages, and mar the otherwise perfect white skin. He stares at the discolouration round the boy's neck, angry red marks and dark bruises blossoming there. The distinct pattern of red rope lines stand out amongst the mess. And his Adam's apple bobs painfully as the boy unconsciously tries to relieve some of the pain in his throat by swallowing. Arthur supposes Gaius must have given him something to prevent that pain, and put him in a healing sleep.
If these are in injuries he can see, Arthur wonders how serious the bandaged injuries are, but doesn't dare ask. They all seem so wrong on Merlin, small, fragile Merlin, who shouldn't be lying here injured. Who should be happily bouncing around as usual, brining him his lunchtime meal. Bantering with him, like the ridiculous idiot he is. Arthur is suddenly overcome with a feeling not unlike homesickness. He realises it's because he's missing how Merlin usually is. He feels only worse with this realisation.
Arthur rests his head on the side of the cot, the top of his head just touching the side of Merlin's knee, just to know he's still there, with the boy's hand still cupped between one of Gaius' and his own. The crown prince lets his eyes fall closed, and allows his breaths to even out to match the slow steady draw of Merlin's breath.
I'm sorry.
A single tear slips down his cheek, then another then another, until he's sobbing, and Gaius' is stroking his blond hair with one those large, old hands. But everything feels so wrong in the world. Because his father won't let Merlin stay. And Arthur will never see him again. And he's so, so sorry.
Merlin.
He's quieting now, letting the lull of sleep take him, his eyelids feeling too heavy to open, stuck wetly together with quickly drying tears.
Merlin.
He sighs, unconsciously nuzzling his face into Merlin's blanketed knee, and wiping his tears away on the rough fabric. His knees are starting to ache, but he ignores the feeling, being drawn by the lull of sleep. The darkness of his closed eyes warm and welcoming and...
CRASH!
He jerks bolt upright. Heart pounding. breaths quick and harsh. Whirling round. Eyes wide to see...
Gwen.
Her mouth is open in a little shocked 'O', the bottom of her skirts and the floor wet, and a metal pouring jug on its side on the wet flagstones. Her eyes dart to Merlin, checking if he's still sleeping soundly, he is, before they rise and meet Arthur's and she blushes prettily.
"Sorry," she hisses quietly, embarrassed, while Arthur scrubs at his face and tries to look all manly, and not at all like he'd been crying and falling undignified-ly asleep on the floor, "tripped over the hem of my dress and dropped the jug of cold water for refilling the basin", she indicates vaguely towards the floor near Merlin's bandaged head, and Arthur sees a small wooden basin bowl filled with water and the spare cloth to be placed on Merlin's forehead to bring down his fever resting in it, soaking up the liquid. "Water's gotten warm, so I was brining him some fresh and cool from the well in the courtyard" here she sighs, and peels up the other cloth currently resting on his forehead, then lays her palm against the heated skin, frowning. "Looks like I'll have to go again now." She presses a gentle kiss to the pale forehead and carefully switches the cloths and places the slightly cooler, wet one from the basin onto his forehead, under the bandage line.
"I'll go." Arthur's body is up and moving before he can register what he's doing "Can you stay here and watch over him for me?"
Gwen smiles sadly at him, wringing out her skirt and nods the affirmative.
"Of course."
"Gaius!" he calls to the old man, routing through bottles on the top shelf across the room. "I'm going to get some water."
"Thank you, Arthur" He smiles tiredly. Disarmingly. "I don't suppose you could help an old man out and clear that water there up first?"
"Oh!" pipes up Gwen "and fetch me a dry dress from my house? At Arthur's puzzled look (where was her house again? What dress? How's he supposed to...) she says: "Ask Morgana" and turns back to tend to Merlin's forehead. "Oh!" she exclaims again, turning back, her dark curls whipping round her face "and I haven't picked up the laundry Merlin usually collects on a Sunday yet either, do you think you could pop down there too?"
"Oh, and we'll need lunch fetching too... Arthur, do you think you could? Bring something light, like a thin vegetable broth, For Merlin?" Arthur just stares at him so he adds "Ask the cook."
Arthur nods, trying to remember all he was just told as he's handed a bucket and a mop. He stares at them in his hand. He's seen servant using one, it can't be too hard... right?
"Oh, and Arthur? It would be a great help if you could also clean out my leech tank when you're done."
Suddenly, Arthur thinks he feels like Merlin.
A/N: has Oreo's! Don't you all feel so jealous!
Who liked Arthur being piled with Merlin's jobs? I did. *Grin* Have fun with that leech tank Artie :P
Thanks for reading,
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Lenle G.