For Joshua
Battle Armour
A Fifteen Chapter Story Correlating to Each Piece of Armour Arthur Wears
1. Greaves
a. Shin and calf protection
Arthur let his finger trail along the edge of his goblet one last time, relishing the quiet morning. It wasn't often he got such leisure. Easy enough to get lost in a day's worth of training and banquets and meetings. He let his shoulders relax, his eyes close.
"Funny," he muttered. "That even when I'm supposed to be relaxing, I find myself thinking about why it's so quiet."
He opened his eyes again.
And there was Merlin, paused in his work, blinking innocently at the prince of Camelot.
"What?" Merlin said.
"I said, Merlin, that you're being too quiet."
"There really is no pleasing you."
Arthur snorted. "What is wrong with you today?"
Merlin looked at the pile of laundry piled high in his arms, then back at Arthur. Laundry to Arthur.
"Nothing," was Merlin's final answer.
The two left it at that, and Arthur went back to picking at his breakfast.
A small sound first. Then a muffled curse. Then all the laundry fell to the ground.
"Sorry, Sire, sorry, sorry."
Arthur was up, chair scraping against his bedroom floors, closing the space between him and his manservant. Merlin halfheartedly scooted away, pulling the laundry into his lap.
"Have you been at the tavern again?"
Merlin shook his head.
Arthur rolled his eyes.
He went back to his table, though his breakfast was cold and his morning was disrupted. His knights would be waiting for him on the training grounds soon, and his laundry bloody well should be finished by now-
"Is there something," Merlin's voice drifted through the room, barely above a whisper, hoarse even. Pitiful. "That I could use to mop up…"
Arthur laughed. "How about a mop, Merlin? You really are thick."
He thought he would turn around, clock Merlin over the head for another stupid question, and why on earth would he ask Arthur, of all people, of all times of day…
But there was blood on the floor. Smeared. In long trails of rust on his floor.
"Just tripped, sire," came Merlin's reply. "I'll wipe it up though. Promise."
Arthur blinked twice, staring long and hard at Merlin's shin.
"Just tripped?"
Merlin wet his lips. "Yep."
"Well that's bloody unlikely."
Arthur brushed past him, toward the door, feeling Merlin's eyes on the back of his head. He called for a guard to grab Gauis, or someone with an inkling on what to do with such a clumsy, useless manservant. Then, once they had hurried off, Arthur returned to where Merlin stood, slowly dripping blood onto his bedroom floor.
His bedroom floor!
"Sit down, Merlin, before you stain my flooring."
Merlin sat.
"It's not much, really. I'll just wait for it to stop bleeding and I'll get back to work," Merlin said quickly. "No need to call Gauis, he's always so busy, and I'm learning enough I can take care of my own wound. Really."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. The boy's hand was covered in blood, pressed half-heartedly to the slash on his leg. It looked serious enough, especially with the edging of dark-
"Are those stitches?" Though Arthur didn't need to ask. He had seen plenty of stitches in his lifetime. "Ripped stitches?"
"It's not that serious. The bleeding'll stop soon."
Arthur shook his head. "Not buying it, Merlin."
He took one of his shirts from the laundry pile, handing it to Merlin who just blinked at it slowly.
"You'll have to clean it or discard it afterward, but it's old anyway," Arthur said, shaking the cloth in front of his servant's face. "Do whatever you've been so diligently training to do and then get Gauis to look at it. Just in case. I expect you back to work by dinner tonight."
He turned back to his breakfast, not really intending to eat, but not intending to show Merlin any more sympathy either.
"Go, Merlin."
"Yes, Sire."
Back into the chair, setting his feet up on the table. He picked up his goblet again, but found he couldn't drink the wine. It looked like a certain someone's blood.