A/n
As usual, the translation bot and me.
This is an old fanfic, but I thought it was suitable for translation.
Set after the end of season three.
The book
The last few weeks have been - to put it mildly - muggy. After Morgana's betrayal, Uther has lost any will to live. Virtually nothing reaches him; it is difficult to communicate with him even on basic matters. Gaius tries to help him in every possible way, but improvement doesn't come.
Full responsibility for the kingdom therefore rests with Arthur, who is greatly overwhelmed by this new situation. The council insists that he should take over the crown, but he refuses to agree as long as his father is alive. He still hopes that this strange illness will subside and everything will return to normal. He longs very much for it to come back, for things to be like they used to be again.
Sometimes, waking up in the night, he wonders if Morgana is sleeping peacefully, and only then does he realise the terrible truth. This truth hits him full force and hurts the same every time. At moments he is furious with his father. He was allowed to break down and leave him with it all. He feels like screaming, slamming his head against the wall. Why! Why! Why!?
Uncle Agravaine's arrival doesn't make things any easier for him. Of course, he is grateful to his relative for wanting to support him. He needs someone experienced, ready to offer advice. His uncle almost falls from the sky to him, but in his presence Arthur begins to feel as if he is not fit to govern anything at all. Lord Agravaine discusses all decisions with him, gently and tactfully points out mistakes. A mass of mistakes. Equally gently and tactfully he suggests solutions. The right solutions.
Arthur is becoming more and more convinced that he would not be able to cope without him, even though he knows he should, which is why he has been in a particularly foul mood lately. Mostly it's Merlin who suffers because he's not guilty of anything, but just happens to be close at hand. There is always a reason to yell at him and at least partly to vent. It is his dogged duty to bear it with humility. He doesn't bear it with humility. At any rate, not like a mere servant. The fool usually bites back in his characteristic way, filled with discreet cordiality. More often than not, it ends in some sort of tug-of-war, pillow-covering or other stress-relieving cretinism that the prince can only indulge in with him.
Today, however, Arthur manages to really make Merlin upset. To himself... solely to himself and to his own use, admits that he has gone too far this time. He says a few words too many. Five, to be precise. In fact, what he says is the exact opposite of what he thinks, but Merlin takes it seriously. As if a few words could derail things that are far more important. Moron! A complete moron! For the rest of the day he is an exemplary servant, he does everything he is told without discussion, he hardly speaks. In the evening, he wishes Artur a good night and leaves; dim, sad, without even a hint of a smile.
Arthur intends to go to bed already, but something keeps bothering him. Finally, he remembers that he hasn't given Merlin his instructions for tomorrow. Well, yes - he forgot to repeat the immortal list, which the servant could probably recite backwards. Such a lapse is unacceptable. It must be rectified immediately. He can send for him, but... that is not the point. He gets up and throws his cloak over his nightgown, telling himself that he is not going to the physician's chambers just to still have an excuse to talk to Merlin today and to let him know between the lines that... well, exactly. What exactly? After all, she won't apologise to him.
The fact that Gaius is not there doesn't particularly surprise him. The chamber is semi-dark, there are some parchments on the table and a few vials filled with silvery liquid, a folded blanket on the bench. Apparently the physician has been summoned for an emergency.
„Merlin", Arthur calls out, crossing the chamber. He doesn't hear a reply. Perhaps he has gone with Gaius? Oh, no. „Merlin"? He looks around. The door to the small room is ajar. The Prince enters cautiously.
„Merlin"?
Merlin is lying on the bed. He presses his cheek into an open, bound book, under which he has propped a slightly oddly bent arm. His eyes are closed, his breathing steady. He is asleep. In his legs, a second, thinner book rests on a rolled-up quilt. On the table, right next to him, stand two lit candles. Artur's first instinct is to wake him up and scold him for his thoughtlessness. You really have to be an idiot to fall asleep leaving an open fire almost next to your head! An idiot, or a very tired man.
He doesn't wake him up. He feels he shouldn't. He just looks at him and tries once again to understand. There is something about him. Hell, he's even now, when he's sleeping like this, draped over books like some kind of scholar. In the dappled candlelight, his face appears much older and more serious than it really is. Or perhaps the lighting doesn't matter at all? Maybe it's exactly the same face he sees every day and which he would never under any circumstances stop seeing. The face of a man who is always there for him, represents some kind of constant in this twisted world and whose presence gives him a completely irrational sense of security.
The rain drums against the windows. Arthur leans over and picks up the book lying on the duvet. He puts it down on the table. "Healing properties of gemstones", proclaims the title on the worn leather cover.
Gemstones? Intriguing. It looks like Merlin was looking for something. Evidently he wasn't planning to go to bed just yet. After all, he could also just be studying. After all, he is supposedly an apprentice medic. It's hard to believe, but one day he'll replace Gaius, or leave to treat people somewhere else. In some distant, unspecified future, he will no longer accompany Arthur. Or maybe not so distant after all? Time passes inexorably. Artur doesn't want to think about it for the time being. He tries to gently get the other book out. Sleeping on it won't increase a fool's knowledge, and it'll do rather poorly as a pillow.
„No, Gaius", mutters Merlin in his sleep, squeezing it tighter. „I'm not going to bed yet". Arthur snorts lightly and leaves the book alone. What the volume is, by the way. If he knew, he might be able to figure out what Merlin claims to be doing at the moment. However, there is no chance of reading anything without risking waking him up.
He takes the duvet, carefully covers the sleeping man, extinguishes the candles and retreats quietly, closing the door. A thought flashes through his mind that something is ... mixed up. Probably it should be the other way around. Never mind. He can no longer count how many strange things he has done for this man.
Unexpectedly, he comes to the conclusion that Merlin is like that wretched book; seemingly open, within reach, yet inaccessible. He promises himself that he will find a way to read it. And perhaps need to be a little more careful about what is written in it.
Of today's five words... he isn't proud.
Please, let me know what do you think. :)
