A/N: Hey, guys. I'm baaaaack! Well...not really. This is a one shot, and I just had this idea and had to write it down, even though I am supposed to be writing my thesis. Heh heh. Sorry Professor. Priorities, you know. So again, one shot, and I do have to go back to focusing on schoolwork. But enjoy this weekend treat! Please review/favorite if you enjoy it!

Note: 12/02/2020 Did some slight editing, in case you notice some changes in wording.

Saying Thanks

Arthur marched out of his room, hell bent on killing his useless servant, who'd somehow managed to be late again. Then his stomach growled loudly, and he decided to get some breakfast first.

"Don't know why I keep that idiot around," he muttered, as he stalked down the corridor and made his way down to the kitchens. He tugged at his shirt, trying to make the fabric lie straight. Of course Merlin would choose today of all days to leave Arthur to fend for himself, when it was vital that he make a good impression on the foreign dignitaries arriving that afternoon. The last thing he needed was them thinking the king of Camelot didn't know how to dress himself. Which was why he needed Merlin to get the hell out of whatever tavern he'd been in this time and get him dressed and presentable in time for the treaty signing.

Then Arthur cursed as he realized he was late to training. He'd told his men to be ready on the field an hour earlier, so he'd have time to prepare for tonight's event.

Never mind. He had more important things to tend to. Like breakfast, for instance. And killing Merlin. Priorities.

The aromas of cooking sausage and fresh bread wafted from the kitchens. Arthur pushed open the door and walked in, unnoticed by the kitchen staff. He helped himself to one of the meat pies on the cooling rack, feeling suddenly ravenous as he brought the hot pastry to his mouth.

A big fleshy hand came out of nowhere and slapped the meat pie out of his hands. It fell to the floor with a splat.

"Oi! Hands off my pies!"

Before Arthur could mourn his ruined breakfast, the hand had seized him by the scruff of the neck, twisting him around so he faced a beefy, mean faced woman he assumed was the cook. Her eyes widened in horror as she realized who she'd just manhandled.

"Your Majesty!" she gasped, dropping to her knees. "Please...my apologies...I didn't...I didn't mean...please, I…"

"Never mind," said Arthur impatiently. Guinevere would frown on his surly attitude, he knew, but this was the second time that morning he'd been deprived of his breakfast, and there was only so much he could take. "Can you give me my breakfast tray, please? I figured I'd save my manservant the trouble."

She lumbered back to her feet, dusting off her apron. "You!" she barked, pointing at a timid looking maid in the corner, who jumped to attention with a squeak. "Prepare a tray for the king! Get to it!"

The maid bowed her head and scurried off. Two minutes later, Arthur was holding a heavy tray laden with piping hot food. "Thanks," he said. He eyed the cooling rack. Following his gaze, the cook snapped her fingers at the maid. Instantly, three meat pies appeared on his tray. Arthur thanked her, then turned back to the cook as a sudden thought struck him.

"I don't mean to be rude, but is there a reason my tray wasn't ready earlier?"

"Beggin' your pardon, Majesty, but we prepared your food ages ago. That tray you're holding now's a fresh one Tara only just made. Your servant picked up your food earlier this morning."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Strange. He never brought it to me."

The cook snorted derisively. "The boy probably took it to eat for himself. He's always up to no good." she added darkly.

Arthur frowned at her criticism, but let it slide. He thanked her again and left the kitchen with his breakfast tray.

Arthur walked slowly up the corridor, lost in thought. Why would Merlin pick up his breakfast and then never show up? Had something happened? He felt a flash of foreboding, and his steps quickened. No. Merlin was fine, he told himself, sinking his teeth into the flaky dough of the meat pie. No doubt the idiot was just recovering from another night at the tavern. Probably with Gwaine. A day mucking out the horses would sober him up, though. Yes, Merlin was fine. He was fine. But Arthur took the stairs two at a time to Gaius's chambers. His feelings of unease increased when he realized the door was open.

"Gaius?" he called, tapping softly on the door. There was no answer, so Arthur went in.

A tray of food sat on the scrubbed wooden table. He scowled. His food. And it had clearly been eaten from. So the cook had been right.

"Really, Merlin." he muttered, rolling his eyes. He was halfway up the stairs to Merlin's bedroom, ready to give him an earful, when a faint groan stopped him in his tracks. He strained his ears. It came again, from behind the table. He retraced his steps, and walked cautiously around to the far side of the table, where he found Merlin on all fours, head bent over a large bucket. His sympathy turned quickly to annoyance.

"Too much ale?" he said acidly. "I thought we talked about you cutting back, Merlin."

Merlin lifted his head. His face was pale and clammy, with a greenish tinge. His eyes were glassy. "A-Arthur," he croaked. He struggled to rise, but instead collapsed to the floor, panting from the effort.

Arthur sighed. He grabbed Merlin firmly but gently by the arms and pulled him to his feet, where he stood, swaying slightly.

"Honestly, Merlin," he said in disgust. "Leave the alcohol to Gwaine if you can't handle it."

The servant shook his head, then closed his eyes. Even that slight movement seemed to have been too much for him.

"Wasn't," he mumbled. Now that he was upright, Arthur could see the vomit all down his front. "Wasn't." Merlin repeated, swaying again. Arthur quickly reached out, steadying him.

"Alright, now?" he asked.

"Yeah." Arthur let go of his shoulders and stepped back. Merlin threw up all over Arthur's boots. His knees buckled. Arthur grabbed him before he cracked his head on the stone floor.

"Sorry 'bout that," mumbled Merlin, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the king's now filthy boots. "Didn't mean to-" He heaved again, sending a fresh wave of vomit over himself and Arthur.

"Don't worry about it," Arthur told him. "You'll clean it up later." He pulled Merlin's arm around his shoulder, supporting most of the boy's weight with his own. "Let's get you to bed. Where's Gaius?"

"Market…" slurred Merlin, as Arthur helped him up the stairs. His head sagged onto Arthur's shoulder. "Buying...herbs…" Sweat dotted his brow.

Arthur swore. Today of all days…Meanwhile, Merlin's face had gone gray, and he clamped his mouth shut, refusing to speak for fear of throwing up again.

The two of them slowly made their way to Merlin's room. By the time they reached the bed, Arthur was practically carrying Merlin, who was now only semi conscious.

"Need...get Art'r….ready…" Merlin mumbled, eyelids half closed. "Treaty signing…"

"I'm right here, you idiot," said Arthur impatiently, setting Merlin down onto the bed. Merlin immediately sat up, blinking muzzily. Arthur pushed him back down. "Stay," he ordered. "Don't get up."

For once, Merlin obeyed, though Arthur wasn't sure it counted, since he seemed beyond movement anyway at that point. He sank back against the lumpy looking pillow, closing his eyes. Arthur went around to the foot of the bed and knelt down to tug off Merlin's boots. He pulled them off one at a time and tossed them in a corner. Then he stood so he could get Merlin's clothing off, which were soaked in sweat and vomit. He wrinkled his nose. The stench was terrible, and must have temporarily damaged his nostrils, for he could not detect even a whiff of alcohol on Merlin.

Merlin didn't protest as Arthur eased his arms out of the jacket sleeves, but when he started removing his shirt, he batted weakly at Arthur's hands.

"Don't...Leave...it."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Merlin. Your shirt is filthy, we need to get it off."

Merlin shook his head. "Too cold..." he murmured faintly.

Arthur frowned. Merlin's room was rather drafty, but it was the middle of June, and a warm day, too. He put a hand to Merlin's forehead.

"Damn it, Merlin! You're burning up."

As if to contradict his words, Merlin began to shiver violently. This was no hangover.

Damn! Trust Merlin to go and get sick today, when Gaius was out and Arthur had thirty places he needed to be and about fifty other things he had to be doing. Where the hell was Gaius?

Merlin, meanwhile, had stopped struggling, so Arthur took the opportunity to remove his soiled shirt. Robbed of the little warmth the thin material gave him, Merlin's shivering intensified. He shuddered with cold even as his skin burned with fever.

Water. He needed water to cool him down. But he couldn't leave Merlin alone like this for the time it would take to fetch some.

Arthur spotted a small washing basin on the bench, still half full of water. Perfect. Now all he needed was a rag, maybe a towel, or….He smiled wryly, wondering how angry Merlin would be when he found out. Never mind, he didn't really have any other options. He grabbed one of the more worn looking blue neckerchiefs from the wardrobe and dipped it into the basin; after wringing it out to get rid of the excess water, he began to wet Merlin's chest, trying not to think too much about the many scars and burn marks scattered about his upper torso.

The water seemed to do Merlin some good, as he opened his eyes again, looking slightly more alert. He stared at Arthur in astonishment.

"Arthur? What are you doing here?" His eyes widened. "You have the treaty signing today! You're going to be late!"

"It's not for hours yet. I have plenty of time," said Arthur, dipping the cloth back in the basin. "You shouldn't be worrying about that." He mopped Merlin's damp forehead. "Why is it that you only worry about punctuality when you're delirious?" he said lightly.

Merlin looked up at him blankly. His eyes were still glassy. "Arthur?"

Arthur sighed. "Go to sleep, Merlin."

Merlin closed his eyes obediently. Arthur continued dabbing Merlin's face with the cloth. After some time, the slow, even rise and fall of Merlin's chest told Arthur he'd dozed off.

"I guess you do do as you're told," murmured Arthur, shaking his head in a sort of fond exasperation. "We'll write it down for the record books."

"Poison," said Gaius grimly.

Arthur blanched. "You're serious?"

He'd filled Gaius in as soon as the physician had returned, nearly three hours after Arthur had first discovered Merlin on the floor. Gaius had immediately gotten to work, examining Merlin, questioning Arthur about the symptoms, and testing everything Merlin had eaten. Starting with Arthur's first breakfast tray.

Gaius had needed to examine the food for no more than a few minutes to reach his diagnosis.

"Indeed," Gaius confirmed now, inclining his head. "A rather common poison, in fact. And applied with a heavy hand to all the items on the plate."

"Will he be alright?" asked Arthur anxiously.

"He'll be fine," Gaius reassured him. "This poison is not a deadly one. It's purpose is merely to make the victim fall violently ill for a time. Anywhere from a day to a week, depending on the amount ingested. Merlin should be alright in a day or two."

Arthur frowned. "What could be gained by my being ill for a few days?" Then it dawned on him. He could've hit himself for not thinking of it earlier. "The treaty."

Gaius nodded. "I imagine the poisoner wanted you out of the way, which would force the signing to be postponed, at the very least, if not canceled altogether. Thankfully Merlin intercepted it."

"You say it as though it were intentional," said Arthur slowly. "As though Merlin meant to eat the food instead of me."

Gaius raised his eyebrows. "Well, of course he did. Merlin always brings your food to my chambers to have me test it for possible poisons. Since I wasn't here, no doubt he decided to test the food himself simply by tasting it."

"He ate it knowing it might be poisoned?" said Arthur in disbelief. "Is he insane? Or just a complete idiot?"

Gaius shrugged. "My guess would be both. This isn't the first time he's done it."

Arthur stared at him in horror. "You mean he's done this before? Been poisoned, tasting my food?"

"We've been lucky, so far," said Gaius. "Usually the food is not poisoned. Or I'm on hand to administer an antidote when necessary."

"But I never asked him to do that!"

Gaius looked at him strangely, his eyes full of something Arthur could not name. Pity? Sadness? Conflict? Perhaps all three. "You don't realize what he's done for you, Arthur. For this kingdom. Everything he does is for you."

Arthur stilled. "Why are you telling me this, Gaius? Has Merlin's prognosis changed? Should I be preparing myself?"

"No, no!" said Gaius quickly. "Merlin is going to be just fine. Miserable for the next few days of course. But he'll be alright with some rest and care. I just…" he hesitated. "I just think you ought to understand just how much he has done for you, Arthur. You don't even know the half of it. And it's not my place to tell you. But understand that he has sacrificed a lot and taken on a great deal of responsibilities and burdens, all in your name."

Arthur was quiet.

Gaius glanced out the window. "It's getting dark, sire. The treaty signing will be taking place soon. You might want to change first." His eyes lingered on Arthur's boots and trousers, which were still spattered with flecks of Merlin's vomit.

"Yes, of course," said Arthur, jumping to his feet. "Thank you Gaius. Take good care of him. I'll come by later to see how he's doing."

"Of course, sire."

"And...When he wakes up….thank him for me, will you?"

To his surprise, Gaius frowned. "I'd be happy to, sire. Though you might consider thanking him yourself. I'm sure it would also mean a lot more to him if it came from you. It rarely does, after all."

Arthur was slightly taken aback at the sudden harshness in the physician's tone. "Yes...well..." he awkwardly. "I don't..." He cleared his throat. "I'm sure Merlin is ...aware of my...ehm...appreciation. Even if I don't say it all the time."

"Perhaps you should," said Gaius quietly. "He deserves that much, at least, if not more, for all that he's done."

Arthur chuckled ruefully, trying to mask his discomfort. "Ah, well, Gaius, old habits die hard, I'm afraid. But you're right. One of these days, I'll have to get around to thanking him properly. And I will. When the time is right."

"Yes, sire," said Gaius politely, bowing his head.

Arthur nodded one last time at Gaius, turned around, and strode out into the corridor, his sodden boots squelching as he walked.

As he made his way to his room for a fresh change of clothes, his thoughts couldn't help but stray to Merlin, and to Gaius's words.

You might want to thank him yourself. He deserves that much, at least, if not more, for all that he's done.

Later, he promised himself. Not today. But one day. When the time was right.