Whumptober Day #20: Blanket
Merlin groggily wakes up to the warmth of a fire beside him.
Well, he's not burning in the fire, so he thinks he should be alright.
He opens his eyes to the sight of a cave, shadows lengthening on the walls. Arthur is sitting nearby, back leaning against the stone, sword unsheathed by his side, blonde hair glowing, armor gleaming.
Merlin had wondered if he'd hallucinated him.
Now, this is the best sight he could have asked for.
"Arthur?" he whispers, but his voice is drowned out by the crackling of the fire. Arthur seems to stare at nothing, but Merlin knows from his tense body that he is prepared for a threat, and doing that for far too long shouldn't be very healthy.
"Arthur," Merlin says more loudly, and Arthur immediately turns towards Merlin.
"Merlin!" he says. He gets up and crouches by Merlin's side.
"Not so loud," Merlin mumbles, wincing a little. His head throbs, and his arms feel so heavy, weighed down by something...soft, and warm.
"You're awake," Arthur says, as if ignoring what Merlin had just said, but he is quieter, so maybe he does occasionally listen to Merlin after all.
"Mmm...think so," Merlin says. "Where are we?"
"In a cave on the way back to Camelot," Arthur answers. "Don't worry about it. We'll be back soon." He fusses a little with the cloth laying on Merlin's forehead that he had not noticed until this moment. "Your fever's down a little."
"Feel cold," Merlin says. He knows absently that he probably sounds like a child, but he supposes that he deserves to sound a bit like a child right now, after days in captivity pretending that he doesn't have a destiny weighing him down with every passing step.
Sometimes, he feels like he grew up too quickly.
Arthur did too.
Two of a kind, them.
"Merlin?" Arthur asks, concern in his eyes. Merlin realizes that he had probably been saying something, and he had just drifted into his thoughts instead of listening.
"Hmm?" he says. He wants to sound a bit more eloquent than that.
"Do you want some water?"
Merlin swallows, registering his dry throat. "I would love water," he says, smiling shakily at Arthur.
Arthur smiles back, but it looks more like a grimace than a smile. He reaches for his flask and helps Merlin sit up before handing it to him. Merlin takes a few precious, grateful gulps before handing it back.
He feels tired already.
Arthur helps him lay back down, and Merlin finally grasps that the blanket that has been wrapped around his body with care isn't actually a blanket at all.
It's red, with Camelot's sigil on it.
"Arthur?" he asks, staring confusedly down at the red fabric. He doesn't actually know what he's asking.
Arthur sighs, seeming to know what he's thinking. "I couldn't let you freeze, Merlin," he says with familiar, comforting exasperation. "What kind of king would I be if I let my manservant freeze?"
Merlin keeps on blinking down at the fabric. The gold dragon swims before his eyes.
"Go to sleep, Merlin," Arthur says, much more gently.
Merlin lets his eyes drift to the ceiling. He tries not to imagine the cobwebs that are surely up there. If this were Arthur's room, he'd have to get a broom (or magic) to clean it all up.
"I'm sorry, Arthur," he says suddenly.
"You keep saying that," Arthur says. "You really do have nothing to be sorry for."
Merlin doesn't remember apologizing before.
Still, he weakly grasps Arthur's wrist and says, before sleep envelops him yet again, "I have so much to be sorry for."
Merlin drifts off before Arthur can tell him that he's being an idiot.
Arthur watches him sleep for a few moments, his breaths slow and even.
He replays Merlin's words in his mind, the anguish in the lines of his face and the sadness in his eyes. Merlin claims that he has much to be sorry for. Arthur realizes that he really does not like the sound of that.