Door 11: Fireplace

"You're late!" Arthur called out from the sideroom as soon as Merlin had walked into his chambers. "Again!"

Merlin wanted to reply with a flippant remark, or at least a heavy dose of sarcasm. But he had just spent the last of his reserves dragging his leaden legs up the many stairs of the castle and to the Prince's chambers, and it was all he could do not to collapse on the spot.

And so, all that came out was a faint, "Sorry, sire," which he wasn't even sure Arthur could hear at his desk.

Rubbing at his eyes, Merlin looked about the room to see which chores he absolutely needed to get done, then made his way over to the fireplace, which was burning low, the fire reduced to barely more than glowing coals. Fortunately, someone had recently refilled the wood basket. Merlin didn't think he would have had it in him tonight to walk all the way back into the courtyard to haul up logs.

Gracelessly, he slumped onto his knees before the hearth, groaning when they hit the stone and wondering how on earth he would get up again once he was done. His hand trembling, he reached out for the stoking iron.

Somehow, he managed to pick up the heavy tool and started pushing about the wood and coals, then put it down to reach for the logs in the basket, carefully stacking them so that enough air could get to the flames and blowing gently into the hearth when it looked like they might suffocate anyway.

On any other day, he would have sent a spark of magic into the fireplace to help the fire along, but tonight even his powers felt sluggish. Luckily, the flames caught on the dry wood regardless.

Merlin knew he should get up now to tackle his next chore, but found himself mesmerised by the sight of the fire. The logs cracked loudly as tongues of fire lapped at them and a wave of pleasant heat prickled against Merlin's face as the flames flared to new life.

It was nice, sitting by the fireplace. So warm and cosy…

"Are you planning on falling asleep there?"

Merlin flinched, then looked up. Arthur was standing right above him, arms crossed, his mouth twisted in annoyance. Merlin hadn't even heard him approach.

How long had he been kneeling by the fire?

"Come on!" Arthur added more sharply. "I need to get dressed. You know how much my father hates it when I'm late for dinner."

It took Merlin a moment to comply, yearning to do exactly as Arthur had said and fall asleep right on the hearthstone. But he still had a job to do, and so he murmured another, "Sorry, sire," and started to get up.

His legs, however, wouldn't cooperate properly. As he pushed himself up, one knee gave out, and before he knew it, he was stumbling sideways and towards the fire. On instinct, he reached out to steady himself, belatedly realising he would be grabbing either searing hot stone or metal, already bracing himself for a nasty burn.

Instead, he was jolted, before abruptly moving up and away from the fire.

"Idiot!" Arthur snapped, right into Merlin's ear. "Could you be any more clumsy? You nearly fell into the flames!"

Merlin needed a moment to reorient himself. He was now standing two steps away from the fireplace, with Arthur's hand curled painfully around his upper arm and his legs threatening to give out.

"Sorry, sire," he muttered and locked his knees.

Arthur frowned, barely loosening his grip. "This is the third time you've apologised to me tonight," he said. Something about his tone had changed, but Merlin was too tired to decipher Arthur's moods.

"Don't get used to it," he replied and tried to pull his lips into a smile.

Arthur's frown deepened. He was still holding Merlin's arm and was now raising his other hand to clasp his shoulder, too. "Merlin," he said. "Were you at the tavern? Have you been drinking?"

Merlin let out a tired snort. "I wish."

Arthur leaned in, sniffing, then scowled. "Don't lie to me! You reek of alcohol!"

"It's not ale," Merlin replied quickly. "It's from the medicine."

"Medicine?"

Merlin wished he had the energy to roll his eyes. "Yes. I told you yesterday. Half the Lower Town is sick with winter fever. Gaius and I have been brewing potions, day and night." The last words merged into a huge yawn Merlin simply could not repress. "I'll go get your clothes now," he went on after, then made an entirely futile effort to shake off Arthur's hands..

"Day and night?" Arthur repeated, ignoring Merlin's pathetic attempts to move completely. "How many nights are we talking?"

It took Merlin a moment to sift through his weary mind and find the correct answer. "Four?" he said at last. "Five?"

"You have been brewing potions for five nights?" Arthur exclaimed, tightening his hold. "Without sleep?"

"Don't be silly," Merlin replied. "Course I slept. Caught a nap here and there, when you were training or meeting people." He brought up a hand to rub at his eyes, then said, "Can you let go now?"

But Arthur was scowling again. "Certainly not," he growled and pulled at Merlin's arm, dragging him away from the fireplace.

Merlin didn't put up a fight, though he feared Arthur was about to march him to the stocks for effectively slacking on his chores five days in a row. Perhaps he shouldn't have told him about that. Before he had time to come up with a defence, however, Arthur was already pushing him through the curtain that separated the main room from the antechamber.

It was dark and much colder in there, and more than a little dusty, too – Merlin never bothered to clean the room – but Arthur didn't seem to notice, or care. He pushed Merlin forward again, sending him stumbling towards the bed in the corner. "Lie down!" he ordered, then vanished through the curtain.

Merlin's knees were so weak he didn't have any choice but to obey, sinking down onto the bed. He sneezed when the rising dust tickled his nose, then blinked into the gloom, confused, not quite understanding why Arthur had put him in here. What sort of punishment was this? And besides, didn't he need to get dressed for dinner?

He was still sitting on the bed, forlorn and tired, when Arthur returned carrying a candle, followed by a servant boy. "Get the fire going," Arthur commanded.

"Yes, Your Highness," squeaked the boy and crouched down before the little hearth across the chamber to do as he was told.

Merlin stared at the boy, then at Arthur.

Arthur saw and glared at him. "Didn't I tell you to lie down? That means removing your shoes and going under the blanket." He stepped closer, putting the candle on the stool that served as the nightstand, then crossed his arms. "Now, Merlin. Do as you are told."

Merlin's body obeyed automatically. Arthur had used his special voice for those last few words, the one that was deceptively calm but promised horrific punishment should you dare defy him. The knights, Merlin knew, dreaded that tone.

Somehow, he managed to slip out of his boots and underneath the blanket, which really smelled quite terribly dusty, but was nice and warm. The mattress wasn't half-bad, either, and the pillows quite fluffy, a perk of being a royal manservant. Perhaps he should stay in here more often.

"Well done," drawled Arthur, who was still hovering by the bed. "Now, sleep."

Merlin blinked up at him. "But… your clothes—"

"Nevermind about the clothes!" Arthur cut him off. "You're no use to me like this. You'd probably put the doublet on backwards." He shook his head, then jabbed a finger at Merlin. "Sleep. That's an order. You can get me dressed in the morning, if you like doing it so much."

At last, Merlin's exhausted mind caught up with what had been happening for the past few minutes and a warmth spread through his body that had nothing to do with the fire the servant boy had just finished building in the hearth. "Oh," he said, very quietly.

"Oh indeed," Arthur repeated and leaned forward to cuff Merlin's ears, only that he must have misjudged the angle, seeing as he ended up ruffling Merlin's hair instead. "Sleep," he said again, much more gently now than before, then blew out the candle. "Come on now. Close your eyes."

Smiling, Merlin did just that.