Merlin fic: The More Things Change

[adelagia]

I did it! My first Merlin fic! This pleases me to a ridiculous degree since I've been banging my head against the wall that is the monstrosity of my current D/G, which had convinced me that a) I can't write short fic, and b) I can't write. But no longer, and there was much rejoicing across the land.

Title: The More Things Change
Summary: Severely incapacitated, Arthur has no choice but to watch Merlin commit treason to save his life. He's not best pleased about it.
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: References to 1x11 The Labyrinth of Gedref
Word count: ~ 2,700
Notes: Many thanks to humbuggirl for letting me bounce this off her beforehand, and for getting me started in the fandom, really. 


 

There's something about Merlin that Arthur can't quite put his finger on. This is by no means a new conundrum -- Merlin has been perplexing him since the day he arrived. He is a walking contradiction sometimes, one minute an indolent boy with his head in the clouds and a cheeky grin plastered all over his face, and the next, exuding the kind of firm bravery Arthur wishes he could instill in some of his knights.
 
Still, there is a fine line between bravery and recklessness, and Merlin doesn't so much toe the line as leap blithely over it, and speaking of leaping,
 
"What the devil are you doing, Merlin?" Arthur croaks, and grimaces at the wheeze that accompanies his voice and the pain that shoots through his system. He is in bed, though not his own, for his bed is not fashioned from what feels like an unholy union of thistles and tar. The mess around the bed is unmistakeable, and Arthur deduces that he is ensconced in Merlin's room.
 
"Shh," says Merlin insolently, not looking at his prince in favour of paging hurriedly through a thick book that he's sat open on Arthur's legs.
 
He's about to complain that no part of his royal body ought to be used as a study table when Arthur notices, very belatedly, that Merlin's hands are covered with blood. Even more belatedly, Arthur realises that one of those hands is spread over his torso, presumably the source of the blood if the pain is anything to go by, and those long, pale fingers, which have learned to dress him, polish his armour and clean his room, are now emanating a light green glow.
 
"Merlin," he accuses, torn between wanting to get the hell away from the boy and to lurch forward to punch him in the face. He can accomplish neither, however, as a sharp spasm rips through his body when he tries to skitter up the bed. Arthur groans heavily, the ignominy near unbearable.
 
"Don't move, you'll only make it worse," Merlin admonishes. He tuts like an old nursemaid, and seems wholly unconcerned that his sorcery's been discovered.
 
"I could have you executed," Arthur says when he gets his breath back, his eyes narrowed at the hand hovering -- greenly -- over his stomach.
 
And for the first time since this whole ridiculous exchange began, Merlin looks him in the eye. The soft, golden gleam encircling Merlin's pupils startles Arthur, though beyond the first jolt of surprise that his favourite fool's cornflower blue eyes have gone off, there is no fear that lingers in his heart. Merlin holds the gaze for a moment longer than is strictly necessary (or allowed, but Merlin has never so much as acknowledged that such a thing as court protocol exists, so there is no reason for him to start paying attention to it now), and Arthur is struck with the compulsion to reach out and touch him, just to see if he's real, if it's really his Merlin.
 
"I know," says Merlin, looking down again, and turns another page of his book.
 
Arthur grinds his teeth, though it isn't a very satisfactory substitute for all the raging he wants to to do up and down the length of the kingdom. But short of braining himself on the headboard, the situation is completely out of his hands. He supposes there might be some comfort to be found there if he looks hard enough and squints. Of course, with Merlin in charge, he's going to have to squint a lot. Arthur sighs.
 
"What are you doing?" he demands sulkily. Talking, he thinks, will help him take his mind off things like dying, as he doesn't have the energy for both. Besides, if Merlin is going to impose some otherworldly light upon his royal person, then Merlin had damned well better know what he's doing.
 
"Erm," says Merlin shiftily, as though explaining it would somehow be worse than having been seen doing it, by the crown prince, no less.
 
Arthur waves an imperious, get on with it hand.
 
Merlin's mouth twists like the wringing of hands. "I'm looking for a spell to heal you. That's it, really."
 
"And what do you call this?" Arthur asks, indicating Merlin's glowing hand, which has become somewhat more reassuring than alarming in the interim, but Arthur thinks maybe it's a result of all that blood loss.
 
"It's a sort of, er -- stasis -- thing -- it's to stop it getting worse," Merlin tries to explain, and wiggles his fingers a bit. "Which is actually -- it's to stop you from dying. It was the only way." He looks pained at this, and Arthur furrows his eyebrows at him.
 
Merlin withdraws his hand, though the mist of green still hovers like fairy wings over Arthur's wounds, and sits back, looking a little spent but more like himself. His eyes are blue like the ocean again, which Arthur has no reason to feel ridiculously happy about.
 
"Gaius," Merlin says hastily, "is working on a tincture to help with the pain." A smile flits across his face, like he hopes this new information will elate Arthur.
 
"Gaius?" Arthur says pensively, and thinks he can be forgiven for forgetting that anyone else exists but him and Merlin -- that's the fault of the blood loss again, of course. And it's probably blood loss, too, that he recognises, inherently, that if anyone was to keep the delicate thread of his life from snapping, it's Merlin who'd be the one, and it's Merlin he trusts with his life. Blood loss is very serious. Clearly. He blinks. "Does Gaius know you're doing -- this?"
 
"Oh. Er," says Merlin in a horrible attempt not to implicate anyone else in treason, and Arthur wonders how it is possible that Merlin can be the absolute worst liar in the world except about one of the most important items ever to grace the list of 'Things One Should Know About Merlin, That Bleeding Idiot'.
 
Arthur sighs again, bone-deep. "I could have you both executed," he says plaintively.
 
Whether it's because Merlin picks up the quality in his voice that says no one is getting executed on his account because that would be monumentally silly, or whether Merlin is just that dense is anyone's guess -- Merlin smiles, his dimples creasing, and chirps, "Can't kill us if you're dead."
 
"That's true," says Arthur and permits himself a brief smirk before his lips settle back into a frown. "But -- what if my father sees you? If this can't be helped in -- orthodox ways, maybe you shouldn't..."
 
Finally, it is Merlin's turn to look unimpressed with somebody else's lack of brains; it is only his due. He says as much. "Don't be stupid, Arthur. Sire," he amends, as if that makes up for it, and then completely shatters the illusion of deference with an indiscreet huff. "You're not going to die. Not -- I won't let you."
 
The statement ought to sound ludicrous coming from Merlin's mouth, but the quiet conviction there makes Arthur wonder just how powerful he is, whether he could have avoided injury altogether if he'd just let Merlin come along with him to hunt the wyvern that had been menacing Camelot rather than calling him a liability and ordering him to stay in the castle. Still, Arthur thinks with some satisfaction, he'd managed -- at the very least -- to spear his sword deep into the wyvern's throat at the same time it was trying to rip him in half with its outrageous talons.

This accounts for the blood loss, which, in turn, surely accounts for the many reasons why Arthur is still lying docilely in bed and letting Merlin talk to him about using magic.
 
Arthur frowns, replaying the battle in his mind, and then frowns harder. By all rights, he should have died then and there, next to the beast and his fallen knights. "You followed me into the forest," he says, because there's no way he could have got all the way back to the castle by himself in that state and still lived to tell Merlin off.
 
"Ah," says Merlin, who has finally developed the good grace to at least look slightly ashamed, "following orders isn't really my strongest suit."
 
"No surprises there," Arthur mutters.
 
There is a quiet tapping at the door, and Arthur grapples with the urge to shove Merlin and his stupid book under the bed lest it is Uther on the other side. Merlin shows no such impulse, however, probably because Uther is less likely to politely knock than kick a door down if he really wants in. Merlin merely lifts his head to look inquiringly at the door, and graces Gaius with a small smile when he steps into the room.
 
"Gaius, I should have your head," Arthur says, because it is expected of him and because he doesn't really want to say, Thank you for looking after Merlin all this time, otherwise he'd have been sent to the executioner's block ages ago because it is insane how much trust he puts in me when I don't even know if I've truly earned it yet.
 
Merlin shoots him a mutinous look and turns a page furiously.
 
The court physician merely approaches the bed with a small bottle of something that looks a bit viscous and utterly foul (as most of his concoctions do), and says mildly, "Of course, sire. Here, drink this."
 
The pain doesn't go away entirely, though whatever horrors were in the bottle have alleviated it to a dull throbbing, which feels heavenly in comparison.
 
Arthur nods his thanks once he's got over the taste and asks, "My father?"
 
"Has been told not to disturb us at further risk of your health, my lord," Gaius says in a tone that invites deeper reading into his words.
 
"Gaius," Merlin interjects, pointing to his book. "I think I found something."
 
Arthur tries to lift his head and lean forward to peer at whatever spell they have bent their heads over, and Merlin gently touches his fingers to Arthur's shoulder to keep him down. "I said, don't move."
 
"I see," Arthur scoffs, though he settles back down. "Save my life and all of a sudden you think you can get bossy with me."
 
"It must be because I spend so much time in your presence. I only learn from the best, after all," Merlin replies loftily.
 
"Is that so? Then we must have the worst stable boys, armourers, messengers, clothiers and rat catchers in all the land," Arthur says dryly.
 
"I didn't hear you complaining when I caught the rat that chewed a hole in your boot," is the retort that conveniently ignores all the other jobs he consistently fails at.
 
Arthur feels himself going a bit pale. "That's because I had an entirely different reason to complain about that rat being caught."
 
Gaius clears his throat softly, his mouth contorting downwards, though Arthur suspects it's only because he's trying to hide a smile. "I think that will do, Merlin, but it's entirely up to you. You know your powers best," he says, and Arthur catches them exchange an inscrutable look that suggests he ought to ask a great deal of questions after this, though he isn't exactly sure what he wants to know.
 
Merlin nods, his face suddenly grim. He mouths words from the book Arthur can't see, repeating them to himself until he's satisfied he's got the spell down, and takes a deep breath. "It won't hurt," he assures Arthur.
 
"I'll be the judge of that," Arthur says. He looks around aimlessly. "Do I need to, er, do anything?"
 
"No, it's all on me," Merlin says. "Just lie there and think of Camelot."
 
Arthur is about to sally forth with a witty remark, but clamps his mouth shut as Merlin's eyes flare bright gold, and it's all he can do to keep from gasping at the brilliance lighting up Merlin's face. There is a string of words that Arthur cannot make out, and Merlin's hand is on his chest again, seeping warmth into his heart and soul -- a faceful of pure sunshine after a long, hard winter; the first time he rode out alone into the vast fields of gold and green, and felt truly free; waking up on the beaches of Gedref with Merlin's soothing hands stroking his hair, and knowing he had done right by his people. 
 
"It is done," says Merlin, his voice distant as the wind.
 
Arthur sleeps.
 
***
 
Uther comes by and sits at his bedside for a while, and though Arthur is too bone-tired to take in his father's quiet remarks, his mind manages to register Uther's hand on his, and he squeezes back.
 
***
 
There is a sudden draft, the whisking open of a door, like when Merlin barges into his chambers in the early morning and bangs around so Arthur cannot possibly feign sleep for a moment longer. 
 
Arthur yawns and lifts one eye open. It's Merlin, of course.
 
From Gaius' workroom, he can hear the snippet of a conversation, "-- less serious than we initially thought, but it would be best not to move him just yet, sire."
 
"Breakfast!" says Merlin cheerily, cradling a tray in one arm and shutting the door behind him with the other. He flashes Arthur a happy grin like it's any other day, and Arthur hasn't nearly died but for him. Merlin sets the tray down next to the bed, covering a large scorch mark on the table that Arthur suddenly wonders about.
 
In the light of day, his head is clearer, and though everything has changed, Merlin still feels the same. There's just a bit extra, is all.
 
"Do I really have to stay here in your awful excuse for a bed?" Arthur asks, gingerly pulling himself up into a sitting position and deigning to give Merlin a smile of thanks when he rushes over to help.
 
"It's a fine bed," Merlin insists absently, adjusting Arthur's pillows. He then rummages around in the cupboard, which Arthur is surprised to see has been put to use, and comes away with an armload of bandages, setting those next to Arthur's breakfast while he deals with unravelling the blood-soaked ones around Arthur's middle. "And it'll only be for another day or two, then we can move you back to your chambers. It's all those stairs, you know."
 
Arthur grimaces as the cool air bites at his wounds.
 
Merlin winces in return. "Sorry. I had to -- I couldn't let it heal all the way. It would look suspicious otherwise," he says regretfully.
 
"You saved my life, Merlin. That's nothing to be sorry about."
 
His confidence is rewarded with a shrug. "I wish I could have done more," Merlin says.
 
Arthur huffs in exasperation. "You've gone far beyond the call of duty, Merlin, and shown yourself to be a true friend. And that's the last we're saying on the matter because anything more from you would just be fishing for compliments."
 
This time, Merlin smiles, catching Arthur's eyes briefly from under his lashes.
 
"And it's not that I don't appreciate the effort," Arthur says, "but you've really got to stop risking your own life for me."
 
Merlin looks at him, unperturbed. "Only if you stop getting yourself into life-threatening situations that require my saving you," he says, with what Arthur interprets as quite a bit of cheek. "And I don't see that happening any time soon."
 
"Merlin," Arthur protests.
 
Merlin only chuckles and finishes up his handiwork while Arthur watches those hands fly over his chest, deft and strong. Then, the worst manservant in the world stands, gathering up the used bandages carefully, and makes for the door. "You're going to have to get it into your head sometime, Arthur," he says. "I will always be there."
 
The look he gives Arthur then is so full of deep fondness that it makes Arthur's breath hitch in his throat, just a little, and Arthur stares at the door long after Merlin's slipped out of the room. Then, he smiles, and nestles against the pillows, glad to be in Merlin's messy room and in Merlin's lumpy bed, for there is something about Merlin that is downright brilliant, and it has nothing at all to do with his magic.

 

 

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[adelagia.livejournal.com]

Oh! And your South Park!Merlin icon! *dies of cuteness*