Work Text:
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Prompt: “Come here, you’re freezing.”
No one knows how it happened but they’ve been caught by a storm that tries so hard to rip the roof off of Camelot’s castle Merlin’s still not sure it isn’t magic.
“For god’s sake, Merlin,” Arthur mumbles from the ground near the fire, “stop pacing. You’re worrying me.”
“Oh, well, if it’s worrying you,” Merlin quips back automatically but his heart isn’t in it. The rain falls in such sheets that it looks like someone’s just emptied a bucket onto the square.
“Merlin,” comes the exasperated huff, “if you’re going to stand the whole time the least you can do—“
He’s cut of by a horrible hacking cough that sounds far too wet at the end to lead anywhere safe. Merlin’s attention snaps over his shoulder to see Arthur curled up over himself, holding his hand over his mouth.
“…are you alright?”
Arthur nods but his face is drawn, pale in the golden light of the fire.
“I’m going to go to Gaius,” Merlin says, starting toward the door.
“No!”
“There’s no time for pride, Arthur,” Merlin says, “the last thing we need right now is for you to get sick.”
“I’m not sick,” Arthur says sulkily.
“Arthur—“
“I’m not,” Arthur insists, “every time a bad storm hits, I—my—“
He cuts himself off, burrowing deeper into his blanket. Merlin comes closer, frowning at the slump of Arthur’s shoulders. Up close, he really doesn’t look good, but he doesn’t have that ghostly white pallor that he always does when he’s ill.
“What’s wrong,” Merlin asks quietly, “and how can I help?”
Arthur eyes him for a second, perhaps assessing how much Merlin genuinely wants to help. He must come away satisfied because he gives Merlin a nod.
“Go to Gaius. He’ll know what to do.”
And damn him but Arthur looks so…forlorn, sitting there, wrapped in his blanket, desperately trying to put on a brave face that Merlin puts his hand on his shoulder and promises to bring him a toddy as well.
“I’m not sick, Merlin,” Arthur huffs, not able to stop the fond smile spreading over his face.
“I know,” Merlin says, “but it’d be nice, yeah?”
Arthur smiles at him and Merlin can’t deny the little bit of warmth that settles in his chest.
“I’ll be right back,” he promises, shutting the door behind him and wincing a little at the difference in temperature. He walks quickly to Gaius’ chambers and shuts the door behind him. “Gaius?”
“Here,” Gaius calls, already preparing a potion for Arthur, “this should work.”
“Ah, great. Yes…” Merlin shakes the bottle a little. “What is it?”
“A tonic for Arthur’s chest.”
“What’s he need it for?” Gaius rewards his question with the famous eyebrow of ‘mind your own business.’ “Please?”
Gaius sighs. “Arthur has trouble breathing sometimes when a particularly hard storm hits. Something about the change in air pressure makes it difficult.”
“Why have you never told me this before?”
“Well, it’s not like it’s any of your business, Merlin.”
“My destiny is to keep Arthur safe, that is my business.”
“And how would you feel,” Gaius asks, “if I told Arthur that you can’t hold even a cup of water when it gets cold outside?”
“Good point,” Merlin mumbles, stashing the tonic, “uh, thanks, Gaius.”
“And what’re you doing now?” Gaius watches Merlin dash about, grabbing bottles.
“I’m making a toddy for Arthur.”
“Ah.” Gaius watches Merlin mix together the drink. “You’re getting better at that.”
“Thanks.”
“Now how is it that you can do this easily and yet whenever I ask you to make a potion for me, you can’t find your own hands?”
“This,” Merlin says, pouring it into a goblet, “I can taste as I go, and I know how I like it. Half the potions you have me make I won’t put my mouth near unless I need them.”
He passes Gaius on his way out, thanking him again and telling him to wrap up.
“You as well, Merlin!”
Arthur hasn’t moved by the time Merlin returns, just staring into the flames, stifling his coughs into his fist. He looks around when Merlin comes in, expression going from concern to relief.
“Wondered where you’d got to.”
“Sorry,” Merlin says, sitting down, “took longer to brew than I remember.”
Arthur takes the tonic. “I suppose Gaius told you what it was for.”
“Just what it helped.” Merlin watches Arthur drink the whole thing in one go, wincing a little at the taste. “Here. Wash it down with this.”
Arthur sips obediently at the draught as Merlin gathers up the dishes and stacks everything. He can’t shake the worry that Arthur is, in fact, sick, and he won’t be able to breathe properly. Just to assuage his own fears, he lays his hand gently over Arthur’s forehead, only to retract it quickly when Arthur winces.
“Gods, Merlin,” Arthur cries, “what the hell?”
“Sorry!” Merlin retreats a few steps away. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have a fever.”
“I told you, it’s just—“
“I know,” Merlin says quickly, “and I trust you to not lie to me about this—well, mostly—don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true,” he scolds lightly when Arthur pouts at him, “and I just…with everything, I…”
Arthur’s expression softens and he sets the half-empty goblet aside.
“Thank you, Merlin,” he murmurs, “but that wasn’t why I pulled away.”
“Oh.” Merlin’s cheeks burn. “Um, then why?”
“Your hands are ice.” Arthur gestures to him. “And you’re shaking.”
Is he? Merlin looks down at his fingers. Oh. He is. He doesn’t feel that cold. But then again he hasn’t exactly had a chance to stop and think about his own hands.
“Here,” Arthur says, shifting a little, “come sit.”
Merlin sits, reaching his hands out towards the fire. It’s a good thing he hadn’t noticed; he might’ve dropped Arthur’s tonic. Or the toddy. He’s so focused on his apparently cold hands—he really doesn’t feel that cold—that he startles when something big and red appears in his peripheral vision.
Arthur reaches out from under the blanket to gently take Merlin’s hand and Merlin gasps. The—his—Arthur’s hand is so warm.
“Thought so,” Arthur chuckles, “you never do seem to realize that you’re getting cold.”
“Yes, I do!”
“Really, then why is it on most hunts you never say anything until you’re shivering so bad your teeth chattering scares everything away?”
“It’s not my fault you don’t listen!”
“Merlin,” Arthur laughs.
He hasn’t let go of Merlin’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of Merlin’s knuckles.
“Come here,” he murmurs, tugging Merlin under the blanket, “you’re freezing.”
Arthur is big and soft and warm and Merlin can’t stop the quiet noise of contentment when Arthur wraps his arms and the blanket securely around him.
“Better?”
“Mm.” Merlin nuzzles into the crook of Arthur’s neck, giggling at the affronted huff Arthur gives when he buries his cold nose in Arthur’s neck.
“You softie,” Arthur teases when he cuddles into his chest. Unfortunately for Arthur, Merlin is comfortable now and not interested in going anywhere.
“Don’t cough on me.”
And for all his talk about Merlin being a softie, Arthur is remarkably tender when he curls himself around Merlin and snuggles him by the fire. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”