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Merlin was half-in, half-out of sense and consciousness on drugs, but he was pretty sure that the king of Camelot wasn’t supposed to be at General County Hospital.
More specifically, he wasn’t supposed to be in Merlin’s room at General County Hospital when there were twenty other things he could have been taking care of. Like a breakfast news conference. Or a post-breakfast tea with a disaster relief organization. Or a brunch with the chancellor.
Was there even a chancellor in Camelot?
For the life of him, Merlin couldn’t remember.
He frowned. He felt like he should know, but there was another pressing matter…
Ah, he remembered.
“What are you doing here?” he slurred.
Arthur crossed his arms. “I see your mental faculties have not improved on whatever it is that they pumped into your body.”
Fac...ul...ties. Merlin tried to puzzle it out, but his thoughts were scrambled everywhere. Like the eggs Arthur liked every Tuesday morning because they invigorated him. “That’s a big word.”
“Yes, I know it is rather complicated for you.” Instead of coming further into the room, Arthur remained at the foot of the bed as though Merlin were a specimen of cake or something that he was inspecting.
Merlin had forgotten why he was there. A machine was beeping incessantly in his ear, driving him insane. Every time he thought he was about to drop off into sleep-
Arthur was still there.
King Arthur.
Arthur Pendragon.
Dragons with pens.
He laughed, and his ribs protested.
Wait, King Arthur Pendragon wasn’t supposed to be there.
He frowned. “Don’t you have a country to run?”
Arthur’s own frown deepened. “You were in a car accident. Do you happen to remember that, or is your memory still as bad as it was before?”
“Car accident?” Merlin tried to think. For having been in a car accident, he felt surprisingly well. Like he was floating on a cloud or something.
When he was little, he’d been on a plane, once, and he’d wondered what it would be like to fly among the clouds. They’d looked so tempting. His mother had kept a firm grip on the back of his shirt to keep him from trying to open one of the emergency hatches.
He’d given his mother a lot of trouble as a child.
She hadn’t deserved it.
“Merlin?”
Merlin looked up.
Somehow, Arthur had teleported from the foot of the bed to the side of the bed.
That was weird.
Unless magic was real.
That would be weird.
“ Mer lin.”
Oh, yes, he’d asked a question. “What?”
“You spaced out.”
“I’m on drugs.” Merlin scowled. “I’m on drugs.” The words weren’t coming out of his mouth properly, but they were getting better.
“I can see that,” Arthur remarked, the corner of his mouth twisting as though he didn’t know if he wanted to scowl or laugh at Merlin.
Probably scowl. Most of the time, he scowled at Merlin because Merlin was always messing things up.
He shot upright.
Or tried to.
Something started stabbing him in the chest and the arms.
“Don’t do that!” Arthur snapped.
Merlin groaned. When his vision turned from white back to normal, he asked, “Did I hurt anybody?”
“Did you hurt anybody?”
“In the car.”
“No. No, no, you didn’t. You were the one hurt, remember? That’s why you’re here and not back home polishing my boots.”
“Oh.”
Something was wrong, but Merlin couldn’t quite puzzle out what that something was. None of this was making any sense. Arthur looked upset.
Well, Arthur normally looked upset, like someone had shoved a carcass under his nose and asked his opinion, but this was a different kind of upset.
Had he found out about the frog incident with Gwaine?
Merlin certainly hoped not.
“I had nothing to do with the frogs,” he muttered. “Absolutely nothing.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “The frogs? That was you?”
Oops. So this wasn’t about the frogs…
“You know what, it doesn’t matter.” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was just stopping by for a while.” As if to prove his point, he turned around and grabbed the back of one of the plastic chairs against the wall that Merlin hadn’t noticed before. He dragged it closer and sat down in it, looking even grumpier as he did so.
“Why?”
“ Because you were in a car accident, you buffoon.”
“Oh. Oh, yeah, yeah.”
“Gwen said she would stop by, too, as soon as her tea meeting ends. And Lancelot and the others are keeping watch outside, but they told me to tell you that they hope you feel better soon.” As he looked at Merlin again, Arthur wrinkled his nose. “I believe they were trying to be optimistic.”
As soon as Gwen’s tea meeting ended? Arthur’s bodyguards were here?
Tea…Bodyguards...
Fie, Arthur was the king. What was he doing there?
“Don’t you have a country to run?”
And didn’t he himself have things he needed to be doing, like polishing those fancy shoes that cost more than Merlin’s yearly salary?
He was in trouble. What was he doing lying around? Arthur was going to kill him.
“Merlin!”
As soon as Merlin started moving, Arthur was out of the chair, shoving him back down. “Don’t do that! Stop moving, or I’ll call the nurse.”
“But your shoes-” Merlin wheezed. His chest was killing him. He couldn’t breathe.
Merlin had tried very hard not to get fired his first year as Arthur’s butler or whatever fancy title it was being called now, and although he had come close several times, he’d managed to keep his job.
He wasn’t going to let a little thing like being unable to see straight after slightly moving ruin everything.
“The shoes can wait. My second-favorite person is in the hospital, the country, all of it can wait,” Arthur snapped.
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Merlin complained even though he didn’t know why he was arguing with Arthur. Whatever drugs he had been on were gradually wearing off, and he was becoming aware of stringing just about everywhere .
“I run the country. I can do what I please.”
“Oh. All right.”
For a minute, Merlin focused on waiting for the pain to subside.
His face must have shown because Arthur frowned. “Do you want me to call the nurse?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Merlin felt stupid and sluggish. He kept trying to remember the exact details of whatever car accident he had been in, but his memory was still failing him. It was nice that Arthur was there, especially since he didn’t have to be. Merlin could think of at least ten other things he could have or would have been preferred to be doing. After all, Merlin was just a butler.
“Arthur?”
“Yes, Merlin?”
“Thank you. For being here.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “Of course. It’s better than sitting in a stuffy room full of old people who think they know how to run the country better because they’ve watched some shoddy TV show.”
“Oh. Right.”
“And what kind of person would let his best friend sit alone in a hospital room?” Arthur cleared his throat again.
“Oh.” Merlin didn’t know what to say. His brain kept short-circuiting on him, so he settled with, “Thanks.”
“You won’t be thanking me when Gwen gets here.”
Merlin groaned. He shouldn’t have turned down the extra drugs.
“Or when I tell you about the new chauffeur.”
“What?” Even though the drugs themselves were wearing off, Merlin’s whole body felt as though it were shutting down on him again. Despite his efforts to fight it, his eyes started drifting closed again.
“If you think I’m letting you behind the wheel of one of my cars with how dangerous the traffic is - there are lunatics on the road, Merlin. I’ve hired a professional, some fellow named George - he has excellent reviews, and I only hire the best - and from now on, he is going to take you where you need to - Merlin, are you even listening to me?”
Without meaning to, Merlin fell asleep.