Work Text:
It’s late, Phil can tell. It’s been dark for a long time now. Inside his small room he has nothing to tell the time, but by the lack of sound from the outside world, he guesses it’s night time.
He’s been on standby all day, with clean clothes and a clean bath and clean rags and hot water. The message that Daniel is supposed to return from battle today reached him this morning when he was woken up by Alice, and the entire day has just been a long wait.
A knock on the door takes him out of his thoughts, and he rises from his chair to his feet. His head hurts from staying alert all day, and his back aches after spending the majority of his evening sitting on his uneven wooden chair. He doesn’t dare to lay down on his bed yet, as he’s scared it’s going to make him drift off to sleep and get lost in vivid dreams.
”Come in,” Phil says, voice steady despite his tired state.
The door opens, and a short figure peeks through, casting shadows on the floor of Phil’s small accommodation.
”Hello dear,” Alice speaks, voice smooth and warm. Her small eyes rest on him as he stands before her, but there’s nothing but kindness in her expression. ”I’m glad that you’re awake. I recently got the news that King Richard and Prince Daniel are not too far away. They should be back any minute now.”
”Thank you, Miss Jones,” Phil smiles, and Alice smiles back at him.
”If I were you I’d warm some water and prepare clean rags, it’s not always pretty once they return this late.”
”Thank you, Miss Jones, I’ll get started with it right away,” Phil replies with a nod of his head as Alice closes the door behind him.
Phil feels nothing but gratitude as he pads his way to the kitchen to heat up the stove for the water. Since he first got here a few years ago, Alice has been nothing but kind to him, and helped him out ever since the first day. She has tended to Queen Susan for over 30 years, and is more like a grandmother than a maid to the Royal Family at this point, and even to Phil. Fact is that she’s the closest thing to family Phil’s had in years, and he thanks God every day that she’s a part of his life. He doesn’t know what he’d do without her.
The water boils quickly and Phil leaves it on the stove to cool as he collects a bunch of clean towels from the storage. He’s on his way back when he hears the sound of voices echoing in the large corridor mixing with the familiar sound of armor clinking. He rounds the corner and sees both King Richard and Prince Daniel stand before him. Richard’s right hand is resting on Daniel’s shoulder, and they’re speaking quietly to each other in a low voice. When Phil first started working for the Prince he tried to eavesdrop on every conversation he could, but now he tries to stay out of it. Especially when it’s between the King and his son.
Phil stops in his tracks and awaits further orders as he lowers his gaze to the floor before him.
”Philip,” King Richard’s voice echoes after a minute of further mumbling, and Phil looks up.
”Your Majesty?”
”Take care of my son, he’s been injured.”
Phil’s eyes widen, and he’s almost about to protest and inform that he, in fact, is not a doctor and that he certainly isn’t qualified to treat any injuries, even though it would be considered rude. But King Richard, as if he can read Phil’s mind, continues.
”He’s not seriously injured, he primarily needs a wash,” King Richard adds as he turns his gaze to Phil.
”Yes, Your Majesty,” Phil answers and looks down as King Richard eyes him. He is not to look at the King unless asked to do so.
”I’ll see you tomorrow, son,” Richard finishes and pats his son on the shoulder, before he turns on his heel and walks in the opposite direction Phil just came from, the sound of steel armor echoing through the big corridor.
Phil hears the door to Prince Daniel’s door opens, and he pads after the sound of Daniel walking inside. Once he’s entered, he walks up to a chair stood against the wall and carefully puts down the towels. Still looking down, he turns towards Prince Daniel.
”I’m getting the warm water, I’ll be back in a moment, Your Highness.”
But Daniel doesn’t reply. Instead he hisses, and Phil feels brave enough to look at him, since he usually doesn’t get hissed at.
”Oh God, Sir!” he exclaims before he has time to think.
Daniel is a wreck. His armor is stained with dirt and dark blood stains, and his face doesn’t look much better. The Prince is usually very clean and well put together; the truth is Phil has never seen him in this rough state before.
A sharp inhale through gritted teeth escapes Daniel’s lips as he tries to remove his helmet, and once it’s off, Phil does his best to hold back a gasp.
The Prince’s hair is messy and the usually dark, brown curls hang lifelessly from his head in red, stiff stripes. He has a large blood stain running from his left temple and down past his jaw, all the way down his neck. He still has his body armour on, but Phil can only imagine how he looks underneath it.
The thought of it is utterly terrifying.
”I’m fine,” the Prince grimaces with an exhale, and Phil feels his heart sting.
”Wait here, Sir,” he says with his arms extended forward, as if Daniel is going somewhere and needs to be stopped, before he turns on his heel and exits the room.
They’re not allowed to run in the castle but Phil does it anyway, and almost slides into the doorframe to the kitchen once he gets there. He grabs the hot water pot carefully with a towel in each hand, and tries his best not to spill anything as he hurries back to the Prince’s room.
”I’m so sorry you had to wait, Sir,” Phil breathes as he enters, shutting the large door behind him with his foot. He puts the pot on the floor below the chair before he hurries over to the Prince, now busy with taking off his armour.
”May I, Sir?” Phil asks as he stops next to Daniel, who exhales and slumps his arms down by his sides.
”Yes, please,” Daniel replies, voice tired.
They untie his armour in silence, starting with unbuckling and sliding off the arms and legs. Phil gently nudges at Daniel’s arms, a question for him to raise them, and he obeys with a stifled grunt, allowing Phil to untie his body armour at his sides. The silence is not awkward, as Phil has worked with the Prince for a few years now, but this is a first for them.
Daniel has never returned from a battle injured before.
When all the armor and his gambeson is off, Daniel is standing in nothing but his linen shirt and trousers. They’re stained with drying blood, but also wet from sweat, creating a messy mix which shows evidence of the battle he just returned from. He tiredly limps over to the bed, and slumps down at the edge of it.
“Sir, do you want me to get someone to help me tend to your wounds?” Phil asks as he grabs the pile of towels and puts them on the bed, before grabbing the pot and putting it on the floor before the Prince.
“Thank you Philip, but I just want to be cleaned and then get some rest. This is fine,” Daniel exhales, and he sounds so, so tired.
“Of course, Sir,” Phil says as he pulls out a stool from below the bed and sits down in front of Daniel.
Phil grabs one of the clean cotton towels and immerses it in the warm water, before he wrings it out to get rid of the excess water. He then grabs the Prince’s left arm, which is covered in dried blood, and carefully starts to dab around a small wound on the inside of the lower arm. He works methodically, careful not to hurt Daniel, but still get him as clean as possible.
Phil rinses the cloth in a bucket of cold water next to him before he immerses it in the hot water again. He then rises from the stool and sits down next to the Prince at the foot of his bed. Daniel’s arm is cold from the water, but not dirty any more, and Phil grabs it gently and puts it in his lap, wound facing upwards.
The Prince sharply inhales through gritted teeth and the arm in Phil’s lap twitches when the hot towel is laid atop the wound.
”I’m sorry that I’m hurting you, Sir,” Phil mumbles, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he tries to get all of the dirt out of the wound.
”It stings,” Daniel groans, ”but you’re not hurting me.”
Phil stills for a second, contemplating what to reply, before he abandons that mission and refocuses at the task before him instead.
He works in silence, the only sound filling the room being the sound of wet towels being wrung out and the occasional sharp inhale as Phil dabs at one of Daniel’s countless wounds.
When Daniel’s arms are clean, Phil grabs the pot, its contents now lukewarm, and leaves the room to reheat the water. He stands in the kitchen and listens to the soothing sound of the fire crackling under the stove, and watches the bubbles rise to the water surface as it gets hotter. He removes the pot from the heat before it starts boiling for real, he doesn’t want to cause the Prince more injuries than he currently has.
As he walks back to the Prince’s room he realises that he’s not tired anymore. It must be the middle of the night by now, but seeing Daniel wounded before him has left him worked up, blood pumping with adrenaline and determination. It’s his job to take care of the Prince, even in situations like this.
When Phil enters the room the pot almost slips from his hands. Daniel has removed his dirty linen shirt, revealing small wounds and dried blood all over his torso, and the sight is horrifying.
The Prince is a lot more wounded than Phil originally thought.
But it’s something else as well. Phil doesn’t see Daniel without his undergarments a lot these days. Fact is Phil can’t recall the last time he saw the Prince’s torso without a layer of fabric covering it. As Daniel’s grown older, his need for privacy has increased, and Phil respects that. They are, after all, two grown men who have no reason to dress indecently around each other.
Still, Phil can’t help but take a look.
The Prince is a lot leaner than Phil remembers, with clearly defined muscles. His collarbones are distinctive, and lie in sharp angles at the base of a long, slender neck, where the skin looks smoother than the skin on the arms Phil just cleaned. Before Phil hastily turns away his gaze he catches a glimpse of dark hair, trailing down to the hem of the dirty linen trousers.
”Oh! Sir, I’m so sorry, I should’ve knocked -” Phil rambles, careful to not remove his gaze from the floor as he puts down the pot, almost falling in the process.
”It’s okay,” Daniel sighs, ”I need your help with this part anyway.”
With a lot of effort and some grunting noises, he lifts his right arm, revealing a rather big wound at the side of his ribs. Dried blood is coating the entire side of his torso and inside of his arm, and Phil can already see a bruise starting to form in the way the skin already has a purple hue.
”Oh Sir, what did they do to you?”
”If you think this is bad you should’ve seen the other men,” Daniel says tiredly, but when Phil looks up from his ribs, the corners of his mouth have lifted ever so slightly.
Phil dares to smile back weakly before he situates himself on the bed next to Daniel. He immerses a towel, wrings it out before he turns to the Prince.
”Can you lift your arm for me again, Sir?”
Daniel tries to, but grunts.
”I think you need to help me hold up my arm, Philip.”
Phil grabs the cleaned arm with his hand, and starts dabbing Daniel’s torso with the other one. It turns out to be messy though, as Phil is not the strongest man when it comes to coordination, and he struggles to treat the wound with the care it deserves and requires. He therefore makes a decision to put the Prince’s arm on his own shoulder, and lets it rest there as he starts working over the injured skin.
Phil moves the cotton towel in big, light circles, careful not to press too hard into the swollen, bruised skin. Daniel’s breathing is ragged, as he seems to be in a lot of pain, but he also seems determined to power through.
As the area gets cleaner, Phil can make out the rise and dip of Daniel’s ribs, and the way they move as he breathes. He notices moles he’s never seen before, distinct against the light skin, and without thinking he counts them. There are eight of them, nine of he counts the one right above his bellybutton. Phil also notices that Daniel has close to no chest hair, and his chest looks smooth as it rises and falls with every breath -
”Philip.”
Phil, startled by the sudden break of silence, is thrown back to reality and realises that he’s been moving the wet towels in circles over the same spot for God knows how long. He lifts his gaze, and is suddenly mere inches from Daniel’s face. Phil suddenly becomes very aware of the arm resting on his shoulder, the warmth it radiates and the way five fingertips lightly graces his back. It suddenly feels like they’re sharing a hug, and Phil can’t recall if he’s ever been this close to Daniel before.
Phil resists the impulse to pull away, as Daniel seems content with their position. His big, brown eyes look into Phil’s and he can see his own reflection in them, his own face in the dilated pupil surrounded by deep brown.
”Could you please wash my face too?” Daniel asks, and Phil relaxes, relieved, happy that the Prince wasn’t going to ask…
What exactly? Phil doesn’t know. But he’s relieved.
Until his brain suddenly processes what Daniel just asked him, and with that he’s nervous again. He doesn’t understand why, because it’s Daniel, who he’s known for years. If Phil hadn’t been his servant, or if he’d come from a richer family, they could’ve maybe been close friends even.
He’s tended to the Prince for years, answered his every request, why does this one suddenly make his blood rush through his body?
”Of course, Sir,” Phil manages to reply, and Daniel still looks at him with his big brown eyes, until Phil lowers his gaze to the wet towel in his lap.
It’s considered rude to stare at a royal, and he does not want to be inappropriate.
Phil carefully removes Daniel’s arm from his shoulder, and turns to rinse the towel. When he turns back again, the Prince has changed position, and is now sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing Phil.
”Do you want me to -”
”Go for it. I fear I must look like a mess at the moment anyway,” Daniel smiles weakly.
Phil doesn’t agree, he realises as he situates himself in front of him, and lifts the wet towel to his face. Daniel somehow doesn’t look a mess. He looks stunning still, sharp jawline tainted with blood, high cheekbones spotted with light freckles and dirt, long and dark eyelashes coating his cheeks every time he blinks. Phil does his best at washing away the dirt and the blood, careful not to bruise against the wounds, but his mind is somewhere else, and he finds it hard to focus.
How does one breathe when you’ve become aware of your own breathing? How does one see, when every look feels like an inappropriate touch? How does one act, when your body is stiff and feels all hot and cold at the same time?
Phil rinses the towel again, lets the cold water on his hands ground him, and the warm water he immerses the towel in soften him. When he looks back at The Prince, he sees the small wound at his temple, like a bruised and broken bit on a valuable statue.
Phil will do his best to fix it.
He lifts the towel towards Daniel’s temple, who twitches before he’s even touched him.
”You’ll have to keep still, Sir,” Phil says, but he doesn’t recognise his own voice anymore. It sounds strained and lower than usual, almost a bit shaky.
”Sorry,” Daniel replies, he too with a lower voice than usual, and Phil can feel Daniel’s eyes exploring his face. He’s never been this close to the Prince before and it’s starting to feel intimate.
Phil finds himself not minding it though.
”May I?” Phil asks, as he lifts his other hand so it’s mere inches from Daniel’s face. ”To help you keep still, Sir.”
The Prince answers by closing his eyes and letting his face drop sideways into Phil’s palm with a sigh. His face is tilted, features peaceful, strands of brown hair falling down and covering his face. The wound on his temple is more visible now as it’s facing upwards, and Phil starts dabbing at it with careful movements.
He can feel the Prince’s breathing against his palm. The warmth, moisture, and rhythm of it. It’s calming, soothing, and the gesture is filled with so much trust that Phil almost gets dizzy from it. He’s only had one other creature rest its face against his palm like this before, and it’s the Royal Family’s dog, a corgi called Holly. Still, this doesn’t feel like it does with Holly, not at all. This almost feels like an act of love, whatever that means.
Phil has never experienced love. He’s only heard about it in stories and fairytales, where the prince seals his love for the princess with a kiss. It’s described as something magical, earth shattering, something that makes you light as a feather and tense as a violin string all at once. Something that is always right, and that always wins over everything else. Love conquers all, or whatever they say.
But Phil is not a princess. He’s not even a woman. The Prince will never be able to find interest in someone like him, because he’s a man. They’re both men. That makes anything other than friendship between them impossible. And even if Phil had been a woman, he’s only a simple servant. Even as a woman, Prince Daniel wouldn’t want anything to do with someone as poor as Phil.
He rinses the towel once more, palm still cradling Daniel’s cheek. His face is almost entirely free from dirt and blood now, the only things left being his beautiful features. Phil could call it a day and it would still be a job well done, but he doesn’t. He lets the warm towel carefully move across Daniel’s face again and again, one by one unfolding the small wrinkles of worry that have been coating it. It feels good. It feels nice to do something like this for him.
But Phil knows, somewhere deep within him, that what he’s doing now is not for Daniel. He’s doing it for himself. He might never end up in this situation again, and he wants to treasure it.
He wants to remember how Daniel’s face looks up close. How emotions flutter over his features like birds in the sky, dancing and taking unexpected turns, changing and mixing all at once. He wants to treasure how the Prince’s cheek feels against his palm, how he faintly can feel the pulse against his fingertips, the short stubble on his chin, the vibrations as he hums contentedly. He wants to savour the quietness of the moment, the softness, the trust, the warmth. Phil has never felt like this before, and he probably never will. He never wants it to end.
But all the good things come to an end, and eventually Daniel opens his eyes. His pupils flutter as they try to adjust to the dim light in the room, and then they find Phil.
”There you go,” Phil eventually manages to croak out, totally forgetting to say ’Sir’, with a voice raspy and low from not being used for a long time. His entire body feels jittery now that the Prince is looking at him, but he can’t let go. He’s still cradling Daniel’s cheek, like a fool, and his hand suddenly feels like it’s on fire.
”Thank you, Philip,” Daniel whispers back, leaning into Phil’s hand, and Phil can feel the softness of his lips graze his palm like a feather. He seems to press them against Phil’s skin, maybe by accident or on purpose, but then he’s gone, leaning back, leaving Phil’s hand hanging in the air with no cheek to hold anymore. He lets it drop to his lap, and the lack of Daniel suddenly makes it feel empty and cold.
Except Daniel is still there. In his field of vision. In the same room. On the same bed. He’s looking at Phil with big eyes and a face bare of any worry, but filled with warmth, and something intense. Phil knows it’s against better judgment, that it’s against everything he’s ever been taught to do and believe, but he simply cannot turn away his gaze. It’s resting on Daniel’s beautiful, wounded face and it feels as natural as breathing.
Time stops at this point. Or, it doesn’t, but it feels like it. Phil is warm and cold at the same time and totally unaware of the damp towel in his lap. His entire field of vision, mind, and soul is filled with Daniel. And it’s scary.
Phil doesn’t know how he ended up in this state. His feelings are rumbling inside of him, stopping and moving at the same time, gathering at the lower part of his belly only to then explode in every possible direction, all the way out to his fingertips. He feels electric, fidgety and completely calm and at peace at the same time.
He isn't entirely sure what it is that he’s feeling, but he likes it. He likes how Daniel looks at him, how his skin feels, how he parts his lips at this exact moment to let out an exhale. Phil’s face feels warm, his mind feels fuzzy, and his heart feels alive.
Could it be love?
It hits him out of nowhere, and he gasps for air, suddenly thrown back to reality. The sudden movement seems to pull Daniel out of whatever headspace he was in too, and the eye contact breaks as they both, at the same time, lower their gazes to their laps.
It can’t be. They’re both men. Love doesn’t work like that. Phil doesn’t even know what love is.
”Sir, if that was -”
”It’s getting late, maybe I -”
They both scramble up hastily from the bed, and Phil almost knocks over the water pot for the second time tonight. The collection of damp towels that was in his lap falls to the floor, and he dives down to collect them, embarrassment suddenly washing over him. His collected, smooth aura from just a moment ago is gone, now replaced with his, normally well repressed, awkward clumsiness.
As he straightens his back, arms full of dirty, heavy towels, Daniel stands before him. He’s only wearing his linen pants and is all long, slender muscles and smooth, warm skin. He looks a bit caught off guard too, with wide eyes and a tiny, pink patch visible on his right jawline. He’s picking at his nails and also seems to nibble at the inside of his cheek.
”My apologies for the disarray, Sir,” Phil exhales and lowers his gaze. He’s usually not this disorganised around the Prince, and painfully wishes he could undo the last minute or two and redo them better, calmer.
”You never need to apologise,” Daniel replies, and he sounds earnest, causing Phil to lower his shoulders and relax just a little bit.
Phil puts all of the towels in the pot with water on the floor, grabs it by the handles, and lifts it with a grunt.
”Do you need help with that?” Daniel suddenly asks, and Phil looks up at him as if he just asked Phil if he would like to be the prince instead of him.
”Huh? Oh, no, Daniel, - I mean, Sir, don’t worry about it, I’ll leave you to rest,” Phil stutters as he starts walking backwards towards the door. ”I hope you get a pleasant night, Your Highness,” he adds, and bows his head.
”Philip,” Daniel says, and it sounds more like a question than just a name. Phil stops in his tracks, but doesn’t move or lift his gaze, so Daniel adds ”look at me”.
Phil’s head suddenly feels heavy and light at the same time, and he slowly lifts his gaze to meet the eyes that rest on him.
”Thank you.”
It’s just two words, and Phil’s heard it countless times from the Prince before, but this time it feels heavier. More genuine. The two words travel from Daniel’s mouth straight to Phil’s heart, and nudge themselves in between the pumping blood that Phil now can hear the sound of in his ears.
”My pleasure, Sir,” Phil says, and this time he doesn’t bow, or lower his gaze, but keeps the eye contact, as if to punctuate what he just said. He holds it, lets his own eyes drown in the warm, brown ones that somehow seem to be drowning in his own, blue ones. Time stops, or rushes, Phil can’t be sure.
He isn’t even sure about anything at this point.
So he bows one last time, backs out of the door, and carefully closes it behind him.
It’s late, Phil can tell. It’s been dark for a long time now, and from the window in the kitchen he can see light blue starting to mix with the pitch black sky, the first sign of a night becoming morning.
He’s standing in the kitchen, putting all the dirty towels in the first pot he can find. Any other night he’d make sure that the pot he picks out to boil the towels in is empty, but this is not a normal night. Tonight, his mind is racing, his heart is beating and he doesn’t know a single thing about anything anymore. He’s experienced emotions he’s never felt before, and feels tired and wide awake at the same time. He should probably get some sleep, but he’s too worked up and can’t for the life of him think about sleep.
And maybe it’s the lack of sleep that causes him to pick a pot for the towels that isn't empty. A large pot that happens to be half full of Alice’s nettle soup, which unfortunately will discolour all the towels.
But Phil won’t discover that until a few, restless hours of sleep later, when the towels are beyond saving and instead moss green, like the dark forest surrounding the big castle.