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A dizzy Merlin sat on the edge of Arthur’s bed and closed his eyes as his head continued to throb. The pain was almost unbearable. It hadn’t hurt at all before, but Gaius had warned him that the poison was likely still in his system and that it would take time for his body to return to normal.
It wasn’t that Merlin had forgotten Gaius’s admonitions to be careful, but he’d felt fine the day before, and when Arthur came to see him and mentioned work Merlin had thought he’d be fine resuming his daily activities.
He’d thought wrong.
He went to put his head on one of Arthur’s pillows, but as he did so the contents of his stomach began to roil and fight their way out. Merlin was about to be sick. He hurriedly turned his head toward the floor so as not to soil Arthur’s bed cover, but he wasn’t quick enough and spewed his breakfast on the side of the bed and floor.
Once his stomach had emptied itself Merlin knew he needed to get up and clean the mess as quickly as possible—the thought of Arthur seeing him in such a state, and the fact that he’d just been sick all over Arthur’s bed covers were enough to humiliate him—but he didn’t dare attempt it; he barely had enough energy to keep his head upright, so he gave up and rested it on the bed and closed his eyes, hoping that he’d soon be strong enough to clear the evidence of his sick so Arthur would never know what had happened.
Unfortunately, at that exact moment the door opened and in walked Arthur, looking agitated. He had no doubt left something behind. Merlin was somewhat surprised Arthur wasn’t yelling for him, but then again he probably thought his manservant was in the kitchens or stables.
That being the case, Merlin thought that perhaps if he stayed quiet Arthur would get whatever he’d left behind and leave. That would be the best possible outcome. If Arthur saw him now Merlin wasn’t sure he could cope. He and Arthur hadn’t known each other long and their working relationship was, at best, tenuous, even if Arthur had saved his life not so many days earlier. Arthur would be furious and would likely sack Merlin again. That thought alone made Merlin shiver. Arthur was an entitled prat, but one that Merlin was most inconveniently falling for.
So, of course, at that very moment Arthur just had to turn toward his bed where Merlin just happened to be sprawled out, sick all over him. Merlin sighed and opened his mouth to speak but gave up before he could make a sound. Nothing else for it he closed his eyes and wished for sleep (or death) to claim him. Maybe Arthur wouldn’t yell too much, but even if he did it didn’t matter. All Merlin could think about was that he had mucked everything up.
“I knew you weren’t well enough to return to work,” Merlin heard Arthur saying, much gentler than expected, then he felt the bed sag as Arthur climbed onto it and turned Merlin over and moved him out of the sick. “What am I going to do with you?” Arthur asked before letting out a brief chuckle. “I guess we need to get you out of these clothes and into something more comfortable.”
Merlin felt himself being moved around but he was too weak to pay attention. He felt the chill on his chest as his tunic was removed and as Arthur wiped off his face and cleaned his chest and arms. Soon enough he was in another, much warmer tunic. He attempted to open his eyes, but failed. He gave in to sleep.
When he next woke it was dark and he wondered how he’d got back to his room, but when he heard breathing next to him he knew he wasn’t in his room. But where was he?
“You’re in my room, Merlin. Go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning,” Arthur said exasperatedly before he yawned.
“Bu—”
“In the morning, Merlin,” and that was that.
Merlin closed his eyes and allowed Arthur’s steady breathing to lull him to sleep.
When he next woke it was early morning (or so he thought—he really had no idea what day or what time it was) Merlin sat up and looked around, wondering if he needed to get up and begin his work. He felt much better; his head still hurt, but nothing like it had. There was much to do, but the last thing he needed to do was try to do too much again too soon, so he reclaimed his position next to Arthur and closed his eyes.
He smiled to himself. Arthur was turning out to be a rather pleasant surprise. Where he had been a real royal prat initially, he was beginning to show signs that there was more there. He had, after all, saved Merlin’s life not so many days earlier. And now he had taken care of him when he was ill. It was a positive development, but one that didn’t at all help Merlin's unfortunate but very real attraction to the King’s son.
“Are you feeling better?” Arthur asked, interrupting Merlin’s thoughts.
“Yeah. Head still hurts but not like it did earlier.”
“Yes, well, it seems that when you fell the other day you hit your head. We were all concerned about the poisoning, but I found a large bump and several bruises on your head earlier. Gaius came and examined you and told me not to move you. He said you are not to do any work for the next few days.”
“Bu—”
“No buts, Merlin. You are not getting sick all over my bed cover again. You are to stay where you are until Gaius tells you otherwise.”
Merlin felt fine, really, he did. It was just a bump on the head. “Arthur, I can—”
“Shh,” Arthur said, and he put his finger over Merlin’s lips. “My father has cancelled his meeting with me this morning and training doesn’t begin until midday. I plan on going back to sleep and if you are smart, you’ll do the same. I do not look forward to having to get a new servant if you go and die on me.”
“I never knew you cared, Sire,” Merlin said cheekily.
“Oh, I do, Merlin, more than you know,” said Arthur, equally as cheeky, “and if you ever recover fully perhaps you’ll find out just how much. Now sleep.”