Merthur One-shots

The House Is Flooded (As Is His Heart)

But he has this, and Merlin will be damned if he doesn’t respect that.

Merlin does worry ever so for Arthur, though. Even if he won’t admit it.

‘Why didn’t I just go into town with him?’ Merlin curses to himself as he washes up the dishes from a recent lunch.

~

The cottage Merlin lives in is a quaint thing. Surely it’s at least not as small as the chickens’ coup that resides around the back, but it certainly shows having been built by hand many years ago. It sits tucked in a secluded wood beside Lake Avalon, and it previously served as a place where Merlin would wait for his king. The inside is only one room, save the bathroom that sits separately as a tiny outbuilding behind the home. A little kitchen space lies in the back corner, accompanied by a fireplace with a sitting area and a bed between the two. There is a dining area too, though Merlin only started using it upon Arthur’s return. Before then, he ate in the armchairs by the fireplace (if he even ate at all, seeing as he technically doesn't have to).

As Merlin finishes up the washing, he sets the dishes out to dry and turns round to survey the house for all he has to do today. His hopes to weed the garden (and use the loo) fall short as he glances out the window, remembering that a great storm was due for today and seeing that it has most definitely arrived. Perhaps he should stop it for Arthur’s sake?

‘No,’ Merlin thinks to himself with a quick shake of his head. ‘I’m not supposed to be worrying about Arthur today. He’s alright. He’s okay.’

The man repeats these affirmations in his head as he makes his way outside and round the house to the outbuilding, letting the rainfall unto him freely in a vain attempt to ground himself from his troubled woe.

As he finishes up in the outbuilding, there is a great crack of thunder, and Merlin hears the sounds of tree branches cracking. ‘That wasn’t me!’ Merlin thinks almost habitually, pondering back on times when he’d lost his patience (and temper) with the Sidhe.

Leaving the outbuilding, Merlin squints through the heavy rain before noticing a dreaded branch landed atop the house.

“Oh, you must be joking,” Merlin mutters to himself bitterly, a hush barely audible over the thundering storm that envelops everything around him. He looks to the sky and curses at it before trudging inside, silently praying to himself that the roof was alright.

The roof is not alright.

As Merlin looks around the cabin, he spots a trickle of water dripping in from a concentration of spots on the ceiling just above the dining table. It’s small, but Merlin knows from experience to not underestimate a sprung ceiling leak.

Lumbering back out into the harsh weather, Merlin squints to the roof, dredging a hand through his hair as it grows moppy with rainfall. He could move the branch with magic, sure, but he’s grown so adept at not taking the easy route that he almost doesn’t want to, even now. He isn’t with Arthur, so he will need something to keep his mind busy, and that something could be fixing the roof by hand. Then again, at this rate, he’ll surely have enough to engross himself with for the day.

As he ponders this, he spots a small white figure toddling around through the heavy rain and thickening fog. Walking closer, somehow furthering his squint despite not thinking it possible, he realizes what the figure is.