Summary: He shouldn’t be so tired, but he was exhausted.
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Merlin struggled to hold back a yawn as he dragged the whetstone over Arthur’s sword with care, sitting on the floor next to the fire as he worked on a cold evening.
He shouldn’t be so tired, but he was exhausted.
The previous day he’d been overloaded with duties thanks to the preparations for the upcoming spring festival around the citadel. The previous night, he’d gotten no sleep, having to deal with a magical threat that had slipped in under his and Arthur’s noses. Now, he’d spent his entire day with practically no breaks—what with his duties for Gaius and his duties for Arthur…
He was beyond exhausted.
His grip slipped as he dragged the stone down the blade, and he stared as his hand ran along the blade. Slowly, he set down the whetstone and sword on the floor, before staring blankly down at the slice on the heel of his palm. Blood bubbled at the surface, quickly slipping from the wound. He was so engrossed with staring at his bleeding hand, he didn’t even notice Arthur had walked over until he spoke.
“Merlin? Is there a reason you stopped working, or have you just chosen this instant to show your defiance again?” The prince asked from behind Merlin.
The words seemed to snap Merlin out of his daze a fraction, but not enough to fully process what had happened yet. The sorcerer blinked slowly once, twice, then he twisted his body back to look at Arthur, that same empty look still on his face.
“I think I cut myself,” he mumbled, looking very much like he was in another dimension.
Arthur let out a small confused noise before kneeling down beside Merlin. “What do you mean you think you cut yourself? Merlin, where did you—oh dear gods.”
Merlin tilted his head at the abrupt change in tone and sentence direction. He followed the prince’s line of sight to his hand, where the blood was starting to drip onto the floor. A small frown marred his brow and a pout tugged at his lips as he watched the red stain the floor he sat on.
“I’ll clean it up,” he promised, his voice still barely above a whisper. Arthur let out an incredulous laugh from his position next to him.
“Merlin! I don’t care about the—stay here,” he shook his head, standing up as Merlin zoned on his injury again, “let me grab the emergency bandages from my desk.”
As his footsteps receded, Merlin blinked a few times, his eyes widening impossibly as the wound on his hand finally registered in his brain at the mention of bandages. The pain finally seemed to set in at that point, and he let out a hissing gasp, clutching his hand to his chest as he stumbled to his feet, looking around for Arthur.
“Merlin, stay there,” Arthur ordered as he rummaged through his desk. Merlin was feeling just a little hysterical at the moment, though, what with his bleeding hand and severe exhaustion, and could care less about orders. He went to take a step, to approach the prince, but he wobbled and quickly decided against defiance.
Oh, he felt faint. Did he really lose that much blood? Or was he just that tired?
Probably that latter, his cut wasn’t that bad… Was it?
“I’m bleeding,” he managed to get out, his voice still sleepy but much more aware, “I cut myself—Arthur, I cut myself on your sword.”
“Yes, Merlin, I know that, why do you think I’m getting the medical kit you put in here,” Arthur sighed, speaking as if talking to a toddler. Merlin let out an indignant sound. He didn’t quite appreciate that.
He was hurt! Prat could do to improve his bedside manner.
Bedside…
Oh…
Bed… A bed would be nice… Sleep. He needed sleep.
His cut wasn’t that bad, it wasn’t even really bleeding much anymore.
Merlin started his walk towards Arthur’s bed, stumbling a bit as he walked, his judgement hazy from exhaustion. Arthur didn’t seem to notice, as he swore quietly, still searching for the kit.
The sorcerer succeeded in his daunting journey to the bed and crawled onto it with a small hum. It was so soft… So much more comfortable than his own. How unfair. He curled onto his side; bleeding hand still clutched tightly to his chest.
He nuzzled his face into the pillow he laid his head on, and inhaled deeply, smiling as he was reminded of his prince. Merlin let his eyes flutter shut, all care for his wound lost at the prospect of sleep.
“Alright, I’ve got the—Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed with a huff. Merlin heard his footsteps stomp over to him at the bed, and peeked open an eye just a crack to look at him, frowning. He wanted to rest! Was that too much to ask? “Dammit, Merlin, I told you to stay there, not get in my bed! Why would you even—no, you know, just, sit up. Sit up.”
Merlin let out a groan as Arthur pulled him into a sitting position before sitting down on the bed across from him.
“Only you could be such an idiot as to cut yourself doing something you do regularly… Only you…” He muttered, as he pulled Merlin’s hand away from his chest and [surprisingly] gently coaxed his clenched fist to open before holding his hand palm up so he could inspect the cut.
Merlin watched him, struggling to keep his eyes open. Arthur sighed softly and took a length of bandage into one hand, while the other held Merlin’s.
“You look exhausted,” Arthur finally commented, when Merlin couldn’t conceal a yawn as Arthur began wrapping the wound. Merlin just hummed, watching tiredly as the bandage tightly wound around his hand. “Are you taking care of yourself? Not that I—just, I can’t have my manservant passing out during his duties because he was on some secret magical mission the night before. It would be bad for appearances…”
Had Merlin been more awake, he would have teased Arthur for his fumbling to cover the fact that he cared about his sorcerous servant. Merlin was not more awake, though, so he just shrugged, his eyes half-shut as another yawn passed his dry lips.
Arthur finished wrapping his cut with the bandage and clicked his tongue. Merlin’s brows knitted together in confusion at the sound. The prince just shook his head and got up, quickly putting the kit back away before walking back over to where Merlin sat on his bed.
He stood by the side for the bed for a moment or two, staring down at Merlin with a contemplative look. Finally, he just sighed loud and dramatically, before gently pushing Merlin back down into a laying position. Then, as Merlin blinked in confusion, he grabbed the duvet from where it had been rumbled at the foot of the bed, and pulled it over the warlock carefully. He skillfully avoided looking at Merlin throughout the entire process of what was basically tucking him into his bed.
Merlin didn’t comment on it, though, he just smiled to himself and rolled onto his side, getting comfortable in the large bed. When Arthur finally stopped fussing with the blankets, Merlin opened his eyes and looked up at him, curious. Arthur hesitated, biting his lip slightly, before shaking his head and turning to walk back to his desk.
Had Merlin been more awake, he would have realized what he was about to do was potentially incredibly stupid. Merlin was not more awake, though, so he didn’t think twice before reaching out with his uninjured hand and grabbing the retreating prince’s wrist.
Arthur froze mid-step and looked back in confusion.
“Stay,” Merlin mumbled, too tired to filter himself.
“What?” Arthur frowned. He didn’t try to pull back his wrist, though. Merlin loosened his grip.
“Don’t want to…” His train of thought was cut off by a loud yawn, and he shook his head, rapidly blinking away tears from his yawn. Arthur just watched him, looking hesitant—anxious—yet, almost hopeful.
“You don’t want to what, Merlin? Unlike you, apparently, I cannot, in fact, read minds,” he tried to tease, but his voice came out too soft, too breathless. Too shaken, almost. Why was he shaken? Merlin raised his head from the pillow and rubbed at his eyes with his bandaged hand, the other still holding Arthur.
“Don’t want to sleep alone…” He confessed, his voice quiet, yet much too loud the silence of the room, where the only other sound was their breathing and the crackle of the fire.
Merlin watched as Arthur’s shoulders tensed, then drooped slowly as they relaxed. Watched as the anxiety on his face slowly melted into something else, something softer, something Merlin was too tired to name. He watched as Arthur finally pulled his wrist [albeit perhaps too gently] from Merlin’s hand, only to sit on the edge of the bed and pull off the boots he still wore from the day.
He let his head sink back down onto the pillow, sleep creeping closer as he tried to stay awake to see what Arthur would do next.
The prince stood once his boots were off and Merlin felt a twinge of disappointment. The disappointment left as soon as it came, however, when he realized, Arthur was just walking to the other side of the bed. The feeling was replaced with a warm burst of affection as the prince climbed into the bed beside him.
Merlin rolled over to face him, as Arthur got comfortable on his side wordlessly. Once Arthur stopped moving, he shuffled closer to him.
“Hold me,” he ordered, looking at Arthur’s face. Arthur hesitated a moment, before moving closer as well and wrapping his arms around the sorcerer, pulling him close. He rolled onto his back, pulling Merlin half onto him, and the brunet let out a soft hum.
Merlin wrapped his arms lazily around Arthur in a sleepy attempt to return his embrace, and nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck. He felt a hand bury itself in his hair, just resting there, and his tired smile widened as his eyes shut.
“I love you, Arthur…” He confessed, the words slurred from his state of half-sleep, and muffled from his position at Arthur’s neck. He knew Arthur heard him, though, when the arm around his waist tightened in response. He knew Arthur heard him, when a gentle kiss was placed to the top of his head—well, best it could be at the awkward angle.
And he knew Arthur heard him, when, as he finally succumbed to the sweet embrace of sleep, he faintly heard that voice he loved so much whisper words he’d never thought he’d hear,
“I love you too, Merlin…”
By TheCourtSorcerer on ao3