da_ya_ri | [fic] The Unbroken Thread, 1b/1

Title: The Unbroken Thread
Fandom: Merlin BBC
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 11,804
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Warnings: illness (though not terminal), medical inaccuracies, very slight gore, descriptions of dehydration, body issues
Summary: Originally posted here @

kinkme_merlin. In which Arthur has Micturition syncope, and Merlin develops the annoying habit of burrowing into every part of Arthur's life that's not under lock and key.

Part 1

***

Half an hour later, Arthur has still not gotten up from the bed—not because of any residual dizziness, but simply because there is nowhere else he feels like he should be.

And of course Merlin comes back. Arthur hears the approach of his footsteps out in the hallway, and wonders for just a moment whether he should summon the energy to get up and lock the door, but discards the thought again. Knowing Merlin, he'd just oh-so-inconspicuously unlock it with magic, or ambush Arthur the next morning on his way downstairs.

The door opens and shuts again, but at least Merlin doesn't step closer. Arthur keeps his gaze firmly on the window across from him—the daylight is fading already, impending dusk saturating the sky with just the barest hint of purple. The rabbits they brought home are probably being roasted downstairs, and his father will make pointed remarks about the distinct lack of antlers at dinner, and right now Arthur just rather wants to roll over and sleep for a day and forget that this ever happened.

"Gaius says there's a nerve," Merlin states after a while, with the same dogged determination from before. Apparently he's not satisfied with having ripped off the scab—no, he wants to thoroughly inspect the scar as well.

"My last nerve," Arthur says, deliberately obtuse, making quite an impressive effort to infuse his tone with some of their usual banter. "And you're getting on it."

"I don't know much about it," Merlin continues, like he hasn't heard Arthur's words at all, "but apparently it's responsible for lowering the heart rate—"

When Arthur realizes that Merlin is basically rehashing everything Gaius has already told him, he tunes him out, and wonders, not for the first time in the past thirty minutes, if he's supposed to sack Merlin now. He probably should—common sense tells him as much, along with every single nightmare he's ever had about a scenario like this—but his mind feels frozen somehow. It's like even his thoughts have been shocked into utter silence by the fact that Merlin just marched back into Arthur's room and is now rambling about nerves and hearts and muscles. He sounds serious enough, if also slightly uncertain underneath the veneer of what sounds suspiciously like what Arthur has labeled Gaius' "physician's voice," and not like he's so much as smiling.

He doesn't want to sack Merlin, though, because as abysmal as his service is on an ordinary day, if there's one thing about Merlin that Arthur has come to treasure over time, it's his friendship. And he knows that Merlin cherishes it too, and Arthur would rather not take it away from both of them just because he's irritated with Merlin's stupid brain that somehow managed to draw the right conclusions.

But the anger feels oddly artificial by now, as if Arthur just summoned the roiling frustration in his stomach because he feels like it should be there, and not because it came naturally. It's hard to keep his gaze on the window in the face of Merlin's blundering attempt at— making conversation about this, or whatever it is he's trying to do. Hell, it's hard enough for Arthur to even hold on to the tight, icy ball of mortification in his gut when Merlin sounds so sincere, his earnest tone imploring Arthur to finally look at him and see for himself that Merlin has never felt less like laughing at him.

Arthur doesn't know what to do with that, though, has no idea how not to be ashamed of this, and so he stares sightlessly at the window until his eyes burn. He remembers the relief on Merlin's face when he'd woken up again, the gentle fingers treading absently through his hair as though they've wanted to do that for such a long time that Merlin couldn't make them stop once they'd started. Something heavy and painful is knitting a lump into Arthur's throat, building a pressure that he can't swallow down.

"Arthur," Merlin says, frustrated, sounding like he's gesturing madly along with his words; the medical lecture seems to be over, and Arthur is not all that surprised to find that Merlin appears to have reached his wit's end. "Would you just stop being so— would you at least look at me?" He sighs, a sharp, frustrated exhale that sounds oddly helpless, for all his earlier bravado. "This is not—"

With a flare of real irritation, Arthur finds that he doesn't want to wait for Merlin to finish that thought. "Not what?" Arthur asks, the words coming out dripping with sarcasm. "The single most mortifying day of my life?" He laughs once, although it just makes the scratchy knot in his throat hurt even more, and finally looks at Merlin, who is returning his gaze with slight confusion. "I realize that you're savoring this golden opportunity to make fun of me, but—"

"I'm not," Merlin interrupts, and Arthur splutters a little when his manservant has the gall to appear hurt. Cornered and humiliated as he feels, Arthur can't quite see that Merlin has never looked less amused in all the time they've known each other. "Arthur, I'm not making fun of you, I'm not laughing. I would never—"

"You will not finish that sentence if you know what's good for you," Arthur snaps, "and you will never, ever speak of this again, or I'll—"

Merlin sighs again, and rakes a hand through his hair. Arthur can see now that a flush has been trying to creep into his face all along, with the way the tips of his ears have reddened—this must be uncomfortable for him as well. "Okay," he says slowly, seeming to put a conscious effort into not rising to the bait and snap back at Arthur with something insulting. "You're upset and embarrassed, and I understand that. I'll just— go now, and come back tomorrow, and you could kick your knights across the training grounds until dinner, if that'll make you feel better."

Arthur opens and closes his mouth for a moment before the words fully register with him. Then he grabs the next best thing from his nightstand, spurred on by the white-hot rush of useless anger that flashes through him at the word 'upset', but Merlin has already ducked out of the room by the time the candlestick collides with the door.

***

Things refuse to go back to normal after that, and most of the time Arthur isn't quite sure what to think about that.

Until now, Arthur had assumed that Merlin has about as much common sense as a slightly chipped piece of furniture. But apparently there are some vestiges of tact lodged between those enormous ears of his, because during the next few days, he doesn't force that particular topic of conversation on Arthur again. Arthur tells himself to be wary of this sudden truce, and is not all that surprised when he finds that he can't. Almost against his will, he feels the restless, humiliated coldness in his mind settle down, soothed by the days of careful silence.

The illusion of Merlin finally having learned his place is shattered quite spectacularly, though, when he looks up from where he's sharpening Arthur's sword one morning, all guileless big blue eyes, and says, "You didn't drink anything."

Arthur pauses, his hand already on the doorhandle. Nearly a week has passed, and he'd almost been led to believe that even Merlin was not fool enough to overstep this particular new-found border, but apparently he was wrong. "What?" he asks at last, half hoping that he's just misheard him, while knowing at the same time that this is just the sort of insolent thing that's prone to fall from Merlin's mouth when Arthur least expects it.

Merlin looks back down at the sword, carefully running the whetstone over the blade. The movement is too slow, he'll never get it sharpened that way, but Arthur knows that Merlin is well aware how it's done right—he probably just keeps doing it to keep his hands occupied.

"You'll get a headache during audiences," Merlin tells him, conversationally, although there's just the barest hint of steel in his tone, as if the sturdiness of the sword in his hands inspired him. "And then you'll be grouchy for the rest of the day—"

"I am never grouchy," Arthur starts to protest, but Merlin just talks right over him, although he's still addressing the words to Arthur's boots rather than his face.

"—and in the end you'll snap, and storm back in here to drain the entire pitcher of water in two gulps," Merlin continues, still as casually as though he's informing Arthur of the latest castle gossip, "and you'll make yourself sick like you did last month, and then I'll have to clean that up. And it'll all be very inconvenient."

"What?" Arthur says again, because the alternative would be to demand how anything of that would be more inconvenient than cracking his head open on the floor after the damnable nerve plunged him into unconsciousness again.

He's a little startled at the way the retort seems to hover on his tongue, though, the words almost tumbling from his mouth, and it's all he can do to hold them back with that inane question. In all the months since he first woke up on the floor with an impressive bump where his head had smashed into the wall, Arthur can't recall ever having said anything like that, and he's certainly not going to start now.

Merlin finally raises his gaze to Arthur's face again, and yes, there's definitely something steely there, barely hidden by that special brand of wide-eyed, imploring determination that always pulls at something unfamiliar and aching in Arthur's chest. "Just one goblet," Merlin says, quietly now, and with nothing of his earlier casualness. He hesitates, on the brink of saying something more, but he still seems to carefully lay out the words in front of his mind's eye before he adds, "I promise you won't regret it."

Before Arthur fully realizes what he's doing, he has already crossed the room back to the remains of his breakfast on the table, the empty plate and the brimful goblet. The first mouthful of water feels more soothing in his parched throat than the honeyed bread he ate earlier, and he lets himself drink until the goblet is empty and he feels the slight twinge recede from his temples. Merlin is right, after all, and he's been so earnestly calm about it, nothing like his usual bumbling self, and Arthur never knows what else to do in the face of that but trust him.

Merlin looks oddly proud when Arthur puts the goblet back on the table with a clang. It's the sort of steady, quietly reverent gaze that somehow makes Arthur want to straighten his shirt and check surreptitiously if there's something unflattering stuck to his face. But of course crown princes do not fidget, and so Arthur just orders Merlin to muck out his stables when he's done with the sword, and closes the door on Merlin's now mildly annoyed gaze.

An hour later, when Arthur has just begun to fidget a little in his seat next to the king, Merlin walks up to him, his eyes demurely lowered to the floor as he bows. He whispers to Arthur about Sir Leon having an urgent matter to discuss with him, and Arthur follows him out of the hall at his father's nod, slightly puzzled because he's fairly sure Leon headed out for a hunt this morning.

Merlin gives him a hesitant smile when they're out in the corridor, and it could just be a trick of the light, but his face seems a little flushed, his eyes triumphantly bright, as though getting Arthur out of the hall had been some great accomplishment—

Oh, Arthur thinks, and Merlin says, "Sir Leon said he'd wait for you outside your chambers," rather pointedly. Arthur opens his mouth without having any idea what to say, but Merlin just gives him a silent, oddly hopeful look and quickly mumbles something about having to muck out the stables now.

He's walking away before Arthur can think of a suitable reply, and Arthur looks after him for a long moment. Somehow, he gets the vague impression that his chest shouldn't be feeling lighter than it has in ages, and the gentle flutter in his stomach is probably born of something inappropriate as well. But Arthur still lets both feelings run their course in the deserted hallway, and watches the oddly content-looking bounce in Merlin's step until he disappears behind a corner.

***

Ten minutes after that, back in the safety of his chambers, Arthur isn't even all that surprised to find out that his affliction has chosen today, of all days, to retreat behind the curtain.

The only possible explanation, Arthur thinks as he laces his breeches back up, is that Merlin's utter disregard for propriety must have rubbed off on his subconscious mind. His manservant is probably in league with the disobedient thread in Arthur's spine (well, stomach, or wherever) by now, and convinced it to stop acting up just in time, as though to show Arthur that following Merlin's advice brings its own reward.

That thought is so ridiculous that Arthur rolls his eyes before dismissing it, though, and he saunters over to the table, still marveling at the lack of nauseated vertigo, at the steadiness of his gait. Then he pours himself a goblet of water from the pitcher that's still on his table, suddenly feeling reckless and almost giddy, and drains it with languid sips just because he can. And of course Merlin chooses that exact moment to come striding into the room, straw in his hair and faintly smelling of horse manure, an annoyed frown firmly in place on his features.

He stops dead in his tracks when he catches sight of Arthur, though, and Arthur puts the goblet down for the second time that day, feeling oddly insecure, like he's done something he shouldn't have. Which is completely ridiculous, of course—the crown prince of Camelot does not have to answer to his manservant about his drinking habits, after all, no matter what Merlin thinks.

When Merlin smiles at him, though, Arthur's stomach lurches in a not entirely unpleasant way, and for a moment he almost thinks that the dizziness has come to claim him after all. But then he realizes that it's just his heart beating out of time for some reason, and his face feeling oddly hot under Merlin's approving gaze. Arthur suspects that there's all sorts of things wrong with that feeling—but still, seeing as Merlin has already thrown propriety out of the window a long time ago, Arthur doesn't see why he shouldn't do the same, if only once in a while.

***

It continues like that for some time, until Arthur has nearly forgotten why he's not supposed to let Merlin bully him into downing at least one goblet of water each morning. Sure, Arthur did try half-heartedly to dissuade Merlin from taking it upon himself to ensure that Arthur stays hydrated during the day—but it had just felt so good to go through his daily routine without headaches and muscle cramps snapping at his heels. Everything seems easier somehow, with the absence of fatigue pulling on his muscles and his throat never getting the chance to feel raw and sore.

And well, Merlin is just as unwilling to back down in this as he is with everything else, to the point that he has taken to running after Arthur with a waterskin all day whenever he thinks that Arthur is being particularly stubborn.

Before, when Merlin finding out was still a vague, horrifying prospect that was to be kept from coming true at all cost, Arthur would never have thought that it could be this... easy. Even in retrospect, Arthur can't count the times he's woken up in a cold sweat from dreams of everyone finding out in the most humiliating way possible (his father, outraged at both Arthur's lies and the unknown sorcerer that he still thinks to be responsible; Morgana, pitying in a way that makes Arthur feel sick; his knights, unable to look him in the eye without flinching anymore; nameless, faceless people laughing at him behind his back, and sometimes to his face).

But he never even considered the possibility that Merlin, of all people, would make a habit of falling all over himself to help in any way he can—Arthur never thought that Merlin could be a source of support, not with this. That's exactly what he has become, though, and of all the weird things to get used to, Arthur finds that he doesn't really mind this one all that much.

***

The shell-shocked expression on Merlin's face would be hilarious to look at in any other situation, but to Arthur's surprise, it's not all that entertaining up close.

"Merlin," Arthur says, proud of how even his voice sounds. "What the hell was that?"

"Um," Merlin replies, his throat working as he swallows. His expression reminds Arthur of a rabbit just after catching sight of a crossbow, and Arthur can't really blame him for it, with the way the crash of the shattered vase still echoes through the room.

Arthur waits, and feels an unfamiliar surge of pride well up in him as Merlin squares his shoulders under Arthur's hands and swallows again. Granted, he looks like he's being led to the executioner's block, but his head is held high, and he refuses to lower his gaze when he finally answers, voice only a little unsteady, "I— well, it was supposed to be a kiss."

It didn't come as that much of a surprise, now that Arthur looks back on it. It was just the logical conclusion to a lot of things that Arthur hadn't paid a lot of attention to before now—the way Merlin looks at him sometimes when he thinks Arthur doesn't notice, the weird fluttering thing that has slowly made a home in Arthur's stomach over the weeks, and all those girly things that a crown prince does not allow himself to think about for too long.

"Mm," Arthur hums, and pretends to consider Merlin's words. "And does your magic often smash vases into the wall when you kiss someone?"

Arthur is sure that Merlin would have paled even more, if his skin hadn't already been chalk white. As it is, Merlin just opens and closes his mouth a few times, eyes flickering back and forth between Arthur's own as though in search of something. Again, Arthur waits, rather patiently, just barely managing to keep himself from rubbing soothing circles into Merlin's collarbones with his thumbs.

"But," Merlin finally blurts out, sounding like the word is being torn out of him. "But I— and you—"

"Quite right," Arthur says, jovially, although it's kind of mean to be secretly enjoying the half-panicked, utterly flabbergasted expression on Merlin's face—well, the flabbergasted part, at any rate; the panic, he could do without. He squeezes Merlin's shoulders again, reassuring.

Merlin looks like he'd like nothing more than to run from the room but doesn't allow himself to admit defeat in that way, and Arthur sighs, his hands moving up to cradle Merlin's face on their own accord. "I know," he breathes against the slight shudder in Merlin's jaw, and tilts his head down so he can press his forehead to Merlin's. "I've known for a long time. It's okay, Merlin, you—" Arthur swallows hard when Merlin flinches back a little, because he thinks he has a general idea of the images that must be flashing through Merlin's mind.

"You're safe," Arthur says, with a vehemence that almost startles him. Their faces are so close that Merlin's eyes are little more than blurry pools of blue, but Arthur still holds his gaze, willing the words to push the remembered smell of smoke from Merlin's mind. "I would never let anything happen to you."

"Oh," Merlin breathes, and sways a little, and when his hands come up to clutch at Arthur's wrists, it seems more out of a need for support than anything else. "I— I thought you'd be angry."

His voice is unsteady and tentative, like he doesn't want to give Arthur ideas, and Arthur finds himself smiling, almost against his will, and just makes the snap decision to hide it against Merlin's mouth. "I am," he assures Merlin, in between small pecks to the tight, trembling line of Merlin's lips. "Just give me a few minutes to work up some steam."

Merlin laughs a little, shakily, but it ends in a choked-off sound that Arthur spontaneously decides he never wants to hear again. He just pulls him closer then, and continues brushing his mouth against Merlin's in feather-light touches that are more experimental than anything else, and if Merlin's lips taste a little like salt by the time he finally starts to kiss back, Arthur doesn't mention it.

***

Not much changes after that either, except for how Merlin takes to sleeping in his bed more often than not, is somehow even more insolent, and ignites small fires in Arthur's chest whenever he smiles at him just so, the sooty, suggestive sweep of his eyelashes dark against his cheeks. The first time Arthur puts his hand down Merlin's breeches, another flimsy porcelain decoration falls off its shelf, but he never liked that cup in the first place—and really, being the generous person he is, Arthur figures he can overlook that anyway.

***

And then there's one time when Arthur wakes in the middle of the night, with Merlin's face pressed into his neck at an angle that's surely uncomfortable, breathing a warm, damp patch into Arthur's collarbone.

Moonlight is streaming in through the windows, and Arthur grumbles a little as he disentangles his legs from Merlin's and sits up. Of course Merlin forgot to close the curtains last night—apparently, doing inappropriate things to the crown prince in his bath was very distracting. Merlin just makes a displeased sound at being deposited on the pillows, though, and Arthur accredits his answering absent smile to drowsiness.

He swings his legs out of bed, sucking in a quiet breath when his feet hit the cold stone floor. Too late, he realized that Merlin sitting in his lap and licking wine from his lips earlier that evening was probably part of an elaborate ploy to get him to drink more than he usually would have. But well, by the time Merlin had guided him to his bath with a suggestive smile on his wine-stained mouth, Arthur had forgotten to mind.

It would be best to stand facing the bed, Arthur thinks vaguely as he pulls back the blankets—that way he'll hit the mattress if he falls forward, or crack the back of his head against the cupboard if his weight ends up tipping back. He's still half-asleep, though, and the insistent pressure in his bladder is enough to reduce the prospect of getting a concussion to little more than a faraway, unavoidable inconvenience.

Arthur can't tell if it's the scrape of the chamberpot on the floor that wakes Merlin, or the sudden absence of his living, breathing pillow. At any rate, he makes a quiet snuffling noise before he lifts his head to give Arthur a sleepy, uncomprehending look, his eyes little more than glittering slits in the moonlight.

He yawns so expansively that Arthur hears his jaw crack, but before Arthur can tell him to go back to sleep, Merlin is already moving. He appears to get tangled in the blankets for a moment, and Arthur watches in sleepy confusion as Merlin mutters a curse under his breath and finally staggers out of bed, all but barreling into Arthur when he loses his balance on the cold floor for a moment.

When Merlin moves to stand behind him, Arthur almost turns to catch his eye, confused, but Merlin mumbles something that he probably meant to be soothing but that comes out sounding vaguely insubordinate. His chest is like a furnace against the chilled skin of Arthur's back, and Merlin presses his face into Arthur's neck, breathing quietly on his collarbone much like he did in bed. For a moment Arthur thinks Merlin has fallen asleep again, but his stance seems steady, and the slide of his arms around Arthur's waist is anything but sleepy.

All in all, Arthur suspects he should be grateful for how drowsy he still is as well, because it's quite difficult to work up a suitably mortified reaction with the haze of sleep still clouding his mind. For the first time, it occurs to him that he might not need to, that this might be what Merlin has been trying to tell him all along—in the protective cover of darkness, it's not all that hard to admit that Merlin could have been right. And maybe it's okay for Arthur to rest his temple against the dark head next to his, and simply let the uncomfortably tight feeling flow out of his belly, and share Merlin's breaths in the dark.

Merlin's arms tighten around him like a vice when he stumbles, his hold surprisingly strong for all his apparent scrawniness, and Arthur lets the firm embrace guide him into darkness.

When he comes to, Merlin's left arm is still flung across his waist, the weight anchoring him to the bed, with his other hand buried in Arthur's hair, and this time it doesn't feel like he'll remove his fingers any time soon. Arthur breathes deeply to dispel the last vestiges of nausea from his stomach, waiting patiently until the little flashes of light stop dancing across his vision. Merlin's breath is once again creating a damp patch on Arthur's shoulder, already deepening back into the pattern of sleep, although Arthur can tell from the way his fingers keep twitching that he's not quite asleep yet.

At first, it doesn't occur to him to carefully avoid thinking of what Merlin just did, but even when it finally does, Arthur's sleepy mind can't quite figure out why a distant part of himself feels like he should try.

As if on cue, Merlin slurs a tired, "No thinking," the words muffled against Arthur's collarbone, shoving a little at his shoulder before he puts his head on Arthur's chest, almost like fluffing a pillow. "Sleep."

Arthur blinks down at him for a puzzled moment before his eyes close on their own accord, as though eager to obey the drowsy order. Merlin makes an approving sound in the back of his throat, his thumb moving to stroke tired little circles into Arthur's temple; and well, given how fatigue is already pulling his mind down into a different sort of darkness, Arthur finds that he can't argue with that.

***

Merlin is spread-eagled on top of him when Arthur wakes up next, gangly limbs splayed everywhere, exuding stifling warmth and breathing softly through his mouth with his nose pressed to Arthur's throat.

A sleepy glance to the window confirms that they haven't overslept just yet—the rosy fingers of dawn are only just beginning to creep through the sky, and Arthur lets his eyes droop half-closed again, reassured. He's planned to go hunting with Leon and a few of the other knights in the afternoon; they'll explore the mountainous terrain in the southern parts of the forest, if only because Arthur knows it'll be hilarious to watch Merlin trip over rocks every few steps. There'll be audiences in the morning and training near lunchtime, but right now, Arthur is content to simply lie back and bask in the undisturbed calmness of the moment.

Yawning, he stretches a little, well aware that Merlin must be awake too, from the way his foot keeps twitching against Arthur's calf. His mop of dark hair is utterly disheveled, and the blankets have slipped down to his waist, exposing the creamy expanse of his back to Arthur's gaze. Arthur can see the blueish marks that his fingers have left at Merlin's hips, but he knows that his own shoulder bears several perfect indents of Merlin's teeth in return.

Merlin snuffles and shifts a bit, a sleepy twitch of his limbs before he pushes his head a little more firmly into the crook of Arthur's neck. Arthur can feel Merlin's eyelashes tickle his throat, and rolls his eyes just a little when he catches sight of Merlin's ear slowly reddening from the corner of his eye.

At last, Merlin yawns too, a bit exaggeratedly, and shifts again, moving his head just enough to finally breathe through his nose. A sleep-warm hand comes up to rest lightly on Arthur's shoulder, and Merlin breathes a quiet okay? into the warm hollow of Arthur's collarbone, carefully, as though afraid of shattering the quietude with the single word.

"Yeah," Arthur says, a bit gruffly, and pokes that place just below Merlin's left shoulder blade that he knows is ticklish. Merlin kicks at him, and Arthur lets himself revel in the odd warmth suffusing his chest that he forgets to second-guess his next words. "As long as I don't split my head open in, well, about five minutes' time."

Merlin goes still and silent for a moment before he says, earnestly, "We could put a pillow on the floor," his voice the picture of earnest innocence. And although his casual tone can't quite mask the caution underneath, Arthur surprises both of them by laughing first.

Current Mood: nervous
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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

kylezy.livejournal.com

Oh! This was surprisingly lovely! I say suprisingly because I don't usually read medical fics but I'm so glad I gave this one a go. Arthur and Merlin were wonderfully thought out and completely adorable, I really loved them.

From:

[fic] The Unbroken Thread, 1b/1

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