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Merlin - A Different Sort of Lullaby
Title: A Different Sort of Lullaby
Genre: Gen (unless you squint that way)
Rating: PG
Words: ~1650
Spoilers: 1x13, Le Morte d’Arthur
Synopsis: Something was off; he only wished he knew what it was.
Author’s Notes: For the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
cliche_bingo entry “exhaustion”
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myth and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur was supposed to be sleeping, but just could not bring himself to lie down in that bed quite yet. Too many hours spent there, slowly dying, body wracked with pain, flooded his memory every time he even glanced at the coverlet. Morgana had left one of the draughts Gaius usually gave her to help her with her fitful dreams, but he did not want to take it, not yet.
Something else was bothering him. It was not the ache in his shoulder that caused him to adjust and readjust his sling more times than strictly necessary, but something more mental, less physical. He stared out his window towards the courtyard and tried to think what it could be, his mind drawing blank every time.
Just as he was finally going to give in and drink whatever potion resided in the little blue bottle, something outside caught his eye. A shadow, no, wait, two shadows lumbering through the gates. It was well past nightfall, which meant whomever it was had to be known to the guards. To the best of his knowledge, they were not expecting anyone and had no one out on patrol that should have any reason to visit the castle at this time save for an emergency.
He squinted against the darkness, barely making out whom it could be. Then one figure turned slightly, the torchlight reflecting off a very recognizable face. “Merlin?” he asked himself, wondering just why his manservant would be out and about wandering in the darkness. He seemed to be both propping up and propped up by the other figure, whose white hair glinted in the same light, letting him know it was indeed Gaius.
He frowned, things making even less sense. Why would the court physician and his apprentice be out and about while two supposedly grievously sick and injured people were present in the castle? Even herb gathering for cures would have been done in daylight, or at least with torches and guards to ensure their safety should a nighttime excursion be necessary. It had been the prince’s life at stake, his father would have left nothing to chance, the least of all a random bandit or robber taking out the only healer he had any trust in.
He remembered Merlin’s last words to him earlier in the day. He was proud to serve until the day he died. Then why was he not here serving? Arthur had not seen him since he had uttered those very odd words and yes, he had been looking. Merlin’s own mother did not know where he was. Arthur could understand if he was derelict in his duties due to his mother’s care, but he was not even at her side as she recovered. It made no sense.
Determined to get to the bottom of things, he opened his door and advised a passing serving girl to please have Merlin sent up at once. When she stuttered that he had last been seen leaving the castle grounds, he corrected her that he had now returned and Arthur was in need of his services. She did a little curtsey thing and was on her way. Door closed again, Arthur still could not shake the feeling that something was off, that something was resolutely not right. He only wished he knew what it was.
It took far longer than it should before he heard a knock on his door. He was starting to doze in his chair despite his resolution to stay awake and see this through. He turned as he beckoned the person to enter, wincing as his wound pulled at the movement.
He released a breath he did not even realize he had been holding when Merlin appeared, leaning heavily against the doorjamb. He was alive and whole and even though there was no real reason to think there should be any way he would be otherwise, Arthur could not help the relief he felt at the verification.
Merlin seemed to voice his thoughts, tired face lighting into a grin as he announced, “You’re alive!”
“Of course I’m alive, why wouldn’t I be?” Arthur asked with all the pompousness he could muster. He ignored the fact that a mere day ago that fact was questionable.
“Things don’t always work out the way you think they will; there’s always a price,” Merlin muttered in response, words making no sense as he let his head loll against the stone.
It was then Arthur noticed the dark shadows against his pale skin, the way Merlin’s whole body seemed to be supported by the castle wall and not his own flesh and bones. “You look awful, where have you been?” he asked, softer now. He pushed himself up from his chair, body creaking in protest, and shuffled towards the door only to discover he looked even worse close up.
“Trying to make sure you stayed that way, that people stayed the way they should be,” Merlin replied, words stretched and muffled by a yawn. He blinked suddenly, nearly toppling over as he obviously remembered something. “Mother!” he exclaimed as if he had just thought of her.
Now that did worry Arthur. He had excused Merlin’s tardiness by assuming he stopped first to see his mother, but if he was only just now remembering her, there was no telling where he had been. Then again, given the state he was apparently in, perhaps it really had taken him this long to walk such a short distance.
“Your mother is fine,” he assured him. At the disbelieving look he received, he rolled his eyes and admitted, “I checked in on her myself just after dusk. She is not yet fully healed, but is making a remarkable recovery.”
“I should see her,” Merlin whispered. He turned to do just that, tripping over his own feet and cracking his elbow against the wall.
“You will,” Arthur told him, using his good arm to steer him further into the room. “In the morning. You are dead on your feet enough that you’d probably break your neck in the stairwell trying to find her.”
“Not dead,” Merlin shook his head. He rubbed at his elbow and nearly tripped again. “Was almost dead, ready to be dead, but it turns out it wasn’t me, not this time,” he babbled.
Arthur paused and gave him a look. “You really make no sense, you know that, right?”
“Not for you, not this time,” Merlin yawned, seeming to think that was a fine reply.
Arthur pushed him towards the bed, taking note of how his reluctant friend winced at the action, slowly lowering himself into a sitting position. “Take off your boots,” he directed. He was all for charity, but even he had limits. Muddy boots on his coverlet was one of them.
Merlin did as told for once, then paused and looked around as if just noticing where he was. “This is not my bed.”
“No, it’s not,” Arthur agreed. “But you would likely kill yourself before you reached your own.”
Merlin shook his head and yawned again. “No more killing. Too much killing. Well, almost killing and then coming back and then with the death and just too much, no more, please?” he babbled. “I don’t have anything left to trade.”
Now it was time for Arthur to shake his own head. Merlin was making even less sense that usual. He debated trying to ask him questions, things like where he had wandered off to and why he looked like a beaten old rag doll, but was fairly certain he would be rewarded with more nonsensical answers and riddles. He was not ready to deal with those quite yet, his mind still sluggish with exhaustion and the herbs he had been given for the pain.
He placed a hand in the centre of Merlin’s chest, pushing him back against the blankets and pillows. “Sleep,” he ordered. Anything else was cut short when he noticed Merlin was no longer wincing but actively grimacing in pain. He removed his hand as if burned, tucking it around his sling in sympathy.
As if it had never happened, Merlin’s features smoothed back to his previous simply fatigued state. He smacked his lips together and flopped backwards, missing every pillow entirely, but did not seem to notice in the least.
Arthur watched as Merlin’s eyes drifted shut, the shadows still severe but the rest of body seeping into relaxation. He reached a tentative hand towards him, gently prying back the corner of his shirt, coolly damp as if recently soaked through though no rain had fallen anywhere near Camelot that Arthur knew of. He was met with tender red flesh, bruised purple around the edges and looking raw and recent.
“What did you do?” he whispered, more to himself than to his servant who was apparently dead to the world.
It was possible he had misjudged as a sliver of blue peered up at him, unfocused and quickly disappearing again. “Saved you,” Merlin breathed. He smacked his lips once more and added, “Think I got it right this time.”
Arthur wanted to shake him awake, to demand answers, to know exactly what happened and how to stop it from ever happening again. He couldn’t do it though, not when one glance told him his friend’s weariness matched, if not surpassed, his own. Not when there was a nagging voice in the back of his mind that told him he had earned his rest.
He kicked off his slippers and shuffled over to the other side of the bed. Morgana’s draught no longer needed, he slid between the covers, careful both of his wound and Merlin’s slumbering form. He could feel sleep drag him into its embrace and, this time, did not fight it. He would have his answers in the morning. Then again, knowing Merlin, perhaps not.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Genre: Gen (unless you squint that way)
Rating: PG
Words: ~1650
Spoilers: 1x13, Le Morte d’Arthur
Synopsis: Something was off; he only wished he knew what it was.
Author’s Notes: For the
cliche_bingo entry “exhaustion”Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myth and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur was supposed to be sleeping, but just could not bring himself to lie down in that bed quite yet. Too many hours spent there, slowly dying, body wracked with pain, flooded his memory every time he even glanced at the coverlet. Morgana had left one of the draughts Gaius usually gave her to help her with her fitful dreams, but he did not want to take it, not yet.
Something else was bothering him. It was not the ache in his shoulder that caused him to adjust and readjust his sling more times than strictly necessary, but something more mental, less physical. He stared out his window towards the courtyard and tried to think what it could be, his mind drawing blank every time.
Just as he was finally going to give in and drink whatever potion resided in the little blue bottle, something outside caught his eye. A shadow, no, wait, two shadows lumbering through the gates. It was well past nightfall, which meant whomever it was had to be known to the guards. To the best of his knowledge, they were not expecting anyone and had no one out on patrol that should have any reason to visit the castle at this time save for an emergency.
He squinted against the darkness, barely making out whom it could be. Then one figure turned slightly, the torchlight reflecting off a very recognizable face. “Merlin?” he asked himself, wondering just why his manservant would be out and about wandering in the darkness. He seemed to be both propping up and propped up by the other figure, whose white hair glinted in the same light, letting him know it was indeed Gaius.
He frowned, things making even less sense. Why would the court physician and his apprentice be out and about while two supposedly grievously sick and injured people were present in the castle? Even herb gathering for cures would have been done in daylight, or at least with torches and guards to ensure their safety should a nighttime excursion be necessary. It had been the prince’s life at stake, his father would have left nothing to chance, the least of all a random bandit or robber taking out the only healer he had any trust in.
He remembered Merlin’s last words to him earlier in the day. He was proud to serve until the day he died. Then why was he not here serving? Arthur had not seen him since he had uttered those very odd words and yes, he had been looking. Merlin’s own mother did not know where he was. Arthur could understand if he was derelict in his duties due to his mother’s care, but he was not even at her side as she recovered. It made no sense.
Determined to get to the bottom of things, he opened his door and advised a passing serving girl to please have Merlin sent up at once. When she stuttered that he had last been seen leaving the castle grounds, he corrected her that he had now returned and Arthur was in need of his services. She did a little curtsey thing and was on her way. Door closed again, Arthur still could not shake the feeling that something was off, that something was resolutely not right. He only wished he knew what it was.
It took far longer than it should before he heard a knock on his door. He was starting to doze in his chair despite his resolution to stay awake and see this through. He turned as he beckoned the person to enter, wincing as his wound pulled at the movement.
He released a breath he did not even realize he had been holding when Merlin appeared, leaning heavily against the doorjamb. He was alive and whole and even though there was no real reason to think there should be any way he would be otherwise, Arthur could not help the relief he felt at the verification.
Merlin seemed to voice his thoughts, tired face lighting into a grin as he announced, “You’re alive!”
“Of course I’m alive, why wouldn’t I be?” Arthur asked with all the pompousness he could muster. He ignored the fact that a mere day ago that fact was questionable.
“Things don’t always work out the way you think they will; there’s always a price,” Merlin muttered in response, words making no sense as he let his head loll against the stone.
It was then Arthur noticed the dark shadows against his pale skin, the way Merlin’s whole body seemed to be supported by the castle wall and not his own flesh and bones. “You look awful, where have you been?” he asked, softer now. He pushed himself up from his chair, body creaking in protest, and shuffled towards the door only to discover he looked even worse close up.
“Trying to make sure you stayed that way, that people stayed the way they should be,” Merlin replied, words stretched and muffled by a yawn. He blinked suddenly, nearly toppling over as he obviously remembered something. “Mother!” he exclaimed as if he had just thought of her.
Now that did worry Arthur. He had excused Merlin’s tardiness by assuming he stopped first to see his mother, but if he was only just now remembering her, there was no telling where he had been. Then again, given the state he was apparently in, perhaps it really had taken him this long to walk such a short distance.
“Your mother is fine,” he assured him. At the disbelieving look he received, he rolled his eyes and admitted, “I checked in on her myself just after dusk. She is not yet fully healed, but is making a remarkable recovery.”
“I should see her,” Merlin whispered. He turned to do just that, tripping over his own feet and cracking his elbow against the wall.
“You will,” Arthur told him, using his good arm to steer him further into the room. “In the morning. You are dead on your feet enough that you’d probably break your neck in the stairwell trying to find her.”
“Not dead,” Merlin shook his head. He rubbed at his elbow and nearly tripped again. “Was almost dead, ready to be dead, but it turns out it wasn’t me, not this time,” he babbled.
Arthur paused and gave him a look. “You really make no sense, you know that, right?”
“Not for you, not this time,” Merlin yawned, seeming to think that was a fine reply.
Arthur pushed him towards the bed, taking note of how his reluctant friend winced at the action, slowly lowering himself into a sitting position. “Take off your boots,” he directed. He was all for charity, but even he had limits. Muddy boots on his coverlet was one of them.
Merlin did as told for once, then paused and looked around as if just noticing where he was. “This is not my bed.”
“No, it’s not,” Arthur agreed. “But you would likely kill yourself before you reached your own.”
Merlin shook his head and yawned again. “No more killing. Too much killing. Well, almost killing and then coming back and then with the death and just too much, no more, please?” he babbled. “I don’t have anything left to trade.”
Now it was time for Arthur to shake his own head. Merlin was making even less sense that usual. He debated trying to ask him questions, things like where he had wandered off to and why he looked like a beaten old rag doll, but was fairly certain he would be rewarded with more nonsensical answers and riddles. He was not ready to deal with those quite yet, his mind still sluggish with exhaustion and the herbs he had been given for the pain.
He placed a hand in the centre of Merlin’s chest, pushing him back against the blankets and pillows. “Sleep,” he ordered. Anything else was cut short when he noticed Merlin was no longer wincing but actively grimacing in pain. He removed his hand as if burned, tucking it around his sling in sympathy.
As if it had never happened, Merlin’s features smoothed back to his previous simply fatigued state. He smacked his lips together and flopped backwards, missing every pillow entirely, but did not seem to notice in the least.
Arthur watched as Merlin’s eyes drifted shut, the shadows still severe but the rest of body seeping into relaxation. He reached a tentative hand towards him, gently prying back the corner of his shirt, coolly damp as if recently soaked through though no rain had fallen anywhere near Camelot that Arthur knew of. He was met with tender red flesh, bruised purple around the edges and looking raw and recent.
“What did you do?” he whispered, more to himself than to his servant who was apparently dead to the world.
It was possible he had misjudged as a sliver of blue peered up at him, unfocused and quickly disappearing again. “Saved you,” Merlin breathed. He smacked his lips once more and added, “Think I got it right this time.”
Arthur wanted to shake him awake, to demand answers, to know exactly what happened and how to stop it from ever happening again. He couldn’t do it though, not when one glance told him his friend’s weariness matched, if not surpassed, his own. Not when there was a nagging voice in the back of his mind that told him he had earned his rest.
He kicked off his slippers and shuffled over to the other side of the bed. Morgana’s draught no longer needed, he slid between the covers, careful both of his wound and Merlin’s slumbering form. He could feel sleep drag him into its embrace and, this time, did not fight it. He would have his answers in the morning. Then again, knowing Merlin, perhaps not.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
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I'm a sucker for a good episode coda, and the shift from anxious to sleepy was just beautiful here. That knowing Merlin's okay is enough to let Arthur finally sleep - okay, heh, maybe I wear those glasses. ^_^
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Very happy you liked this one! It was one of those, "Hmm, what should I do for this sq- why didn't I think of this earlier?" ones. :)
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Btw, how many squares is that now? You must have at least a row.
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