Entry tags:
Merlin - Fire Warm, Prince Pratty
Title: Fire Warm, Prince Pratty
Genre: Slash (light), Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~2,950 words
Prompt: For![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
slightlytookish at the ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
camelot_fleet gift exchange, who requested Merlin/Arthur hurt/comfort with Arthur comforting Merlin. Original link is here.
Author’s Note: Title suggested bywolfie74 in homage to Buffy.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
“It’s cold,” Merlin mumbled, the words barely comprehensible through his shivers.
“I know,” Arthur consoled. He tucked the cloak around Merlin and tried again to light the fire. The sticks sputtered and smoked briefly, but would not stay aflame. They were likely too fresh, even without the layer snow that blanketed everything, for a truly successful fire.
He sighed and rubbed his forehead, no doubt smearing soot across his face in the process. He looked longingly towards the second cloak, but shook his head and wrapped that atop the first one instead. The shivering lessened somewhat, but not enough; mixed with the pale, almost bluish pallor of Merlin’s skin, and he knew he needed something more.
He thought back to what led them here and resisted the urge to sigh again. They had been laughing, joking as they let their horses rest and walked for a ways, slipping in the snow-slick paths. Merlin had been ahead of him, walking backwards as he made up yet another insult, and Leon and Edgar had brought up the rear, desperately trying not to be caught laughing at their prince’s expense.
They had reached the small wooden bridge over the river and Merlin had done the intelligent thing for once and turned to watch his footing on the rickety looking structure. And he had watched, as his foot sank right through a plank, the debris slashing down to the river below. Arthur had watched the flash of pain as Merlin steadied himself and hobbled over to the next plank. He knew he was not the only one to let out a breath of relief as it held steady.
“Watch it!” Merlin had called, completely unnecessarily. He leaned against the side of the bridge as he tried to put weight on his injured ankle, and that’s when it all went to hell.
The side gave way, and most of the planks with it. Merlin flailed and miraculously managed to land on the support structure on the other side, only to slip on the ice and slide downward to the rocks below. Arthur heard the splash, heart caught in his throat, and saw Merlin in the water, scrambling for a hold on the shoreline. He didn’t even think about it, his knights’ voices barely an echo in the back of his head as he made the leap across the remaining bit of bridge and clamoured down the incline to try to reach him.
He remembered the frigid skin as he grabbed Merlin’s hand, the hoarse shout of warning as the rest of the bridge collapsed, and the sting of the debris as it hit him. He remembered Edgar’s panicked shout and the way Leon leaned out as far as he could, the few remaining boards still crumbling beneath him. He remembered pulling Merlin to safety and shouting for them to find a safer place to cross, even though he knew it was likely a day’s ride from here. He remembered Leon tearing off his own cloak, shoving it into one of the saddle bags, and hefting it over to the other side to land with a thunk behind him. It would be all the supplies they would have until the knights returned, but it was better than nothing.
And now Arthur sat in thankfully only slightly damp clothing, trying desperately to warm Merlin before he froze to death from pure chance and stupidity. He had already stripped the other man of his icy clothing, hung it on a branch to freeze solid in the growing wind, and wrapped him in the thin blanket from the pack, adding the cloaks for extra warmth. In the process, he had found several small scrapes and blossoming bruises and a truly horrid looking ankle, but was more concerned with getting him warm first than tending to little things that could wait.
“Sod it,” he muttered and stripped down to only the thin tunic he wore beneath the other layers and his pants. He slipped in behind Merlin and pulled him close, trying not to wince as the chilled skin hit his own. “The things I do for you,” he whispered and pressed a kiss to Merlin’s temple, not liking that it seemed to be the only place on his body to generate heat.
“Careful,” Merlin warned, teeth chattering. “Someone might think you care.”
“You know I care,” Arthur huffed, though he knew he did not say it nearly often enough. “The wood is too damp for a fire, so princely heat is all you get,” he said by way of explanation.
“Let me try?” Merlin asked. He struggled against Arthur to free himself and sit up, but Arthur held firm.
“You’ll only cause damage to yourself and we both know it,” Arthur pointed out. This was followed by a slightly more forceful tug to keep the insistent nuisance in place.
Merlin turned slightly to face him, frown marring his paler than usual features. “Fine,” he glared. “We do this the hard way.”
Arthur knew what was coming, and the likely consequences, but could do anything against the murmured words that echoed in his mind even as traces of gold lit the blue eyes before him. “Merlin!” he chided, but it was too late. Merlin’s eyes slipped closed and his body fell limp within the circle of Arthur’s arms, a self-satisfied smile ghosting over the still off coloured lips. Beside him, the fire roared, with far more light and far more heat than should have been possible given the meagre offerings. He knew without a doubt that the thing would keep burning without his aide, and likely would continue to do so throughout the night and into the morning.
Arthur cursed under his breath and shifted his grip a little to get more comfortable. It would be a long night, he was sure of it, but the sun still hung low in the sky and he was far too tired from his own little rescue adventure to care about the inevitable. He closed his eyes and told himself he would only rest for a short while, just enough to help warm Merlin until the blankets and the fire could do the rest.
He awoke some time later to the burning blaze of the fire and the pitch black of night past the cave’s entrance. He cursed again, this time at his own lassitude. He was warm, too warm, and knew it was not just from the body heat trapped beneath the makeshift blankets.
He reluctantly let go of Merlin and scooted back enough to feel the cold bite of the winter air along his back. A hand pressed to Merlin’s forehead told him the slight fever from earlier had grown. “You had better not catch the winter sickness from your little dalliance,” he warned in a voice not much more than a whisper. As an afterthought, he added, “You will likely end up giving it to me just out of pure and stupid spite and while a servant laid up for a week or more will hardly be noticed, the prince out of commission just will not do.”
He waited a moment, half expecting to hear some sort of cutting remark about how Merlin did things Arthur would never have the slightest idea about, or that it was the weight and wear of carrying around his massive ego that would do him in more than the cold, but there was nothing beyond the harsh sound of breathing taking more effort than it should for an unconscious man.
Arthur sighed and pulled himself fully out of his little warm cocoon. He pulled out his freezing, but thankfully dry, gear and set to digging through the pack. He found dried meat and a hunk of cheese, and little satchels of dried herbs Merlin had been mixing for them to drink and warm themselves with at night throughout their journey. He filled the small metal pot with fresh snow and set it next to the fire to warm while he sorted through which satchel was which and tried to remember what Merlin had said about one working better to fight off the sickness than the other.
In the end, he did the sensible thing and dumped a bit of each into the pot. He figured Merlin had made them each taste good individually, so together they should taste fine. Water heated, he went to rouse Merlin and found the task far more difficult than it should be.
“I’m tired,” Merlin complained. He pulled the cloaks around him some more and said, “Warm here; cold out there.” His voice was sluggish, as were his motions, and Arthur was not certain if it was from exhaustion, injuries, or the cold.
He settled for arranging himself behind Merlin once more, this time pulling him upright and helping him sip at the herbed broth. A spasm of coughs sent a great deal of the liquid spraying about the cavern and had Merlin glaring at the cup as though it had personally betrayed him.
“What is this?” Merlin demanded, refusing to take another sip until he had his answer.
“Tea to help you fight the sickness,” Arthur told him. Surely he had consumed far worse concoctions in his time with Gaius, there was no reason to through a fit about a mixture that actually tasted good. True, it did not smell exactly like what Arthur had remembered, but surely it was close enough.
Merlin glared and reluctantly took another sip, making a truly dreadful face in the process. “Either my taste is off, or this is secretly something you scraped off your boot after a trip through the stables,” he commented.
Now it was Arthur’s turn to glare. He took the cup from Merlin and imperiously took as large of a gulp as he could, only to nearly spit it out himself. “It’s not that bad,” he choked out. He wondered if he could surreptitiously scrub his tongue with his sleeve without Merlin noticing. One glance at his supposed patient advised him it was not to be.
“Dump that and heat up some more water,” Merlin ordered. “I’ll tell you which ones to use so as to not kill us both.”
Arthur wisely did not comment about the servant ordering the prince and simply did as told. He also pulled out kit of healing supplies and pointedly placed it in front of the pile of blankets and cloaks. As soon as the water for the tea was ready, he refilled the pot and placed it near the fire to warm water for cleaning up the worst of the wounds. Merlin sipped at the admittedly much better smelling liquid and flinched as Arthur gently yet thoroughly cleaned each little scrape and checked each bruise for greater damage underneath.
Only three particularly nasty cuts needed to be wrapped and nothing seemed to be seriously damaged save for the rather swollen ankle. Arthur wrapped that for support and made Merlin prop it up on the bag of goods to try to reduce the worst of it. He also pulled the frozen clothing in from the branches and placed it near the fire to warm and dry, wishing he had thought of that earlier. One look at Merlin told him his friend was biting his tongue to keep from commenting on that fact, but he decided to blithely ignore that what with him being injured and all.
Arthur grabbed some more of the tiny food stores and made sure they were within reach if needed. He then wrapped Merlin in the cloaks and settled behind him once more, not at all surprised at the soft little snores that started up only a short time later.
With a warm body beside him, and the knowledge that Merlin was safe and sound and only slightly roughed up for the whole ordeal, Arthur found himself quite content to let his mind wander. He thought back to the icy bridge and tried to remember every last splinter in his mind’s eye, and wonder if there was any clue as to its instability. Nothing was there though, no matter how hard he tried, he could find nothing amiss. Then again, at the time he had been watching Merlin, laughing and joking and, like now, perhaps thinking of a far more pleasant night spent in his chambers wrapped in heavy blankets and free from the blustering cold that whipped through the river valet and now the cave opening more often than not.
He dozed on and off, but kept one ear on the sound of Merlin’s breathing and the other on the sound of any potential threats from the outside. Anytime Merlin awoke, he’d try to get some more tea down him, and even managed a bit of the meat at one point, though Merlin fell asleep again with a chunk of it still in his hand. Arthur shook his head fondly and tucked it away, using the shifting around as an excuse to press another kiss to the too warm forehead and whisper, “Only you.”
Morning came soon enough and Arthur managed to wrestle Merlin into his now warm and dry clothing with minimal jostling of his ankle, and even managed to get him to eat some of the cheese with his tea. He debated the need to more thoroughly investigate his surroundings should they need to spend another night in their chilly little home away from home, but did not wish to venture too far on the off chance Merlin should need anything.
He was growing restless though, never one for sitting around and doing nothing for long. His worry about Merlin’s health kept him in place, but even he knew the injuries were far from severe and the only way to keep the sickness truly at bay would be to get Merlin back to the warmth and safety of the castle.
He shuffled back and forth at the cave opening, glancing out into frosted white, and then back inside to the warm golds and browns. Merlin looked at him knowingly, but did not say a word about it, belying his own want to keep Arthur close and as his personal source of comfort. Arthur could not deny him that, and so he waited, shifting from foot to foot as much to keep warm as to at least have some form of movement.
He made another pot of water for tea and checked on Merlin’s ankle once more, pleased to the swelling had decreased significantly. It would still be uncomfortable, but far from the state it had first been in. Merlin’s breathing sounded better as well, though that could have just been his imagination. He was about to wander to the cave entrance one more time when he heard it: a true reason for investigation.
There was the beat of hooves on frozen ground, and the slight jangle of armour that could never truly be silenced. He peered out to find Leon and Edgar approaching the bottom of the hill where the cave lay, and waved to them to announce his presence. Exclamations of discomfort and worry later, and the two knights joined them in their small shelter.
Edgar packed up the gear while Leon regaled Arthur with the tale of their own night in the cold and darkness and how he was jealous the prince had managed to light a fire as not single stick would burn for them. “You were lucky, sire, for the night was truly bitterly cold, even with the windbreak we built,” Leon said, unabashedly warming his hands over the still burning set of sticks. “We could have done with your skills to be sure.”
Merlin cleared his throat meaningfully and Arthur reluctantly admitted, “It was not me, but Merlin who managed that little feat.” While Merlin basked in the glow of Leon’s praise, Arthur could not help adding, “Well, you know, servants are good for some things after all.” He pointedly did not share just how Merlin had got the flame going, or how he had not needed to watch or feed the thing at all throughout the night.
Edgar called that everything was stored away and Leon very unenthusiastically put the fire out, piling dirt and sand atop it, never noticing Merlin uttering the words to end his little spell.
Arthur managed to get an unbuckled boot over Merlin’s injured ankle and then both he and Leon helped the younger man to his horse, getting him settled. Leon refused the return of his cloak, though it was much finer fare than what a servant was used to. “Several winters back I had the misfortune of an impromptu swim in a near frozen lake,” he said by way of explanation. “I could not get warm for days after that. I sympathize with you and request you keep the extra layer until you can get back to the castle and all the blankets Gaius can pile on you.”
With thoughts of things far warmer than cloaks in mind, Arthur led the way home. He may have possibly glanced back at Merlin more than once, just to make certain the fool had not fallen off his horse or found another body of freezing water to investigate, but no one commented on it, least of all Merlin. Instead, discussion turned to the warm stews and mulled wines that were doubtlessly waiting for them back at the castle.
With Camelot finally in view, Edgar commented that even warm tea would be welcomed at this point. Merlin cheekily grinned and said, “Funny story about that,” and Arthur did not even try to stop him.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Genre: Slash (light), Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~2,950 words
Prompt: For
slightlytookish at the camelot_fleet gift exchange, who requested Merlin/Arthur hurt/comfort with Arthur comforting Merlin. Original link is here.Author’s Note: Title suggested by
wolfie74 in homage to Buffy.Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
“It’s cold,” Merlin mumbled, the words barely comprehensible through his shivers.
“I know,” Arthur consoled. He tucked the cloak around Merlin and tried again to light the fire. The sticks sputtered and smoked briefly, but would not stay aflame. They were likely too fresh, even without the layer snow that blanketed everything, for a truly successful fire.
He sighed and rubbed his forehead, no doubt smearing soot across his face in the process. He looked longingly towards the second cloak, but shook his head and wrapped that atop the first one instead. The shivering lessened somewhat, but not enough; mixed with the pale, almost bluish pallor of Merlin’s skin, and he knew he needed something more.
He thought back to what led them here and resisted the urge to sigh again. They had been laughing, joking as they let their horses rest and walked for a ways, slipping in the snow-slick paths. Merlin had been ahead of him, walking backwards as he made up yet another insult, and Leon and Edgar had brought up the rear, desperately trying not to be caught laughing at their prince’s expense.
They had reached the small wooden bridge over the river and Merlin had done the intelligent thing for once and turned to watch his footing on the rickety looking structure. And he had watched, as his foot sank right through a plank, the debris slashing down to the river below. Arthur had watched the flash of pain as Merlin steadied himself and hobbled over to the next plank. He knew he was not the only one to let out a breath of relief as it held steady.
“Watch it!” Merlin had called, completely unnecessarily. He leaned against the side of the bridge as he tried to put weight on his injured ankle, and that’s when it all went to hell.
The side gave way, and most of the planks with it. Merlin flailed and miraculously managed to land on the support structure on the other side, only to slip on the ice and slide downward to the rocks below. Arthur heard the splash, heart caught in his throat, and saw Merlin in the water, scrambling for a hold on the shoreline. He didn’t even think about it, his knights’ voices barely an echo in the back of his head as he made the leap across the remaining bit of bridge and clamoured down the incline to try to reach him.
He remembered the frigid skin as he grabbed Merlin’s hand, the hoarse shout of warning as the rest of the bridge collapsed, and the sting of the debris as it hit him. He remembered Edgar’s panicked shout and the way Leon leaned out as far as he could, the few remaining boards still crumbling beneath him. He remembered pulling Merlin to safety and shouting for them to find a safer place to cross, even though he knew it was likely a day’s ride from here. He remembered Leon tearing off his own cloak, shoving it into one of the saddle bags, and hefting it over to the other side to land with a thunk behind him. It would be all the supplies they would have until the knights returned, but it was better than nothing.
And now Arthur sat in thankfully only slightly damp clothing, trying desperately to warm Merlin before he froze to death from pure chance and stupidity. He had already stripped the other man of his icy clothing, hung it on a branch to freeze solid in the growing wind, and wrapped him in the thin blanket from the pack, adding the cloaks for extra warmth. In the process, he had found several small scrapes and blossoming bruises and a truly horrid looking ankle, but was more concerned with getting him warm first than tending to little things that could wait.
“Sod it,” he muttered and stripped down to only the thin tunic he wore beneath the other layers and his pants. He slipped in behind Merlin and pulled him close, trying not to wince as the chilled skin hit his own. “The things I do for you,” he whispered and pressed a kiss to Merlin’s temple, not liking that it seemed to be the only place on his body to generate heat.
“Careful,” Merlin warned, teeth chattering. “Someone might think you care.”
“You know I care,” Arthur huffed, though he knew he did not say it nearly often enough. “The wood is too damp for a fire, so princely heat is all you get,” he said by way of explanation.
“Let me try?” Merlin asked. He struggled against Arthur to free himself and sit up, but Arthur held firm.
“You’ll only cause damage to yourself and we both know it,” Arthur pointed out. This was followed by a slightly more forceful tug to keep the insistent nuisance in place.
Merlin turned slightly to face him, frown marring his paler than usual features. “Fine,” he glared. “We do this the hard way.”
Arthur knew what was coming, and the likely consequences, but could do anything against the murmured words that echoed in his mind even as traces of gold lit the blue eyes before him. “Merlin!” he chided, but it was too late. Merlin’s eyes slipped closed and his body fell limp within the circle of Arthur’s arms, a self-satisfied smile ghosting over the still off coloured lips. Beside him, the fire roared, with far more light and far more heat than should have been possible given the meagre offerings. He knew without a doubt that the thing would keep burning without his aide, and likely would continue to do so throughout the night and into the morning.
Arthur cursed under his breath and shifted his grip a little to get more comfortable. It would be a long night, he was sure of it, but the sun still hung low in the sky and he was far too tired from his own little rescue adventure to care about the inevitable. He closed his eyes and told himself he would only rest for a short while, just enough to help warm Merlin until the blankets and the fire could do the rest.
He awoke some time later to the burning blaze of the fire and the pitch black of night past the cave’s entrance. He cursed again, this time at his own lassitude. He was warm, too warm, and knew it was not just from the body heat trapped beneath the makeshift blankets.
He reluctantly let go of Merlin and scooted back enough to feel the cold bite of the winter air along his back. A hand pressed to Merlin’s forehead told him the slight fever from earlier had grown. “You had better not catch the winter sickness from your little dalliance,” he warned in a voice not much more than a whisper. As an afterthought, he added, “You will likely end up giving it to me just out of pure and stupid spite and while a servant laid up for a week or more will hardly be noticed, the prince out of commission just will not do.”
He waited a moment, half expecting to hear some sort of cutting remark about how Merlin did things Arthur would never have the slightest idea about, or that it was the weight and wear of carrying around his massive ego that would do him in more than the cold, but there was nothing beyond the harsh sound of breathing taking more effort than it should for an unconscious man.
Arthur sighed and pulled himself fully out of his little warm cocoon. He pulled out his freezing, but thankfully dry, gear and set to digging through the pack. He found dried meat and a hunk of cheese, and little satchels of dried herbs Merlin had been mixing for them to drink and warm themselves with at night throughout their journey. He filled the small metal pot with fresh snow and set it next to the fire to warm while he sorted through which satchel was which and tried to remember what Merlin had said about one working better to fight off the sickness than the other.
In the end, he did the sensible thing and dumped a bit of each into the pot. He figured Merlin had made them each taste good individually, so together they should taste fine. Water heated, he went to rouse Merlin and found the task far more difficult than it should be.
“I’m tired,” Merlin complained. He pulled the cloaks around him some more and said, “Warm here; cold out there.” His voice was sluggish, as were his motions, and Arthur was not certain if it was from exhaustion, injuries, or the cold.
He settled for arranging himself behind Merlin once more, this time pulling him upright and helping him sip at the herbed broth. A spasm of coughs sent a great deal of the liquid spraying about the cavern and had Merlin glaring at the cup as though it had personally betrayed him.
“What is this?” Merlin demanded, refusing to take another sip until he had his answer.
“Tea to help you fight the sickness,” Arthur told him. Surely he had consumed far worse concoctions in his time with Gaius, there was no reason to through a fit about a mixture that actually tasted good. True, it did not smell exactly like what Arthur had remembered, but surely it was close enough.
Merlin glared and reluctantly took another sip, making a truly dreadful face in the process. “Either my taste is off, or this is secretly something you scraped off your boot after a trip through the stables,” he commented.
Now it was Arthur’s turn to glare. He took the cup from Merlin and imperiously took as large of a gulp as he could, only to nearly spit it out himself. “It’s not that bad,” he choked out. He wondered if he could surreptitiously scrub his tongue with his sleeve without Merlin noticing. One glance at his supposed patient advised him it was not to be.
“Dump that and heat up some more water,” Merlin ordered. “I’ll tell you which ones to use so as to not kill us both.”
Arthur wisely did not comment about the servant ordering the prince and simply did as told. He also pulled out kit of healing supplies and pointedly placed it in front of the pile of blankets and cloaks. As soon as the water for the tea was ready, he refilled the pot and placed it near the fire to warm water for cleaning up the worst of the wounds. Merlin sipped at the admittedly much better smelling liquid and flinched as Arthur gently yet thoroughly cleaned each little scrape and checked each bruise for greater damage underneath.
Only three particularly nasty cuts needed to be wrapped and nothing seemed to be seriously damaged save for the rather swollen ankle. Arthur wrapped that for support and made Merlin prop it up on the bag of goods to try to reduce the worst of it. He also pulled the frozen clothing in from the branches and placed it near the fire to warm and dry, wishing he had thought of that earlier. One look at Merlin told him his friend was biting his tongue to keep from commenting on that fact, but he decided to blithely ignore that what with him being injured and all.
Arthur grabbed some more of the tiny food stores and made sure they were within reach if needed. He then wrapped Merlin in the cloaks and settled behind him once more, not at all surprised at the soft little snores that started up only a short time later.
With a warm body beside him, and the knowledge that Merlin was safe and sound and only slightly roughed up for the whole ordeal, Arthur found himself quite content to let his mind wander. He thought back to the icy bridge and tried to remember every last splinter in his mind’s eye, and wonder if there was any clue as to its instability. Nothing was there though, no matter how hard he tried, he could find nothing amiss. Then again, at the time he had been watching Merlin, laughing and joking and, like now, perhaps thinking of a far more pleasant night spent in his chambers wrapped in heavy blankets and free from the blustering cold that whipped through the river valet and now the cave opening more often than not.
He dozed on and off, but kept one ear on the sound of Merlin’s breathing and the other on the sound of any potential threats from the outside. Anytime Merlin awoke, he’d try to get some more tea down him, and even managed a bit of the meat at one point, though Merlin fell asleep again with a chunk of it still in his hand. Arthur shook his head fondly and tucked it away, using the shifting around as an excuse to press another kiss to the too warm forehead and whisper, “Only you.”
Morning came soon enough and Arthur managed to wrestle Merlin into his now warm and dry clothing with minimal jostling of his ankle, and even managed to get him to eat some of the cheese with his tea. He debated the need to more thoroughly investigate his surroundings should they need to spend another night in their chilly little home away from home, but did not wish to venture too far on the off chance Merlin should need anything.
He was growing restless though, never one for sitting around and doing nothing for long. His worry about Merlin’s health kept him in place, but even he knew the injuries were far from severe and the only way to keep the sickness truly at bay would be to get Merlin back to the warmth and safety of the castle.
He shuffled back and forth at the cave opening, glancing out into frosted white, and then back inside to the warm golds and browns. Merlin looked at him knowingly, but did not say a word about it, belying his own want to keep Arthur close and as his personal source of comfort. Arthur could not deny him that, and so he waited, shifting from foot to foot as much to keep warm as to at least have some form of movement.
He made another pot of water for tea and checked on Merlin’s ankle once more, pleased to the swelling had decreased significantly. It would still be uncomfortable, but far from the state it had first been in. Merlin’s breathing sounded better as well, though that could have just been his imagination. He was about to wander to the cave entrance one more time when he heard it: a true reason for investigation.
There was the beat of hooves on frozen ground, and the slight jangle of armour that could never truly be silenced. He peered out to find Leon and Edgar approaching the bottom of the hill where the cave lay, and waved to them to announce his presence. Exclamations of discomfort and worry later, and the two knights joined them in their small shelter.
Edgar packed up the gear while Leon regaled Arthur with the tale of their own night in the cold and darkness and how he was jealous the prince had managed to light a fire as not single stick would burn for them. “You were lucky, sire, for the night was truly bitterly cold, even with the windbreak we built,” Leon said, unabashedly warming his hands over the still burning set of sticks. “We could have done with your skills to be sure.”
Merlin cleared his throat meaningfully and Arthur reluctantly admitted, “It was not me, but Merlin who managed that little feat.” While Merlin basked in the glow of Leon’s praise, Arthur could not help adding, “Well, you know, servants are good for some things after all.” He pointedly did not share just how Merlin had got the flame going, or how he had not needed to watch or feed the thing at all throughout the night.
Edgar called that everything was stored away and Leon very unenthusiastically put the fire out, piling dirt and sand atop it, never noticing Merlin uttering the words to end his little spell.
Arthur managed to get an unbuckled boot over Merlin’s injured ankle and then both he and Leon helped the younger man to his horse, getting him settled. Leon refused the return of his cloak, though it was much finer fare than what a servant was used to. “Several winters back I had the misfortune of an impromptu swim in a near frozen lake,” he said by way of explanation. “I could not get warm for days after that. I sympathize with you and request you keep the extra layer until you can get back to the castle and all the blankets Gaius can pile on you.”
With thoughts of things far warmer than cloaks in mind, Arthur led the way home. He may have possibly glanced back at Merlin more than once, just to make certain the fool had not fallen off his horse or found another body of freezing water to investigate, but no one commented on it, least of all Merlin. Instead, discussion turned to the warm stews and mulled wines that were doubtlessly waiting for them back at the castle.
With Camelot finally in view, Edgar commented that even warm tea would be welcomed at this point. Merlin cheekily grinned and said, “Funny story about that,” and Arthur did not even try to stop him.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.