Archive of Our Own ^beta

If you have the extra spoons: five times Merlin took care of someone else and the one time they figured out how much help Merlin needs? – anon

Gwaine winces as he pulls the third piece of mutton from his hair, tossing it aside with a grunt and submerging his head in the water bucket. The cold shocks a grunt from his throat as he gropes blindly for the towel. He scrubs his face a little too roughly. Gods, what he wouldn't give for another swig of ale, but his throat is already warning him against it and he barely chokes back the roll of vomit in time. He readies himself for another dunk when he hears the door open behind him.

"Gwaine? Are you—oh."

"Merlin," he says, weariness seeping into his voice, "sorry, 's a bit of a bad time."

"I can see that." He glances over his shoulder to see Merlin carrying something over his shoulder. "What was it this time?"

"Some visiting mercenary. Wanted to get his hands on some kid's necklace. Said it would sell for a pretty penny over the border." He rakes a hand through his hair. "Didn't care that it was the kid's last thing his mother gave him."

Merlin's mouth tightens as he comes to stand next to the basin. With a sweep of his arm, he clears a nearby table and sets his bag on top. "So you started a bar fight?"

"So I started a fight." He tries for his typical roguish grin and falls short by about a league. "Kid ran off with the necklace and I stayed behind."

"We can try and find him tomorrow, see if he's alright."

"Nah. Prick might still be watching me, might just lead him right to it. I— oh." He lets out a sigh when Merlin's cool hand touches his feverish cheek. "Did you just come out of an ice box or something?"

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Not much." At Merlin's look, he amends it. "Not much for me."

"Mhm. Come here, let me wash your hair."

"You don't have to do that, Merlin, it's—"

"Oi." He gets slapped lightly on the shoulder. "You just fought off a tavern full of men so a child wouldn't have the last remaining thing from his mother stolen for a quick profit. You can let me wash your hair."

"As I always say, whatever Merlin wants."

"That isn't what you always say," Merlin grumbles good-naturedly, steering him over to sit on a low bench, "and you know it."

"Perhaps it should be."

"Promises, promises." The flirtation rolls right off of him, as it always does, and yet Gwaine can't help but wish just a little bit of it stuck. It never seems fair, when he's like this, all soft and unfocused as Merlin tends to his needs. Even now, in the dim light of his chambers, with Merlin slowly filling the basin with warm water, carrying it over to set behind him, he wishes he could do something other than lie there, placidly, as gentle fingers work their way through his hair. "Gwaine? Are you okay?"

"Mm." He blinks up at Merlin's upside-down face. "Thank you. For being here."

He gets to watch that face smile and feels damp fingers scratch his scalp. "You're welcome. Now hush, I don't know how you managed to get this much stew in your hair, and no, I don't care enough to find out.

2.

Elyan sighs, wrapping the leather around his hand again. Gwen's right; he cut it far too short but there isn't enough left to re-cut a decent length and any sort of seam he puts into this thing will just become a weak point for moisture, cracking, or any sort of weapon that gets swung his way. Perhaps if he angles it slightly more, or if he starts a little higher, closer to the heel of his hand—

"Elyan? Are you in here?"

"Back here, Merlin." He looks up to see Merlin carrying a set of armor on his hip, dropping the leather and going to help. "Careful, you'll fall right over if a strong enough breeze blows by."

"Just because I'm not a knight doesn't mean I'm liable to blow over," Merlin grumbles but doesn't protest the help any further. They manage to get it set down on a nearby table to clean when he notices the strap dangling from Elyan's wrist. He jerks his chin towards it. "What's that?"

"Oh, just the latest in a line of mistakes." At Merlin's confused look, he sighs. "Gwen warned me that I was cutting the leather too short to brace the gauntlet properly but I didn't listen, and now…"

"Now it's too short?"

"Now it's too short." He clenches his fist and tries to swallow the frustration. "It's alright. I still have an older one I can use instead. This…I'm sure I'll find some use for this."

"Of course you will."

He looks up in surprise. Merlin must glimpse the movement out of the corner of his eye as he goes to pick up the polish and turns to him.

"What?"

"What did you, uh, what did you mean?"

Merlin frowns. "Of course, you're going to figure out something else to use it for. You're brilliant, Elyan—no, don't look at me like that."

"Brilliant, eh?"

"You and Gwen both. That's why you work so well together. You're both clever and inventive and you'll find something to do with that leather strap, I just know it."

As the sounds of scrubbing and polishing fill the room, Elyan finds himself just watching Merlin for a moment. The ease of his movement, the quiet confidence of just doing a job well, well enough that he doesn't have to think through everything. It's with that same easy confidence that Merlin just called him brilliant, and, well, if being a knight of Camelot has taught him anything, it's that Merlin knows far more than he's letting on and is far cleverer than most people give him credit for.

He notices Elyan's staring after a moment and looks up, wordlessly quirking a brow.

"Thank you, Merlin," he says, "that means a lot coming from you."

"You're welcome. Though you should tell Gwen she was right."

He rolls his eyes. "Don't remind me. The last time I didn't admit she was right, she held it over my head for a whole month."

"What did you do?"

"Ask her, I'm sure she'd love to never let me live it down."

3.

Percival's low groan fills the room as he pries the dented armor from his chest. He stretches over to set it down and nearly collapses onto his side. One hand presses hard to the wound, blood already showing past his fingers, and he muffles a curse.

"Hold still."

"I'm doing my best."

"I know," Merlin says quietly, his quick and sure fingers effortlessly replacing Percival's as he pries his hand back, "I know. I'm sorry."

"You did not swing the halberd," Percival grunts, letting Merlin guide him back to lean against the wall, "the fault lies not with you."

Merlin's mouth tightens in that way where he wants to disagree, but he says no more on the matter. Instead, he reaches into his bag and pulls out a small vial, uncorking it with his teeth. "This is going to sting."

"I understand, I— hh."

"Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry." There's a quick rustle and a cloth is pressed to the wound. "There, it's over. We just have to wait a few minutes for the poultice to do its work. I'm going to clean it a little more, then I'll put something on it and cover it, okay?"

Percival nods wordlessly, clenching his teeth to keep his bitten-off noises to himself. He lets his head fall back, staring over Merlin's shoulders at the other end of the physician's chambers. Herbs and other things he couldn't hope to name hang from too many hooks to count, pots and pans and other jars sitting on tables, ready to be filled with things he couldn't hope to understand. He is not a man of letters, nor a man of deep knowledge, and so he lets his eyes fall closed instead of giving voice to the questions on the tip of his tongue.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, I am waiting for the sting to go down." A finger prods his side and his eyes open once more, glaring down. "What?"

"Don't fall asleep."

"The bloodloss isn't that severe."

" I'll be the judge of that, thank you." He knows better than to try and argue with Merlin. "Keep your eyes open. Keep talking. Say anything."

"What would you have me say?"

"I saw you looking at all of Gaius's herbs. Do you have questions?"

He swallows both the pained grunt and the hopeful words. "I'm a knight. I'm not a physician."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I…don't think I have it in me to learn about them."

"That's a bigger load of bollocks than the bandit who tried to bludgeon you," Merlin says bluntly, "if you're curious, then you want to know. And if you want to know, I'll tell you, so ask me."

Despite the pain in his abdomen, Percival smiles. It's a weak smile, worn long by the day and the bloodshed, but a smile nonetheless. He inclines his head slightly toward where Merlin's holding the cloth to his side. "Would you tell me what you've put onto me, then?"

"Gladly."

4.

Lancelot stares into the fire, his fingers tracing mindlessly around the crude sigil carved into the hunk of metal tucked against his palm. The dancing light has long since eroded his night vision, leaving him vulnerable against the threats lurking in the darkness. His shoulders hunch with the knowledge that he's supposed to be watching, alert and ready to respond at the first sign of danger, and yet he could no more drag his eyes from the fire than he could let go of the precious thing cradled in his hands.

"You're up late," comes Merlin's soft voice from just to the side of him, "is there something wrong?"

"I'm on watch."

"Mm." A quiet rustle as another body leans against his. The sudden contact makes his hands stutter in their near-feverish tracing. "And has the fire been behaving?"

He doesn't take the bait. After a moment, Merlin sighs, leaning against him more heavily, and his hand reaches to rest on his forearm.

"You need to rest," he says softly, "everything's alright. Everyone is safe—"

"We're in the middle of the woods," he interrupts, a touch more harshly than perhaps he should, "how many times have we been out here and been attacked by bandits? Or another enemy that requires us to fight for our lives, you included?"

Merlin's touch never wavers. "I'm alright, Lancelot, and so are you."

His throat closes. Merlin's touch wanders closer and closer to the piece of metal and he can't help tensing. Merlin notices, because when has the man not noticed something bothering him, and he retreats, settling his hand on his knee instead.

"Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive," he says, still speaking softly as though to soothe a frightened animal, "you're upset. I shouldn't push."

"I don't mean to be. I think…the nights have some…effect on me."

Merlin snorts and it isn't unkind. "You mean the thing that all of us have to deal with, where it gets dark and suddenly everything hidden in our minds comes out to torment us?"

"Yes, that."

"You're not alone," he reminds again in that terribly, terribly gentle voice, "you're alright. I'm right here."

"You should be asleep, it's my watch."

Merlin just hums, his thumb tracing soothing patterns on his knee. The fire crackles. One of the knights is snoring. Far away, an owl calls, the sound echoing softly amongst the trees. In the dark of the shadows, Merlin pulls one of their capes up and drapes it over the two of them, sheltering them a little from the frigid breeze that blows through.

"You're a good man," he whispers, too quiet for anyone but Lancelot to hope to hear, "you don't have to carry things alone."

"You're one to talk."

He chuckles. "Yeah, I know. That's why I've got you, though, right?"

"Always."

"Then you always have me." Merlin's head comes to rest on his shoulder. "So you can close your eyes for a moment. I'm right here. I'll keep watch for a second."

Lancelot lets his eyes fall closed and the metal in his hands warms for the first time that night.

5.

Leon lets the smallest of sighs leave him as he looks at the mountain of paperwork left on the table after a Council meeting. With the dignity of someone long-practiced in it, he reaches down and begins to sort it into three piles: to do immediately, to give to the King to sign, and to do later. The third pile quickly grows in size as he gets further and further from the head of the table.

Merlin slips in a few moments later, having settled the King back in his chambers, and winces. "That bad, is it?"

"We were able to get to three of the meeting points today that were on schedule."

"That's three more than last time, what an improvement."

Leon chuckles, wagging a slightly chiding finger that's far too fond for Merlin to take seriously. "We mustn't scoff at the Council members, Merlin, we know not what it is they have to debate over with themselves before they even open their mouth."

"Like whether or not they remember how to string words together in a sentence that doesn't make them sound like complete and total arses?"

This time he isn't quick enough to stop the snort. Merlin cackles as though he's won the highest victory in the land, getting Leon to laugh at one of his insults to the other Council members. In truth, Leon would happily join him in mocking their lack of intelligence any day, but today, when his pile is steadily growing higher and higher, he knows he must preserve most of that energy for actually drafting things that they'll have to read. And as tempting as it is, he has to refrain from making it as scathing as possible.

"Oh, come on," Merlin pouts when he says as much, "it'll do them some good! They're reading and writing the same dry things all the time, spice up their lives a bit."

"That spice might very well end up burning half of Camelot, as well you know."

Merlin huffs, handing him another sheet of paper. "Maybe you shouldn't do anything, then. Let them see how little they're really doing and make them deal with it."

"And create more work for myself down the road, when I inevitably tire of their lack of competence?"

"Make Arthur do it."

Leon shakes his head with a smile. "I'm afraid that aside from you, Merlin, none of us have the power to make Arthur do anything."

"I'll make him make them do things instead of relying on you all the time, that'll be fair."

He can't deny the way his chest feels a little bit lighter, listening to Merlin grumble about how ungrateful the Council is to have him, or how much Arthur doesn't commend him enough—he does, truly, in their meetings alone, where the two of them do actually get work done. It makes the pile of paperwork look a little less daunting, if only he knows that Merlin would happily sit in the room with him while he rants about how annoying it is to have to explain the same thing over and over.

"It's what I have to do when I tell Arthur he can't just make something happen out of nothing."

"Doesn't much help your case that you can, then, does it?"

Merlin's ears turn red. "Don't know what you're talking about."

+1.

Arthur knows that Merlin has magic and that he's being an idiot about it.

Merlin, for some reason, has decided unilaterally that he is the only one allowed to shoulder the burden of secrets between them. That he will be the one to do the stupid self-sacrificial thing that saves the kingdom, that he will be the one to hold close the knowledge that could otherwise doom all of their people, that he and he alone will carry the weight of Camelot on his back and never once complain.

Merlin is also, for aforementioned reasons, an idiot. Because if he thinks for one second that Arthur's not going to be right there next to him, in the thick of it, fighting for the idiotic sorcerer that won't lift a finger to save his own skin, then he's the most incorrect person to set foot in the kingdom since Uther Pendragon outlawed magic.

He's working on that, by the way.

So when Merlin comes into his chambers at the end of a very, very long day, intent on doing nothing more than changing Arthur for bed and slipping out into the night, Arthur stands up from his desk, puts his hands on Merlin's shoulders, and walks him over to the table.

"No," he says, gently yet firmly when Merlin squawks a protest, "you are going to sit and eat something before you fall over."

"For the love of—I'm fine, Arthur, now let me up—"

He holds Merlin down and slides a plate of fresh cakes over to him. Merlin's eyes go wide but he tries valiantly to struggle up nevertheless. "Eat. Just one."

"Just one? What, are the rest for you?"

"They're all for you," he says patiently, ignoring Merlin's spluttering, but I know you and I know you won't believe me, so I just want you to eat one."

" Why?"

"Because I don't think I've seen you eat anything today, and that's worrying." He glares at Merlin until Merlin picks up a cake and stuffs it into his mouth. "There, is that better?"

Merlin studiously avoids his gaze and he chuckles. That's as good an answer as anything. The hand on his shoulder gentles, stroking his fingers along the sharp curve of his back. He watches as Merlin eats a second, then a third, reaching over to slide the pear juice within reach. Merlin once again looks up at him with confusion, only for Arthur to raise his eyebrows and he mumbles something under his breath as he reaches for the drink too.

"There," he murmurs, still speaking softly, "that's much better. Now, up with you and let's get you changed."

"What— me changed? Arthur, I'm—"

"Ah—" he holds up a finger and to his surprise, Merlin's mouth shuts immediately. "Mm. You're exhausted. Don't bother trying to lie to me, I can see the bags under your eyes from here. Come over and lie down."

" What?"

Sighing at his oblivious idiot of a manservant, he goes and wraps his arms around Merlin's waist, smiling at the endearing spluttering as Merlin tries to ask him what the hell's going on. Arthur just waits, the smile playing on his lips, for Merlin to tire himself out and pull him close. He gets another short round of spluttering in his ear before he falls silent as he squeezes him around the middle.

"You've done a lot today," he whispers, "now it's time for you to rest."

"A-arthur? What's—what's going on?"

"You've taken care of everyone else except yourself. Now it's time for you to let me do that part."

Merlin's hands stutter where they landed on his shoulders. Arthur just holds him. After a moment, Merlin's voice comes again, soft and insecure. "I don't…I'm not…you shouldn't."

"Well, I'm the King of Camelot, and I can do as I like. And what I'd like, right now, is to take care of you." He leans back, one hand cupping Merlin's face. "Will you let me?"

Merlin stares at him for a long moment before jerking his head in a nod. Arthur smiles and leans closer, only to be stopped by a hand on his chest. "W-wait. I should—there's something I should tell you."

"Is it that you have magic?"

The hand falls away as Merlin gapes at him in shock. "How did you know?"

Arthur laughs low in his throat and leans forward to capture Merlin's lips with his.

Idiot.