A Different Destiny / Merthur

Embers

It was three days before Arthur had recovered enough to leave the medical tent.

He'd spent the majority of those three days phasing in and out of sleep. He'd lie for hours on the bed, unmoving, just staring up at the cloth ceiling, watching as it fluttered with each change of the breeze. Or he'd shut his eyes and lose himself to sleep, and when he woke — just for a second — he'd forget where he was. In that second he'd panic. He'd feel it rising in the pit of his stomach like a sickness, and his throat would go dry and he'd wonder why his shoulder ached so much and why his limbs were so heavy and why he could barely move. It was like a reoccurring nightmare. But then the moment would pass, and everything would come flooding back; he'd see Merlin sat somewhere nearby, reading a book or watching over him, and he'd relax again, sinking back into sleep with a smile.

Sometimes pain shot through his shoulder and jolted him awake. Sometimes he woke alone. Sometimes he couldn't sleep at all, and each second spent awake was so mind-numbing that he almost wished he was back in the heat of battle, just to have something to do.

After the third day he'd had enough. Luckily for him, that was also the same day that Iseldir gave him the clear to explore.  There were conditions, of course: only walking was allowed, he wasn't to do anything that would rip his stitches or put his shoulder under strain, and he was to make sure Merlin was with him whenever possible — as if, Arthur had thought, he'd want to be without Merlin anyway.

Arthur had taken a while to get out of bed but, once he was finally standing — stretching out like a cat in the sun — he instantly began to feel better.

"These," Merlin smiled, passing him a set of fresh clothes, "are for you."

"I'm already wearing clothes."

"You've been sleeping in those for three days.  I don't think they're clean anymore."

Arthur rolled his eyes.  He felt strange in Druid clothes.  Their browns and greens were quite different from the stark reds he often wore, and the fabrics had an entirely different feel to them.  He knew he was being fussy.  Still, he reminded, as he pulled his old shirt off and reached for the new one, he liked the way the clothes smelled: like fresh grass and smoke. 

"Are you finished yet?"

Arthur looked up to see Merlin, stood at the other end of the tent, with his back to him.  "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you to change."

"Have you hit your head or something?" Arthur laughed, "you've seen me change a thousand times."

"I know, I just—" Merlin continued to look directly at the wall, "I don't know.  I thought you might want some privacy."

The Prince stared at him for a moment and then, very slowly, a smirk started to spread across his face.  "Merlin," he teased, taking several steps towards him, "you're not embarrassed now, are you?"

"What?  No."  Merlin's cheeks were on fire and he had to fight the urge to hide his face in his hands.  He didn't know why he suddenly felt so awkward, or so flustered, he'd helped the Prince change almost every single day and now—

Merlin jumped as Arthur — still shirtless — pressed himself against his back, snaking his arms around the brunet's waist and kissing his neck.

"What about now?"  Arthur whispered, brushing his lips over the exposed skin and enjoying the way Merlin shivered beneath him.  "Still not embarrassed?"

Merlin made a small noise in reply, letting his head fall back onto the Prince's uninjured shoulder.

"See, not so bad is it?"