A Different Destiny / Merthur

Sunshine

Merlin woke with a headache. It took him a full five minutes to work up the courage to open his eyes and, when he did, the light was so intense that he was forced to shut them immediately. He was already regretting waking up. His limbs were heavy, his throat was dry, and his head hurt.

Being conscious was exhausting.

And then, very gradually, Merlin began to remember the events of the previous day. He remembered the battle — though that was hazy — and had a vague recollection of falling, down and down as if into nothingness, and then the horribly vivid feeling of being on fire.

Merlin grimaced.

The memories came more easily after that. He remembered being shocked back into his body — freezing — and Arthur holding him tightly and helping him dress and draping him in a blanket as though it were a cape. He remembered being hugged, by Gwen and Gaius and Morgana and then, once the news had gotten out, by Gwaine and Mordred and each of the knights in turn. He remembered feeling tired, suddenly, and leaning into Arthur's touch, holding his hand for support and—

He remembered collapsing.

This time, Merlin actually managed to drag his hand up from under the covers and hit himself in the face.

Someone laughed.

Merlin's eyes flew open, only to be greeted with the same insufferable sunlight as before. "Ow!"

"Alright, you're okay." The voice was still laced with a hint of laughter.

Merlin felt the bed shift as someone sat down beside him. "Arthur?"

"Who else would it be?"

"I don't know." His brain was still foggy. "Gaius, maybe? What are you doing in my room anyway? What's the time? Am I late—"

"Merlin?"

"Yeah?"

"Relax. Besides," Arthur added, getting back up again to draw the curtains, "I'm not in your room."

"What?"

"You can look now," Arthur said, ignoring him.

Very slowly, Merlin eased an eye open. The light was a lot less harsh now; it filtered through the curtains, blending in with their red, and cast itself softly across the floorboards. The room seemed larger than usual. It was only when he opened both eyes that he realised Arthur was right: Arthur wasn't in Merlin's room, Merlin was in Arthur's.

"I made breakfast, if you're up to it."

Merlin blinked in surprise. He was still trying to process the fact that, somehow, he'd ended up in the Prince's bed and slept there, presumably beside Arthur, all night. Then Arthur had woken up and dressed, by himself, and was now standing by the windowsill, smiling, and declaring that he'd cooked something. "I'm having some sort of bizarre dream, aren't I?"

Arthur chuckled. "Why, what's so bizarre about this?"

"What isn't?"

"Well, you've woken up in bed, that seems pretty normal to me."

"In your bed."

"In your fiancé's bed, yes, so my point still stands—"

Merlin felt himself blush.

"—and breakfast has been made because, surprise, you slept in. Which isn't a criticism, by the way, just before you argue, because you did nearly die yesterday, so, you know." Arthur felt his smile waver. Perhaps he wasn't quite ready to make jokes just yet. Not about that. He didn't want to spiral.