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I actually finished a Merlin fic. *GASP*
Title: Suck it up, you big baby.
Series: Merlin BBC
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, Gaius, Uther,
Rating: PG
Warnings: severe abuse of commas.
Wordcount: 2,777
Summary: Arthur is ill. Merlin, as per usual, is thoroughly unimpressed.
I didn't have a beta for this so any and all mistakes are mine.
It is an unspoken agreement among the servants that whenever Arthur got sick, he transforms from an overgrown, prattish young man into an overgrown, prattish (and whiny) baby. That is, of course, before one Merlin Emyrs came along and screwed everything to hell. All in all, the changes are for the better and everyone is content to living their lives as usual. What many people will not realize until many years later, is how exactly Merlin came out on the other side unscathed.
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When asked about it many years later in various banquets or court functions, to which he would answer by gleefully and loudly describing in the most minute detail possible, Merlin would claim that the whine he heard was a cross between a cat in heat and beached whale. He would sit in his chair and share some hearty laughter with those lucky enough to be within earshot. Arthur would vehemently deny such a thing ever came to pass but dismissing the metaphor makes for bad gossip, so no one really listened to him.
There is a total of three witnesses to the aforementioned event—four if you counted Arthur, the person who performed the witnessed event—and whenever the occasion calls for a retelling of the tale, there would be a great clamor for finding a primary source. Each account of the events is slightly different but the version that spread throughout the court would, as Arthur claims, come from an unreliable and biased source. Gaius didn't talk about it, wisely claiming that it was not in his place to disclose such information. No one dared to ask Uther about it, because he was Uther and that's all the reason anyone ever needs. So by default, the only circulating story comes from Merlin.
Considering his status as “only man alive who can insult Arthur Pendragon and can get away with his life”, Merlin (to whose story the court gossip merrily sank its talons into, much to Arthur’s dismay), had no qualms about recounting his version of the events.
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The handsome, regal, strong, proud Crown Prince of Camelot lay trembling on his bed, curling into a ball over to one side, clammy skin a putrid shade of gray and disturbingly hot to the touch. Arthur is the picture of misery as he whined and heaved an already empty stomach through another round of spasms.
Of course, no one during this time period understands the concept of microbes, bacteria or the like, much less blame the whole thing on E. Coli or Salmonella. However, it is common knowledge that improperly cooked meat is much more likely to cause illness and unfavorable bowel movements, so Arthur had no excuse.
"Are you sure that there has not been any sorcery afoot?" Uther asks gravely. Well, there is always that. Leave it to Uther to somehow weave sorcery into the conversation. Again.
Arthur tries to groan in exasperation. Would you stop talking around me, he wants to say, I'm right here.
Everyone's eyes snapped to focus on Arthur.
Did he say that out loud? The prince blinks at the attention, a bit thrown as to why he is suddenly the center of attention.
Uther, who has that tick in his left eye signaling an imminent bout of either self-righteous gloating or flatulence, looked back to Gaius pointedly as he guestured at his son with the 'see what I mean?' expression plastered on his face.
Gaius continues to stare at Arthur as his eyebrow making a valiant effort to merge with his hairline.
Merlin tries hard not to burst out laughing.
“That can’t be natural,” Uther gripes.
Gaius snaps out of his revere and looks at his king in disbelief.
"I assure you, sire," he says slowly, straining to avoid sounding like he was trying to lecture a five-year-old boy, "This is not the work of sorcery or magic. All the symptoms point to an improperly cooked fowl, or perhaps a badly prepared stew."
Merlin flinches at how close to the truth that statement had been. He knew the chicken looked funny. He even repeatedly warned Arthur about it so as far as Merlin is concerned, Arthur deserved every minute of this suffering. It might even teach the stubborn prat a lesson about heading advice.
Uther looks rather convinced of his own theory. And while it is reasonable that Uther suspects sorcery, especially since the debacle with the questing beast had little more than two seasons to fade from memory, it was entirely unnecessary for him to proclaim it now when it was so obviously a case of vigorous indigestion.
Gaius just gives the king a surly look.
As Arthur interrupts the silent conversation with another whole body retch, Merlin focuses all of his concentration on preventing himself from rolling his eyes. Uther, for all his concerned hovering (though no one in the room can safely call him out on it) over the foot of the bed as Arthur tried to expel everything he's ever eaten into the sick pail, was still the king-with thunderclaps of doom and billowing capes following his steps. As much as Merlin would like to roll his eyes at the man's unwarranted prejudice, the action would not gain the boy any positive input for Uther's current undoubtedly dismal opinion of him.
"He should be recovered fully within the next few days, if not sooner." Gaius says calmly, ignoring the heaving body below him.
Uther opened his mouth to protest.
Gaius would have none of it. "He shall regain his strength quickly." Gaius continued. "All it will take is some peace and quiet." He turned an accusing eye at Uther, who for his part either didn't notice or didn't care about how high his court physician's brow was getting to his hair line.
"We should leave him be for the time being," Gaius continued.
Uther made no attempt to move. With his eyes so focused on his son, Uther did not catch the pointed look on Gaius' face. He let the silence stretch past the point of being awkward because he is king and he could pull shit like that.
Having had enough, Gaius used the tried and true method to get people to leave, "Besides, I would despair if this illness to spread to you, sire."
It was a load of rubbish, and Merlin knew it. The only way Uther would come down with the same illness as Arthur is if he had consumed the same contaminated food that his son had eaten. It was a bit of knowledge courtesy to one of the few times that Merlin actually paid attention to one of Gaius' long winded ramblings of cause and cure. There was no reason for Uther to get sick. But the less he knew about these things, the better off everyone else was so Merlin kept his mouth shut. He watches in rapt fascination as Gaius maneuvers himself in a way that herded Uther towards the door without the king ever noticing that he was being herded.
One of these days, Merlin is going to ask Gaius how he did that.
"Keep him properly hydrated." Gaius tossed back to Merlin without missing a step, "Other than that, there's not much we can do but wait."
Then Gaius all but bodily throws Uther out the door in that strange no-physical-contact way of his and closes the door with a resounding thud. For that, Merlin would be eternally grateful and indebted to Gaius for the rest of his life. Sending a mental thanks to the aged physician for the privacy, Merlin turned his attention back to the miserable lump of sick prince before him. It appeared that Arthur had finally finished this round of rejecting his own innards so Merlin had a chance to put down the pail and replace the wet cloth that fallen to the side after about the third or fourth heave. Silently, he whispers a small cooling charm onto his fingers and lightly presses his hands to Arthur’s forehead.
Instantly, Arthur moaned in appreciation and leaned into the touch, seeking out as much of it as possible.
When Arthur seemed to settle down a bit, Merlin can't resist the desire to take a jab at the prince, "So," he says casually, "What was that?"
Arthur looks up at him, confused. "What?" he croaks. His voice is shot from the sickness and puke.
"That-" Merlin makes a rather sad noise, he tries to mimic the sound as close as possible, "you made just now."
Arthur looks so mortified that Merlin considered offering up a few comforting words, but decided against it when Arthur decided to speak, indignant, "I made no such noise."
Merlin smiles pleasantly, "And in front of your father no less,"
"I did not-"
"-and even Gaius seemed a bit concerned."
"-no way I would make a sound like that."
"I've got two witnesses," Merlin says logically, "Would you like me to bring them back to confirm?"
Arthur gives him the stink eye, “Don’t you have duties to attend?”
“I could go down to the kitchens and fetch you some more chicken stew.” Merlin suggests brightly.
“I hate you so much,” Arthur tries to say, protesting this appalling suggestion with dignity and his masculinity intact. But he only manages to gurgle out a whimper as his sore throat spasms in protest.
“You should be thankful I’m around to wipe off your sweat,” Merlin states and he is proud that he is able to keep a straight face. His expression softens, “You do look a bit under the weather, sire. But Gaius thinks this will only last a few days at the most.”
“Are you sure you can’t just magic this away?” Arthur demands weakly, “What kind of second-rate warlock are you?”
It’s been a few months since Arthur discovered Merlin’s magic. Although they went through an initial rough patch of not speaking to each other (and Merlin performing the contradictory feat of avoiding Arthur and watching over him at the same time), Arthur eventually relented and ended his self imposed silent treatment after Morgana and Gwen ran their own brand of interference. After that, it certainly didn’t take Arthur long to start taking advantage of this new development in their relationship (the knights will suspect that it was magic behind those pranks, but the whole speak-it-and-Uther-will-have-you-burned thing will keep them from calling Arthur out on his bullshit until years later).
“I told you already,” Merlin huffs in exasperation, “I tried every single spell I could find. You’re just going to have to wait this one out.”
“You are beyond useless.” Arthur gripes.
Merlin smirks, “Well then, I hope you enjoy stewing in the smell of your own bile.”
"I’m desolate, Merlin." Arthur rasps. "The least you can do is give me a little respect while I'm practically lying on my deathbed." He groans pitifully, pulling the kicked puppy expression on full blast, vying for some pity like a child who wants an extra serving of pudding.
Merlin winced. The memories of how close Arthur had actually come to his death still leave a bitter taste. But since Gaius is the only other person who knows the truth, he needs to avoid any suspicious behavior when the topic comes up. Merlin schools his expression back into a neutral base and huffs, "Yes, sire. You’re dying. And what do you suppose the scribes are going to write in the history books? The great and mighty Prince Arthur who was able to defeat a hapless unicorn, got waylaid by a dead chicken?" If Arthur notices Merlin's hesitation, he doesn't mention it.
The put-out expression on Arthur's face tugged at Merlin's heartstrings and he almost apologizes for the teasing. Almost.
"You're the worst servant I've ever had."
"Thank you, sire." Merlin says sincerely. “You’re still an incorrigible prat.”
Merlin would later find out from Gwen that the backwards logic he and Arthur shared creeps out everyone else in the castle, but by the point she saw fit to bring him up to date on that bit of castle gossip, no one had any doubt about the state of their relationship so it didn't matter anyway.
"You know, one of my nursemaids told me that the best way to get rid of a sickness is to pass it on to someone else." Arthur smirks at him, a bit of bile dripping down the side of his chin, "I hope I give it to you."
“Of course, sire.” You just keep thinking that if it makes you feel better. Merlin just rolls his eyes the way he doesn't dare to in front of Uther and continues holding the sick pail next to Arthur's face as the prince starts another round of heaving. He's tempted to tell Arthur that the illness was not contagious, but the poor soul seems to be a little preoccupied at the moment.
Merlin stays with Arthur for the rest of the night being the generally useless manservant he always is, holding up the pail and wiping off drool.
There is still some more complaints hidden within Arthur's arsenal and he makes no attempt to hold them back. Merlin indulges the prince, but gives as good as he gets because he is Merlin and that's just what he does. Their light bickering eventually lulls Arthur into fitful sleep, still sweating with fever and clutching on to Merlin's wrist in a death grip. Merlin could easily spell himself free, but he figures he'd just get called back in the morning and this bed is much more comfortable anyway. He lays down and pointedly does not snuggle up next to the prince and slowly falls asleep himself to the sound of Arthur's light snores.
By the time the morning light filtered in between the curtains, Arthur is sleeping peacefully, his hand still curled lightly over Merlin's fingers.
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Right on schedule with Gaius’ prediction, Arthur had been able to return to his feet and resume terrorizing his knights within two days of his horizontal post in bed. He was fully back to his prattish self and all traces of his illness had disappeared, much to the relief of every servant in the castle.
Uther quiets down about sorcery for an entire week and the temporary vacation for his nerves is so welcome that Merlin doesn't complain about the cruel and unusual punishment of herb gathering.
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--- Roughly a fortnight later ---
Merlin hates the world and everything in it.
He tries hard to inhale as much air as he can in between throwing up his stomach.
The cooks down in the kitchens apparently had a short memory span. Either that or they secretly hated Merlin and targeted him and poisoned him on purpose. It's a toss up, the head cook had been giving him some odd looks the past couple of days.
"Funny how these things come full circle, doesn't it?" Arthur smirks as he watches Merlin be miserable into the pail next to his head.
"I can turn you into a bug and then accidentally not see where my foot lands." Merlin wants to reply. He would do it too, just to prove the point, but all he manages is another dry heave.
Damn the dizziness blurring his vision, making this conversation is a bit too one sided for his tastes.
"I'm sorry," Arthur murmured quietly. Had Merlin not been between retches at that point, he would've missed the whispered apology. He looks up between his sweaty bangs and mentally calculates the chances of landing a solid punch to Arthur's face without puking. There is very little room in his fraying nerves for pity right now. He regrettably decides not to try, considering his inability to move beyond rotating his neck slightly to the right, which as of this point is the only movement that does not cause him to spontaneously projectile vomit.
Merlin groans pitifully.
“If there’s anything I can do-,” the bastard has the audacity to look somewhat sheepish.
"Take your bloody illness back," Merlin wants to say. "It's your fault I'm throwing up my liver, you blasted pompous ass." It's completely untrue, of course, but guilt makes Arthur pliant and Merlin is not above abusing that fact if it would just make him leave and let Merlin suffer in peace.
He never got around to it. A particularly violent spasm wretches through his body and he winds up regurgitating whatever is left in his stomach while trying to bad mouth Arthur. The vomit makes a graceful ark across the air, missing the pail spectacularly, and splatters onto Arthur's trousers from the knee down.
Merlin feels slightly better.
So this started out as schmoopy h/c and degraded into the boys sniping at each other. *shakes head* I swear I tried to write them playing nice.
Title: Suck it up, you big baby.
Series: Merlin BBC
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, Gaius, Uther,
Rating: PG
Warnings: severe abuse of commas.
Wordcount: 2,777
Summary: Arthur is ill. Merlin, as per usual, is thoroughly unimpressed.
I didn't have a beta for this so any and all mistakes are mine.
It is an unspoken agreement among the servants that whenever Arthur got sick, he transforms from an overgrown, prattish young man into an overgrown, prattish (and whiny) baby. That is, of course, before one Merlin Emyrs came along and screwed everything to hell. All in all, the changes are for the better and everyone is content to living their lives as usual. What many people will not realize until many years later, is how exactly Merlin came out on the other side unscathed.
----------------------------------------------
When asked about it many years later in various banquets or court functions, to which he would answer by gleefully and loudly describing in the most minute detail possible, Merlin would claim that the whine he heard was a cross between a cat in heat and beached whale. He would sit in his chair and share some hearty laughter with those lucky enough to be within earshot. Arthur would vehemently deny such a thing ever came to pass but dismissing the metaphor makes for bad gossip, so no one really listened to him.
There is a total of three witnesses to the aforementioned event—four if you counted Arthur, the person who performed the witnessed event—and whenever the occasion calls for a retelling of the tale, there would be a great clamor for finding a primary source. Each account of the events is slightly different but the version that spread throughout the court would, as Arthur claims, come from an unreliable and biased source. Gaius didn't talk about it, wisely claiming that it was not in his place to disclose such information. No one dared to ask Uther about it, because he was Uther and that's all the reason anyone ever needs. So by default, the only circulating story comes from Merlin.
Considering his status as “only man alive who can insult Arthur Pendragon and can get away with his life”, Merlin (to whose story the court gossip merrily sank its talons into, much to Arthur’s dismay), had no qualms about recounting his version of the events.
---------------------------------------------
The handsome, regal, strong, proud Crown Prince of Camelot lay trembling on his bed, curling into a ball over to one side, clammy skin a putrid shade of gray and disturbingly hot to the touch. Arthur is the picture of misery as he whined and heaved an already empty stomach through another round of spasms.
Of course, no one during this time period understands the concept of microbes, bacteria or the like, much less blame the whole thing on E. Coli or Salmonella. However, it is common knowledge that improperly cooked meat is much more likely to cause illness and unfavorable bowel movements, so Arthur had no excuse.
"Are you sure that there has not been any sorcery afoot?" Uther asks gravely. Well, there is always that. Leave it to Uther to somehow weave sorcery into the conversation. Again.
Arthur tries to groan in exasperation. Would you stop talking around me, he wants to say, I'm right here.
Everyone's eyes snapped to focus on Arthur.
Did he say that out loud? The prince blinks at the attention, a bit thrown as to why he is suddenly the center of attention.
Uther, who has that tick in his left eye signaling an imminent bout of either self-righteous gloating or flatulence, looked back to Gaius pointedly as he guestured at his son with the 'see what I mean?' expression plastered on his face.
Gaius continues to stare at Arthur as his eyebrow making a valiant effort to merge with his hairline.
Merlin tries hard not to burst out laughing.
“That can’t be natural,” Uther gripes.
Gaius snaps out of his revere and looks at his king in disbelief.
"I assure you, sire," he says slowly, straining to avoid sounding like he was trying to lecture a five-year-old boy, "This is not the work of sorcery or magic. All the symptoms point to an improperly cooked fowl, or perhaps a badly prepared stew."
Merlin flinches at how close to the truth that statement had been. He knew the chicken looked funny. He even repeatedly warned Arthur about it so as far as Merlin is concerned, Arthur deserved every minute of this suffering. It might even teach the stubborn prat a lesson about heading advice.
Uther looks rather convinced of his own theory. And while it is reasonable that Uther suspects sorcery, especially since the debacle with the questing beast had little more than two seasons to fade from memory, it was entirely unnecessary for him to proclaim it now when it was so obviously a case of vigorous indigestion.
Gaius just gives the king a surly look.
As Arthur interrupts the silent conversation with another whole body retch, Merlin focuses all of his concentration on preventing himself from rolling his eyes. Uther, for all his concerned hovering (though no one in the room can safely call him out on it) over the foot of the bed as Arthur tried to expel everything he's ever eaten into the sick pail, was still the king-with thunderclaps of doom and billowing capes following his steps. As much as Merlin would like to roll his eyes at the man's unwarranted prejudice, the action would not gain the boy any positive input for Uther's current undoubtedly dismal opinion of him.
"He should be recovered fully within the next few days, if not sooner." Gaius says calmly, ignoring the heaving body below him.
Uther opened his mouth to protest.
Gaius would have none of it. "He shall regain his strength quickly." Gaius continued. "All it will take is some peace and quiet." He turned an accusing eye at Uther, who for his part either didn't notice or didn't care about how high his court physician's brow was getting to his hair line.
"We should leave him be for the time being," Gaius continued.
Uther made no attempt to move. With his eyes so focused on his son, Uther did not catch the pointed look on Gaius' face. He let the silence stretch past the point of being awkward because he is king and he could pull shit like that.
Having had enough, Gaius used the tried and true method to get people to leave, "Besides, I would despair if this illness to spread to you, sire."
It was a load of rubbish, and Merlin knew it. The only way Uther would come down with the same illness as Arthur is if he had consumed the same contaminated food that his son had eaten. It was a bit of knowledge courtesy to one of the few times that Merlin actually paid attention to one of Gaius' long winded ramblings of cause and cure. There was no reason for Uther to get sick. But the less he knew about these things, the better off everyone else was so Merlin kept his mouth shut. He watches in rapt fascination as Gaius maneuvers himself in a way that herded Uther towards the door without the king ever noticing that he was being herded.
One of these days, Merlin is going to ask Gaius how he did that.
"Keep him properly hydrated." Gaius tossed back to Merlin without missing a step, "Other than that, there's not much we can do but wait."
Then Gaius all but bodily throws Uther out the door in that strange no-physical-contact way of his and closes the door with a resounding thud. For that, Merlin would be eternally grateful and indebted to Gaius for the rest of his life. Sending a mental thanks to the aged physician for the privacy, Merlin turned his attention back to the miserable lump of sick prince before him. It appeared that Arthur had finally finished this round of rejecting his own innards so Merlin had a chance to put down the pail and replace the wet cloth that fallen to the side after about the third or fourth heave. Silently, he whispers a small cooling charm onto his fingers and lightly presses his hands to Arthur’s forehead.
Instantly, Arthur moaned in appreciation and leaned into the touch, seeking out as much of it as possible.
When Arthur seemed to settle down a bit, Merlin can't resist the desire to take a jab at the prince, "So," he says casually, "What was that?"
Arthur looks up at him, confused. "What?" he croaks. His voice is shot from the sickness and puke.
"That-" Merlin makes a rather sad noise, he tries to mimic the sound as close as possible, "you made just now."
Arthur looks so mortified that Merlin considered offering up a few comforting words, but decided against it when Arthur decided to speak, indignant, "I made no such noise."
Merlin smiles pleasantly, "And in front of your father no less,"
"I did not-"
"-and even Gaius seemed a bit concerned."
"-no way I would make a sound like that."
"I've got two witnesses," Merlin says logically, "Would you like me to bring them back to confirm?"
Arthur gives him the stink eye, “Don’t you have duties to attend?”
“I could go down to the kitchens and fetch you some more chicken stew.” Merlin suggests brightly.
“I hate you so much,” Arthur tries to say, protesting this appalling suggestion with dignity and his masculinity intact. But he only manages to gurgle out a whimper as his sore throat spasms in protest.
“You should be thankful I’m around to wipe off your sweat,” Merlin states and he is proud that he is able to keep a straight face. His expression softens, “You do look a bit under the weather, sire. But Gaius thinks this will only last a few days at the most.”
“Are you sure you can’t just magic this away?” Arthur demands weakly, “What kind of second-rate warlock are you?”
It’s been a few months since Arthur discovered Merlin’s magic. Although they went through an initial rough patch of not speaking to each other (and Merlin performing the contradictory feat of avoiding Arthur and watching over him at the same time), Arthur eventually relented and ended his self imposed silent treatment after Morgana and Gwen ran their own brand of interference. After that, it certainly didn’t take Arthur long to start taking advantage of this new development in their relationship (the knights will suspect that it was magic behind those pranks, but the whole speak-it-and-Uther-will-have-you-burned thing will keep them from calling Arthur out on his bullshit until years later).
“I told you already,” Merlin huffs in exasperation, “I tried every single spell I could find. You’re just going to have to wait this one out.”
“You are beyond useless.” Arthur gripes.
Merlin smirks, “Well then, I hope you enjoy stewing in the smell of your own bile.”
"I’m desolate, Merlin." Arthur rasps. "The least you can do is give me a little respect while I'm practically lying on my deathbed." He groans pitifully, pulling the kicked puppy expression on full blast, vying for some pity like a child who wants an extra serving of pudding.
Merlin winced. The memories of how close Arthur had actually come to his death still leave a bitter taste. But since Gaius is the only other person who knows the truth, he needs to avoid any suspicious behavior when the topic comes up. Merlin schools his expression back into a neutral base and huffs, "Yes, sire. You’re dying. And what do you suppose the scribes are going to write in the history books? The great and mighty Prince Arthur who was able to defeat a hapless unicorn, got waylaid by a dead chicken?" If Arthur notices Merlin's hesitation, he doesn't mention it.
The put-out expression on Arthur's face tugged at Merlin's heartstrings and he almost apologizes for the teasing. Almost.
"You're the worst servant I've ever had."
"Thank you, sire." Merlin says sincerely. “You’re still an incorrigible prat.”
Merlin would later find out from Gwen that the backwards logic he and Arthur shared creeps out everyone else in the castle, but by the point she saw fit to bring him up to date on that bit of castle gossip, no one had any doubt about the state of their relationship so it didn't matter anyway.
"You know, one of my nursemaids told me that the best way to get rid of a sickness is to pass it on to someone else." Arthur smirks at him, a bit of bile dripping down the side of his chin, "I hope I give it to you."
“Of course, sire.” You just keep thinking that if it makes you feel better. Merlin just rolls his eyes the way he doesn't dare to in front of Uther and continues holding the sick pail next to Arthur's face as the prince starts another round of heaving. He's tempted to tell Arthur that the illness was not contagious, but the poor soul seems to be a little preoccupied at the moment.
Merlin stays with Arthur for the rest of the night being the generally useless manservant he always is, holding up the pail and wiping off drool.
There is still some more complaints hidden within Arthur's arsenal and he makes no attempt to hold them back. Merlin indulges the prince, but gives as good as he gets because he is Merlin and that's just what he does. Their light bickering eventually lulls Arthur into fitful sleep, still sweating with fever and clutching on to Merlin's wrist in a death grip. Merlin could easily spell himself free, but he figures he'd just get called back in the morning and this bed is much more comfortable anyway. He lays down and pointedly does not snuggle up next to the prince and slowly falls asleep himself to the sound of Arthur's light snores.
By the time the morning light filtered in between the curtains, Arthur is sleeping peacefully, his hand still curled lightly over Merlin's fingers.
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Right on schedule with Gaius’ prediction, Arthur had been able to return to his feet and resume terrorizing his knights within two days of his horizontal post in bed. He was fully back to his prattish self and all traces of his illness had disappeared, much to the relief of every servant in the castle.
Uther quiets down about sorcery for an entire week and the temporary vacation for his nerves is so welcome that Merlin doesn't complain about the cruel and unusual punishment of herb gathering.
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--- Roughly a fortnight later ---
Merlin hates the world and everything in it.
He tries hard to inhale as much air as he can in between throwing up his stomach.
The cooks down in the kitchens apparently had a short memory span. Either that or they secretly hated Merlin and targeted him and poisoned him on purpose. It's a toss up, the head cook had been giving him some odd looks the past couple of days.
"Funny how these things come full circle, doesn't it?" Arthur smirks as he watches Merlin be miserable into the pail next to his head.
"I can turn you into a bug and then accidentally not see where my foot lands." Merlin wants to reply. He would do it too, just to prove the point, but all he manages is another dry heave.
Damn the dizziness blurring his vision, making this conversation is a bit too one sided for his tastes.
"I'm sorry," Arthur murmured quietly. Had Merlin not been between retches at that point, he would've missed the whispered apology. He looks up between his sweaty bangs and mentally calculates the chances of landing a solid punch to Arthur's face without puking. There is very little room in his fraying nerves for pity right now. He regrettably decides not to try, considering his inability to move beyond rotating his neck slightly to the right, which as of this point is the only movement that does not cause him to spontaneously projectile vomit.
Merlin groans pitifully.
“If there’s anything I can do-,” the bastard has the audacity to look somewhat sheepish.
"Take your bloody illness back," Merlin wants to say. "It's your fault I'm throwing up my liver, you blasted pompous ass." It's completely untrue, of course, but guilt makes Arthur pliant and Merlin is not above abusing that fact if it would just make him leave and let Merlin suffer in peace.
He never got around to it. A particularly violent spasm wretches through his body and he winds up regurgitating whatever is left in his stomach while trying to bad mouth Arthur. The vomit makes a graceful ark across the air, missing the pail spectacularly, and splatters onto Arthur's trousers from the knee down.
Merlin feels slightly better.
So this started out as schmoopy h/c and degraded into the boys sniping at each other. *shakes head* I swear I tried to write them playing nice.
Aw...
:D
Anyway, love this fic and their easy banter. ^_^
no subject
I love Gaius' secret abilities, along with the court being unable to understand the intricacies of the Merlin/Arthur relationship.
I agree with Arthur on the full circle business, lol.