Chapter Text
When you spent so much of your time running around after a petulant, ungrateful and highly demanding prat, it was miserably easy to forget about your own needs. Gaius frequently scolded him for overworking himself and often commented on how little he ate for someone who did so much physical activity. This morning was when his mentor brought both of those things up. Unfortunately and ironically, Merlin didn’t have time to worry about those things and he’d run out the door with a dismissive, but not unappreciative, “Thanks Gaius!” .
Now, on a scouting trip with Arthur and his knights, he wishes he’d paid some mind to what Gaius had said.
They’d set up camp for the night. Or rather, Merlin had set up camp, receiving minimal help from any of the other group members. He knows he’s the servant but come on, there’s 6 of you, at least drag over a log to sit on or something.
He’d cooked and served the food, quickly moving on to laying out everyone’s bedrolls. The knights scoffed down their food and were done by the time he’d finished so he gathered the dishes and pot and got to work on cleaning them in a nearby stream. When he’d trudged back, everyone was settling down for the night and Arthur made a comment at him about not making a racket. He’d put away the crockery and patted down each of the horses before deeming he’d done enough for the night.
He drags himself back over to his own horse, patting the mare’s snout and reaching for his bedroll attached to the saddle, only to find it wasn’t there. He confusedly looks around the camp, wondering if he put it out already, but finds 6 bedrolls filled with 6 men. He groans, thumping his head against his mare’s flank. He can visualise exactly where his bedroll is, which is miles away on his bedroom floor in Camelot. He’d run straight past it on his way out this morning. Fat load of good it does there. Gaius was right, he needed to think about himself more.
There’s not much he can do about it now, so he sags in defeat and hobbles towards the dying fire, deciding he’ll just have to curl up next to it for the night. The ground offers an uncomfortable bed and he knows he’ll wake up sore and cold tomorrow. Nevertheless, he shifts and shuffles as he tries to find the most comfortable position, eventually settling curled on his side. His stomach grumbles and he belatedly realises he forgot to eat, he’d been in such a rush to feed everyone else and complete his chores. He just settles in further, willing himself to ignore the familiar ache. One good thing about being as exhausted as he was, was that he could fall asleep wherever and whenever he liked.
He very quickly drifted off, but was woken a minute or two later by movement in the camp. He dismissed it as a knight needing the toilet and began to fall asleep again when he heard the person walking closer to him. He was about to open an eye to check for danger, when he felt something be draped over him. A blanket? Who would be giving him their blanket?
Hands were reaching down, adjusting the blanket to cover all of him and then tucking it in gently around his shoulders and face, taking extra care to make sure it didn't cover his nose.
Ah, he thought, that’s who.
There's a few seconds where nothing happens and Merlin wonders if Arthur is just standing there staring at him. Then, ever so delicately, a finger pushes a stray lock of hair out of his face.
The actions were so tender and kind, Merlin knew Arthur wouldn’t be doing it if he thought Merlin was awake. The touch was so familiar that he was almost ashamed of it, but the fingers grazing his skin made his heart skip a beat, and he knew it was wrong to be ashamed of such a wondrous thing.
The hands retreat gingerly and he grieves their loss immediately but celebrates the warmth they left behind. He waits until he hears Arthur make it back to his own station before cracking his eyes open to process what had just happened. As expected, he’s met by the darkness of the night, but also finds a small package left by his head. He struggles to think what it is, reaching out and poking it to feel what’s inside. He makes out the shape of some bread and dried meat.
He’s almost horrified to realise Arthur had been paying such close attention to him. And yet, his chest blossoms with warmth and he squeezes his eyes shut against the joyous tears that gather there.
Maybe they don’t need to speak about it after all.