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Arthur Pendragon did not get sick.
This was simply another fact of life. Arthur had always been resilient, the very picture of health.
When the other men on patrol would sniffle and cough after a cold, wet night spent in an unexpected rain shower, Arthur always found himself leading the group the next day feeling bright and refreshed.
He got wounded in battle, of course, like any other knight. Every once in a while, that wound might become infected and cause a fever. But Arthur wouldn’t call that getting sick.
Did he get poisoned? Of course. Cursed? Unfortunately, yes. Near-assassinated? On occasions.
But Arthur did not get sick. The Crown Prince of Camelot simply did not succumb to sickness like some commoner.
And certainly not to the flu.
“I think you’re getting sick.”
Arthur, sat at his desk, looked up from the letter he was writing and glared at his manservant, already feeling massively irritated.
“Shut up.”
Merlin, as usual, ignored him.
“You seem flushed,” he said and bowed over the other side of the desk to peer at his face. “It looks like you’re burning up.”
“I’m fine,” Arthur growled and focused on his letter. He had promised his father he would write to Prince Hendrick to keep up good relations, though only the Gods knew what he should have in common with a pimply thirteen-year-old boy.
“I’m going to get you some soup,” Merlin announced.
“No,” Arthur snapped, “leave it!”
Half an hour later, Merlin served him chicken soup for dinner.
“What is this?” Arthur growled, pushing the bowl away and making a show of looking around for another plate. “I want real food.”
“This will be good for you,” Merlin insisted and unceremoniously shoved a spoon in Arthur’s hand. “I’ve put some special herbs in it, to keep your strength up. You sound rather congested, did you know?”
Arthur, his head hazy from coming up with platitudes and inconsequential anecdotes to fill two pages worth of letter for Hendrick, was not amused.
“Go and get me some roasted meat!” he ordered, having half a mind to throw the spoon at Merlin’s face.
Merlin, unimpressed, had the audacity to cross his arms and stare him down. Arthur ended up eating the soup, though only because he was quite hungry.
When he got up from the table, he found himself swaying on the spot. Merlin was by his side a moment later and immediately started fussing.
“Don’t touch me,” Arthur growled, slapping at him.
“You’re sick,” Merlin told him and a moment later, he had grabbed Arthur’s shoulders in a surprisingly strong grip and was guiding him towards the bed.
“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, feeling himself grow more and more grumpy as he was all but shoved through the room. “I’m not going to bed, it’s not even fully dark out.”
“Sit,” Merlin told him and started to push him down onto the mattress.
For some reason, Arthur’s knees were suddenly feeling so weak that he ended up following Merlin’s lead and rested on the edge of the bed.
“I’m the Prince,” he said, though he sounded petulant even to his own ears, “you can’t order me around.”
Merlin placed a hand on Arthur’s forehead and frowned.
“Don’t touch me,” Arthur repeated his earlier complaint.
“I was right,” Merlin muttered, completely unfazed, “you’ve got a fever. I’ll have somebody fetch Gaius immediately.”
Arthur grabbed the servant’s wrist and pushed his hand away.
“You will do no such thing. I’m not sick!”
Merlin’s frown deepened. “Getting delirious already?”
“I’m not sick,” Arthur repeated. “Leave me be!”
To prove his point, he tried to stand – and promptly collapsed on the spot.
“Arthur!” Merlin exclaimed.
For a moment, Arthur felt just a bit disoriented before realising he was now sitting on the floor. He found himself blinking up at Merlin’s face, which was quite close to his own and lined with worry.
“Come on, then, up you go,” Merlin told him and hoisted Arthur back onto the bed with some effort.
Arthur watched Merlin kneel and remove his boots, then rubbed a hand over his face, trying to chase away the sudden feeling of fatigue creeping up on him.
Merlin finished with the boots and got up.
“Scoot!” he said. “I need to get those breeches off.”
Arthur found that he no longer had the energy to argue with his manservant. With some difficulty, he wiggled back until he was lying on the bed and endured Merlin’s manhandling.
“I’ll be right back,” Merlin told him when he was finished undressing him. “Lie down properly, will you?”
Arthur heard him open the door and talk to somebody outside. When Merlin returned, Arthur was lying on top of the covers. He had to admit, he was feeling rather hot and sticky - which didn't prove anything.
Merlin looked at him, then shook his head.
“At least get yourself covered with a sheet,” he said with an air of disapproval.
“You’re making a fuss,” Arthur told him, but let himself be pushed and prodded until he was resting on two fluffed pillows, a thin layer of white linen spread across him.
“Arthur, you’re very clearly sick,” Merlin replied, sounding irritated. “I think that deserves a fuss.”
“I’m not sick,” Arthur said and blinked when it came out as a croak.
By the time Gaius showed up in his chambers, Arthur had to admit that maybe he was a little bit sick after all.
“You should have called for me earlier,” Gaius said, throwing Merlin a disapproving glance as he pressed a hand against Arthur’s temple, “his fever is running quite high!”
“I’m sorry,” Merlin replied, looking chastised, “but he got worse really quickly. I swear I made him go to bed at once!”
“It’s not his fault, Gaius,” Arthur murmured. “I was valiantly resisting his efforts.”
Merlin threw him a surprised look. “Well, now he really has me worried,” he announced.
“Idiot,” Arthur muttered.
“How are you feeling, sire?” Gaius asked. “Any pain?”
“Everything hurts,” Arthur replied miserably.
He endured a thorough examination from Gaius, all the while watching Merlin potter about the room. The manservant kept throwing him long looks and ended up standing at the other side of the bed, plucking at the sheet and looking very much concerned.
“Quit hovering, Merlin, I’m not dying!” Arthur told him off. “Am I?” he added with a look for Gaius.
“No,” the physician confirmed, “it seems you’ve got the flu. We’ve had quite a few cases in the lower town in the past week.” He touched Arthur’s forehead again and frowned. “Though I’m really not liking that fever.”
“I will stay with him,” Merlin said immediately.
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin, I don’t need a nurse.”
“Merlin is right, somebody should be watching you, sire.” Gaius turned towards Merlin. “You know what to do? You’ve helped me treat a fever or two before.”
Merlin nodded and finally disappeared from Arthur's bedside. Arthur leant back into the pillows and closed his eyes. He was really feeling quite horrible. His muscles were aching as if he had just returned from an intense training session, his head was spinning and his stomach seemed not too happy trying to digest that herb-laced soup.
Something wet and cold was pressed against his forehead and he opened his eyes again. Gaius was gone and Merlin had pulled up a chair to sit at Arthur’s bed. How much time had passed? It had felt like seconds. A glance at the window told him it was now completely dark.
“You really don’t need to do this,” Arthur said as he watched Merlin try to get comfortable on the chair. “I’m fine.”
“Could you stop being such a stubborn prat?” Merlin replied, though there was no heat in his insult. If anything, he sounded surprisingly calm and patient.
Arthur closed his eyes again.
The next thing he knew, he was hanging over the side of the bed, throwing up into his chamber pot, trying not to feel too humiliated by his manservant being witness to his misery.
But Merlin did not say a word, let alone gloat. After another round of retching, he carefully guided Arthur back to his pillows and held out a small cloth. Arthur clumsily grabbed at it, only to find he was too weak and jittery from his latest plight to even lift it. Merlin, a small smile tugging at his lips, took it back and gently wiped Arthur’s face.
Through the mental fog, Arthur found himself groaning inwardly. Gods, but would his manservant ever let him live this down? Arthur was positively helpless. From the flu!
But there was nothing in Merlin’s face that hinted at spite. If Arthur was pressed to find a description for his expression, he would have to say his manservant looked almost… fond?
“You should have some water,” Merlin urged him, shaking him from his thoughts. He was holding up a cup to his mouth.
Arthur turned his head away. He was sure he would throw the water right back up and besides, this feeding business was only adding to his humiliation. But Merlin kept insisting, going so far as to push the cup directly against Arthur’s lips and eventually, Arthur grudgingly took a few sips. He was just too exhausted to put up a fight.
“Sleep,” Merlin said.
This was good advice. Arthur closed his eyes.
As he drifted away, he could feel Merlin replace the wet cloth on his forehead.
After that, things got very hazy. The fever must have got him all kinds of confused because Arthur could have sworn that at some point, somebody gently stroked his sweaty hair. He also retained a faint memory of being forced to swallow something bitter and being praised for his efforts.
Other than that, the night remained a blissful blank.
When he woke next, dawn was painting the sky pink and Merlin was sprawled over the chair in a way that looked not at all comfortable. He was fast asleep, clutching a washcloth and his mouth was slightly agape.
Arthur found that he already felt a lot better. Carefully, he sat up in bed, easily adjusting the pillows by himself now that he no longer felt so weak.
He looked around the room. The chamber pot stood right by the bed, emptied and cleaned. A bowl of water was resting on the nightstand, along with a fresh stack of small towels and cloths. Three empty vials were lined up next to it. New clothes were already laid out by the changing screen. In a corner, Arthur saw pieces of his armour, polished and gleaming in the morning light. Clearly, Merlin had kept himself busy throughout the night.
Arthur returned his gaze to the chair beside the bed. Merlin looked pale and dark smudges under his eyes gave Arthur an idea that his servant might only recently have fallen asleep.
Merlin had stayed the whole night. Arthur had known Merlin was almost foolishly loyal. In the past year, the idiot had volunteered to drink poison for Arthur twice, repeatedly stating how much more important a prince’s life was compared to that of a servant.
Yet, Arthur found himself stunned to see this latest evidence or Merlin’s dedication. Once again, Merlin had refused to leave his prince’s side, though not to fight some battle against a magical beast or complete a quest.
Merlin had stayed simply to take care of him.
It was at that moment that Merlin stirred. He groaned, stretching as he blinked his eyes open. Briefly, he looked confused and perhaps even a tad grouchy, though a wide smile spread across his face the second he laid eyes on Arthur.
“You’re looking better,” Merlin said and hurriedly leaned forward as if to inspect Arthur.
“I’m feeling better,” Arthur confirmed.
“That’s good.” Merlin got up from the chair and threw a look at the window. “Sun is almost up. Do you think you’re up for some breakfast?”
“Something light, perhaps,” Arthur murmured.
“I’ll be right back.”
When he returned, Arthur had managed to get out of bed and washed up.
“Are you up to sitting at the table?” Merlin asked and set up breakfast there after Arthur nodded in confirmation. “Let’s get you dressed then. I’ll have a bath drawn for you later, if you like.”
When Arthur had finally settled down to eat, he found himself watching Merlin as he slowly chewed on some bread. The servant had started to strip the bed sheets, soiled by sickness. Every once in a while, he was rubbing at his eyes, though he kept smiling as he worked.
“Merlin,” Arthur finally called him over.
“Do you need anything else?” Merlin asked him.
Arthur couldn’t remember him ever looking quite so eager over the idea of doing more chores for Arthur.
“Go get some rest,” he told him.
Merlin looked him over. “You sure? I can stay, keep you company. You know how miserable you get when you’re not allowed to go to training and Gaius is certainly not going to let you pick up a sword today.”
“Quit fussing,” Arthur grumbled and Merlin rolled his eyes.
“Fine, I’m going,” he said and turned to leave, picking up the laundry basket on his way to the door.
“Merlin!”
Arthur didn’t realise he had called out until he saw that Merlin was looking back at him expectantly.
“You didn’t have to stay,” he found himself saying.
“Yes, I did,” Merlin replied with a smile, and left the room.