~ set right after Infallible ~

"Merlin," Arthur says, except, well, no, he doesn't say it, really, he just sort of sighs it, actually, and yes, he knows he should try and be a bit nicer about it—Merlin looks absolutely miserable, after all—but also, he doesn't say God, you're really just completely useless, aren't you, and he doesn't say what the hell do you think you're doing and he doesn't say is this a joke or are you really so stupid, and really, that's nice enough, isn't it, "go back to bed."

"What?" Merlin scoffs—or he tries to scoff, at least, but he also wobbles where he stands, and the sudden string of shakes and shudders really just clinches it. "Why?"

Arthur rolls his eyes. God, he can't believe the idiot even has to ask—wait, actually, yes, he can, honestly, how can a man as stupid as this still walk the streets every day and not get himself killed in seconds? "That's an order, Merlin. Get some rest. I have no need of you for the rest of today."

Merlin scowls. "I don't need to go back to bed," he says, and very petulantly, too, a little bit like a child in desperate need yet steadfast refusal of a nap—all right, no, a lot like that, actually, he sounds a lot like that, except he would probably—no, definitely—hex Arthur from here to Tintagel and back again if Arthur tried to point this out.

On a very unrelated note, Arthur doesn't point this out.

"Don't be an idiot," he says, instead—oh, damn it, that's the whole be nice to Merlin thing down the well, isn't it? But it's not like it would have lasted very long anyway, so he doesn't really worry about it. "You can hardly stand up—honestly," he clicks his tongue, and he does not let himself think about how much he sounds like Guinevere, in this moment, when she fusses over Merlin like she's his mother, because he's not fussing, absolutely not, kings do not fuss, not even over idiot sorcerer servants, "you hardly woke up an hour ago, how did you get Gaius to let you come all the way here in the first place? I thought he said you had to stay in bed 'til morning."

Merlin huffs out one of those affronted little breaths he always does whenever he's about to be immensely unreasonable, or more immensely unreasonable than usual, and he never takes his hand off the edge of the table, and Arthur's pretty certain that's the only way he's stayed on his feet this long at all. "I don't need Gaius to let me do anything."

Arthur just raises his eyebrows.

A pink flush dusts Merlin's pale cheeks, and the tips of his ears turn a bit red. "Gaius went out," he mutters. "To see to Lord Wesley."

Yeah. All right. There it is. Arthur nods. "Well, you do happen to need me to let you do things, and all I'm going to let you do right now is go to your bed. You look like you're about to fall over."

"I'm fine!" Merlin says, indignantly, except he wobbles again. "Look! See! Back to normal!"

"Right," Arthur says, sharply, because he's actually—yeah, he's actually mad now, he's moved far past irritated at this point, "sorry, I suppose I just forgot how 'normal' means three seconds from another of your little swoons—"

Merlin's knees buckle.

—oh, shit, wait, no, I didn't mean it, I don't actually want—

Arthur bolts halfway across the room to reach him, grab onto him, to help him, to haul him back up before he can hit the floor and crack his head on the hard stone, or the sharp edge of the table, and he gets a hand—by an actual, honest-to-God miracle, he gets a hand on Merlin's shoulder and pulls him back up off his knees and the whole be nice to Merlin thing is most definitely going to absolutely rot down in the damned well, because how stupid do you have to be—?

"—all—all r-right—" Merlin sputters, and tries to push himself back up on his feet, tries to stand up on his own, but he lets out a sharp gasp, and a spasm of pain flickers across his pale face, "—all right, I'll—I'll go back to bed."

Arthur really wants to say I told you so—he really, really wants to say it, if he's honest with himself, I told you to just go back to bed, you idiot, I told you to get some rest, and he's got it on his tongue, on his lips, but he takes one look at Merlin, his face white as bone and all scrunched up, his eyes dull and glazed over with pain, and he presses his shaking hands to the side of his head, and a thin little trail of bright red blood streaks out the side of his mouth, and Arthur swallows it all back.

He wants to take Merlin to Gaius, if he's honest with himself, he really wants to take Merlin to Gaius and just get on with his day, because God knows Gaius can always handle Merlin no matter how stupid or stubborn the idiot is—Gaius is the only one, Arthur thinks, sometimes, who can handle Merlin at all, really, but Gaius is also gone, Merlin's just said it himself, seeing to Lord Wesley, and damn it, Merlin, why do you have to be so stupid at the absolute worst moments—?

"No, Merlin," and he sort of sighs it, again, "no, don't, just—" he slings his arm around Merlin's skinny shoulders and he helps—no, he leads—erm, no, it's more like he steers—all right, no, there's really nothing else for it, is there—he carries Merlin. Like a maiden or a damsel, or something, he carries Merlin all the way over to the unmade bed, and really, his only consolation is, he's pretty damn sure Merlin is a hundred thousand times more humiliated about this than him, "just—just stay here."

Merlin blinks. His mouth edges down in a frown. "—no—Arthur—" he tries to get back on his feet, "—I-I can't—it's your bed—"

"Yes," Arthur says, and he pushes Merlin back down onto the wrinkled and still-warm sheets, "very well spotted. Whatever would we do without you."

"—but—I—" Merlin doesn't try and get back up, this time, but he shakes his head, and his face looks nearly grey against the crisp white of the sheets, "—I can't sleep in your bed—"

Arthur scoffs, and kneels down to loose the silver buckles on Merlin's pathetic, worn-out boots—he doesn't think the idiot can do it for himself, with how bad his fingers have started to tremble in the last few moments. "Honestly, Merlin, do you really think you could make it all the way back to your chambers like this?"

Merlin goes pink again and tries to swat Arthur's hands away from his boots. "Stop it, don't do that, I'll take care of—"

Arthur pulls off Merlin's boots.

Merlin goes a bit pinker. "But—I—" he wipes at the small trickle of scarlet at the corner of his lips, "—I might—" he winces, "—get, um, blood, on your things, and that would be—kind of gross—"

"Yes, and you'll also be the one to clean it up," Arthur says, except he doesn't add but not a moment before you can actually stand up on your own two feet again, he just pulls all the quilts up to Merlin's waist—and, no, he's absolutely not tucking the idiot in or anything ridiculous like that, it's just that Merlin really looks like he could hardly lift a feather right now and also, the quilts are heavy and thick and woolen, and it would just waste time, yes, exactly, that's exactly it, see, it would just waste time to sit around and watch the idiot try and do it on his own.

"—but—I—" Merlin scrubs at the blood again, but slower this time, and his eyes flutter shut, "—I don't—"

"Merlin," Arthur says, sharply, and he puts a hand to the idiot's shoulder to stop him, just in case he gets it in his head to try and get up again, "don't be stupid—I know that's a bit of a tall order for you, but—"

"You really ought to stop with all the compliments, Sire," Merlin breaks in, except he sort of half-slurs out the words, like a man fresh from the tavern, and his eyes have already fluttered all the way shut again. "We don't want Gwen to get jealous."

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur says, but it's absolutely wasted anyway because the idiot's already asleep.

Notes: ~ i got hit by, i got struck by, a biiig whump mood ~ but seriously i realized the other day, i've had a MASSIVE craving for sick/hurt Merlin with caretaker Arthur all week, and my shit brain finally came through with the goods. anyways this is set a few hours after the main events of Infallible because Merlin is a man who just wants to watch the world burn and Arthur won't stand for it. pour one out for Arthur Pendragon.