Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

AN: Because there aren't enough fics of Arthur being sneakily affectionate, and we all know that he's a master.

Setting: Any time, really, but I was thinking of mid-S4 while I was writing it.

…

With Practice Comes Perfection

…

Over the years, Arthur's gotten quite good at being sneakily affectionate.

He's had to. He's got a reputation to uphold, after all – he can't be seen to be going around being openly affectionate. Princes and Kings aren't affectionate. Everyone knows this. And Arthur is no exception.

Really. He isn't.

But sometimes, he can't help but notice how skinny Merlin is.

They're out on a hunt one day – just the two of them, taking a much-needed break from Kinging – and whenever the wind gusts against the servant, the (tattered, too-thin) fabric of his shirt presses in and displays the skinny body underneath, and Arthur seriously wonders how it is that the wind hasn't blown Merlin over yet.

So later – once they've stopped for the night and Merlin's cooked dinner and served it up and they're about to tuck in – Arthur makes a point to suddenly remember something of vital importance that needs to be done immediately (check the horses, get more firewood, refill the water bottles – anything, really).

Merlin pulls a face and asks if it can't wait until after he's eaten something, and Arthur says that it can't, so Merlin – grumbling and scowling and throwing pointed glances at his untouched meal – stomps off to complete his errand, and then – once Arthur is sure Merlin's safely out of sight – the King scoots over and transfers a few spoonful's of his own meal into Merlin's bowl and then he goes back to his own spot and start eating like nothing happened.

And a few minutes later Merlin stomps back from his "urgent errand" and humphs his way back down to a sitting position and starts moodily munching his way through the first few mouthfuls of his dinner, but after that his irritable mood fades because Merlin really can't hold a grudge to save his life, and then by the end of the meal he's back to his usual chatty, nonsensical self, and he practically licks his bowl clean and then collects Arthur's and sets off to wash them in the river, and all the while Arthur sits there and taps down on the urge to smile in satisfaction.

…

They're on a patrol, it's the middle of the night, and Gwaine's just come to relieve Arthur from watch duty.

They exchange a few words, grumble irritably about the blasted cold (they're just in the early stages of winter, and though it hasn't snowed yet, Arthur thinks it will only be a few more days before it does) and then the King heads back in the direction of the low-burning fire where his men are scattered about, all of them sleeping soundly.

Arthur adds another log to the fire to keep it going for a while and turns to his bedroll, eager to get in under his blankets and curl in on himself and warm up and go to sleep for a few hours, but then Merlin catches his attention.

Merlin, who's sound asleep but only covered up to his waist by his blankets, and is shivering slightly in the cold.

The man squirms a lot in his sleep, Arthur's noticed over the years – he's as restless and active in sleep as he is while awake – so Arthur's not exactly surprised that the blankets have been kicked almost off.

But it's far too cold at the moment to be going around sleeping with no blankets, and the last thing Arthur needs is for his servant to end up ill because he wasn't well-enough protected from the elements, so Arthur's moving before he's even realised it.

He snags the pile of blankets and drags them up to Merlin's chin, dropping them there and feeling satisfied that Merlin won't wake up with a cold now, but then Merlin shifts and squirms around and Arthur stills, waiting for the moment of restlessness to pass.

Merlin's hand curls in the blankets Arthur's just rearranged, and the servant tugs them closer to himself as he rolls a little, cocooning the bedding around him tightly, and then he shifts and snuggles – yes, snuggles – down into his bedroll and buries his face in his pillow, gives this little sigh of contentment and then stills.

And it's not adorable – it's not – because Kings don't go around thinking things are adorable… but yes. That's exactly what it is.

Arthur's lips are curled at the corners as he turns from his now-warm sound-asleep servant and gets in under his own blankets.

…

It's raining.

No – rephrase.

It's bucketing.

It's an absolute beast of a storm out there, with lightning and thunder and the whole kit and caboodle, and there's a bitterly cold wind charging through the halls and whistling in under doors and through cracks in the windows, and there's so much rain that if one even thinks of looking out the window they'll end up soaked to the bone.

Arthur kind of hopes that the sorcerer that they're hunting for at the moment – the man who snuck in to the castle and tried to enchant a kitchen maid into killing Arthur) is somewhere where the cold and the wind and the rain are all getting him.

It's an absolutely ghastly storm, and there's a sorcerer hiding somewhere in the city who's managed to evade them for the better part of the day, and – technically – Merlin's finished for the evening.

Technically, the servant finished a good hour ago, but Arthur had conveniently recalled some other tasks that had needed doing (read: that Arthur had been saving for a rainy day) that he'd given to him to do and that had rather helpfully kept Merlin out of the storm and away from any hiding sorcerers that might jump on the chance to attack the king's servant.

Arthur had been hoping that the rain would have lessened by now and that he'd be able to send his servant home without him ending up shivering and soaked through to the bone, but it's still going on just as strong as before out there, and by the time Merlin makes it across the courtyard and all the way back to his and Gaius' rooms he'll be utterly drenched. And there's no fire in Merlin's room, in that small room out the back of Gaius' chambers, and Arthur may not be an affectionate man, but he's certainly not cruel, and making a drenched-to-the-bone man go back to a fireless room is just cruel.

That, and there's an evil sorcerer out there, hiding somewhere in Arthur's city, and Merlin is nothing if not a magnet for trouble. A defenceless magnet for trouble, what's more.

"Do you need anything else?" Merlin asks, clearly hoping desperately that the answer will be no, but really, Arthur's not about to send him out into that.

"Yes," he says, ignoring the way Merlin's shoulders slump in tiredness. "The stack of firewood's running low – if I need to top up the fire in the middle of the night I don't want to be traipsing all over the castle hunting for firewood."

Merlin lets out a breath that's one part irritation and one part exhaustion (because it is getting rather late now and it has been rather a busy day, what with the hunt for the sorcerer and all), but doesn't say a word as he turns on his heel and leaves to go and raid the kitchens for some of their firewood.

It's a good fifteen minutes before he's back (muttering something about Mary the Cook and her wooden spoon of doom, and honestly, cooks keep some of the oddest hours, because what on earth is she still doing in the kitchen?) and that works rather perfectly, in Arthur's opinion, because it's past midnight now.

"Good night then, Sire," Merlin says, not even bothering to ask again if there's anything else that Arthur needs doing and turning to the door to head home.

"Well you can't go now, Merlin," Arthur says, making sure that there's just the right amount of exasperation and irritation in his voice. "There's a curfew on the city. Evil sorcerer, remember? I can't very well put a curfew on the city only to have my own servant ignore it."

Merlin growls under his breath, still facing the door, apparently too annoyed for words.

"There's a bedroll in my antechamber," Arthur continues flippantly, as though this has only just occurred to him. "You'll have to use that."

Merlin makes another noise of irritation, his head flopping back in defeat.

"Fine," he huffs, spinning on his heel and stomps off and disappears into the antechamber.

"Actually, Merlin," Arthur calls, peeling his own covers back and getting into bed.

"Yes, Sire?" Merlin asks, through gritted teeth by the sound of it, and it makes Arthur's lips quirk up in amusement because it's Merlin's So help me Arthur if you give me another chore I will go on strike and leave you to deal with George for a month voice.

"With that wind coming through the windows, the fire's likely to need attention through the night," the King goes on, and sometimes he'd like to pat himself on the back for his own cleverness. "Since you're here anyway, if you sleep by it then you can tend it instead of me."

He thinks he hears a noise – Merlin hitting his head against the wall in frustration, perhaps – and then he hears a grumbled "Fine," and Merlin stomps back into the main chambers, dragging his already-unrolled bedroll.

He stretches it out next to the fire (where he will be warm and cozy and not rained on and cold and under threat from evil sorcerers), lies down and pulls the blanket up to his chin, and turns his back to Arthur without another word.

Arthur smirks to himself and rolls over to blow out his candle.

…

Over the years, Arthur's gotten really quite good at sneakily looking after Merlin.

Someone has to do it, he reasons, because Merlin himself certainly doesn't spare much energy on his own wellbeing.

And, if Arthur happens to get a little warm feeling rush through him whenever he successfully manages to do something for Merlin without anyone noticing…

Well. He's certainly not going to admit to it.

…

end

…

AN: There we are – some sneakily-caring!Arthur for you all. This fic is similar to my Supernatural one, actually, where Dean is witnessed being all caring and affectionate. So if you're in the mood for some more snuggling and men-who-care-but-pretend-they-don't, check out Two's Company.

This is fluffier than I usually write, so I'd love some feedback!

Hope you enjoyed,

Love Bundi