Chapter Text
Merlin woke in the night. He hadn't intended to, but as soon as his eyes opened, he pushed back the blanket and silently got up. Since he was awake, he might as well refill Arthur's bedwarmer.
He opened the door between Arthur's room and the servant antechamber, grateful that the door had silent, well-oiled hinges, and stepped into the room, heading toward the fire. Then he stopped, startled to hear noises in a room he'd expected to be quiet.
It wasn't sick noises that might normally be in a sick person's bedchamber, like a stuffed nose struggling to breathe. It was unexpected and unnatural: erratic, restless movement, grunting, then a whimper. He turned his head toward the bed, making out Arthur in the dim light, his head turning and twitching on his pillow.
Merlin started toward the bed. As he drew closer, he could see that Arthur's eyes were closed - he was still asleep - but his face was moving: switching quickly between relaxed and tormented and back again.
He twitched again, head rolling to one side, grimaced, and whimpered. His mouth moved. His faced relaxed again. Merlin stood still, watching, his mind catching up with his eyes.
Nightmares. He knew a fever could bring them on, but he'd never seen it - he hadn't seen enough fevers. He stepped closer, taking a cloth from a full basin on the bedside table. He'd abandoned it there hours ago, when Arthur had flipped out about having it on his head.
Wringing it out, he sat carefully on the edge of the bed and folded it before laying it on Arthur's forehead. For a moment, Arthur relaxed further, and then he tensed, his breathing growing faster.
"Easy," Merlin said quietly, but it was too late.
Arthur grimaced again, making a noise in his throat, then shook his head quickly and opened his eyes. His hands flew out from under the covers and he sat up halfway, giving a low cry that turned into a groan. Quick movements with a fever didn't feel great.
Merlin leaned forward and helped him lay back down slowly.
"What are you doing, Merlin?" Arthur said blearily, before he was even back on the pillow. "It's the middle of the night."
"I'm your servant," Merlin said, straightening the cloth on Arthur's head. Thankfully, the prat didn't protest. "I'm tending you, like I'm supposed to."
"Is there any water..."
There was a cup on the bedside table, well within Arthur's reach, but Merlin picked it up anyway. He brought it to Arthur's lips, since he was already propped up enough to drink it, and put it back on the table after he'd taken a drink. Arthur turned his face away, closing his eyes, his forehead creased faintly with pain.
"Are you all right?" Merlin asked without thinking, straightening the blankets and pulling them back over the prince, since he'd thrown them off in his hasty awakening. "You were having a nightmare."
"I have them all the time," Arthur said dismissively. He was half-asleep again already, and feverish, or Merlin knew he'd have never admitted it.
"Me too," he said quietly, tucking the last of the blanket in and standing up. "Sleep well, sire."
"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur murmured.
Merlin gave a half-smile, then moved back toward the fire to stir up some coals and refill Arthur's bedwarmer, as he'd originally meant to, before returning to his own bed to sleep a little easier than before.