#according to the old english translator i used what merlin says means ‘warm’ as an imperative

[groundcontrol21]

Sicktember #23

Prompt #23: Tepid Bath

Fandom: Merlin

Title: Night Fever

Summary: Merlin can’t use his magic to heal Arthur, but perhaps his company is just as potent of a cure. 

It was well, well past midnight. A sliver of moon that rose high in the frosty night above Camelot, but in Arthur’s chambers the temperature, if nothing else, was pleasant, the flames from the hearth and the flickering candles casting their dancing glow across the twilit room. 

Merlin knelt in the shadows, hunched over a metal tub as he carefully and quietly whispered the bath water therein to a suitable temperature. Arthur’s ailment was not magical, and so no magic could be used directly to cure him, but that would not stop Merlin from using it in his treatment in other ways: to save time, to provide more comfort. He dipped his fingers in the water and shook his head. Still too cool. He didn’t want to shock Arthur—gods knew the man’s heartbeat was frantic enough—only lower his fever slightly. 

“Hléowe,” Merlin murmured, his eyes glowing golden in concentration as the temperature rose slowly. A shifting noise from behind drew Merlin’s attention, and he turned over his shoulder to look at Arthur, who had thrown off all his blankets and furs and lay spread-eagle on his back. Even in the low light Merlin could see his eyes glisten with fever, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. 

“So hot, Merlin,” Arthur moaned. He shifted again, weakly, and whined when the movement brought him no relief. 

“I know, sire,” Merlin said, swallowing down the worry that rose in his chest and made him feel ill himself. “I know. The bath is almost ready.”

Merlin tested the water once more and found it lukewarm. He dried his hands on a towel, and went to Arthur’s bedside, stopping for a moment to brush damp hair away from the prince’s sweaty forehead. 

“Come, sire,” he said softly, biting his lip at the pallor of Arthur’s skin, the angry scarlet of his cheeks. “Let’s get you in the bath.”

Arthur made no sound, but allowed Merlin to maneuver him, limp and weak and gangly, out of bed and over to the basin. His head lolled and his uncooperative weight seemed double his usual, so Merlin muttered a few words to make him feel lighter, confident that Arthur was too lost in his illness to notice. 

Merlin deposited him gently in the water, guiding him as he sank down, but he had hardly been in the tub for a few seconds when Arthur started shivering so violently he was almost seizing. His eyes flew open, wide in alarm. 

“Freezing!” Arthur grit out, his teeth locked against his tremors. 

“It’s not,” Merlin assured him, trying to coax him downward even as Arthur did his best to pull himself up, out of the water. Merlin dipped a handkerchief in the water and tried to wipe down Arthur’s face with it, but the man jerked away. “It only feels that way because you’re—Arthur, Arthur please stop,” Merlin begged as Arthur thrashed, trying to duck away from Merlin’s hands. “We have to get your fever down.”

Soon, though, Arthur was too weak to keep up the fight, his protestations fading to slight grimaces and then nothing at all as Merlin wiped cool water across his hot skin. “There we go,” Merlin sighed as Arthur deflated, reclining back against the walls of the tub.  “That’s it, just relax.”

Merlin soaked and re-soaked the handkerchief, squeezing out droplets of the tepid water to cool the places the bath alone could not reach: chest, neck, head. Arthur sighed now at the ministrations, the coolness seeming now to soothe rather than agitate him, and Merlin sent a prayer of thanks to any of the gods who were listening. 

A hand caught Merlin’s as he gently splashed water on Arthur’s chest. “Merlin?” His eyes were glassy, lethargic, but more lucid than they had been, and he watched Merlin innocently, like a child who depended on him entirely for protection. 

The openness of his gaze sent warmth stirring in Merlin’s chest. He took Arthur’s hand in his own and stroked his fingers over Arthur’s knuckles. “Yes, sire?”

Arthur watched him for a moment longer before his mouth twitched sleepily, as though he were trying to smile but hadn’t the energy, and his eyes drifted shut. “Mmm,” he hummed, sounding content. 

“That’s it, Arthur,” Merlin whispered. “Just rest. I’ve got you.” He stroked Arthur’s hair again, surreptitiously feeling his forehead and finding the skin marginally cooler.  He smiled. “And I always will.”