Merthur One-shots

Seized My Body Whole

Summary: Merlin is fond of wearing Arthur's clothes. Arthur disocovers this, due to his own stupid mistake.

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During an overnight hunt, in the dead of winter, Merlin, being the clumsy man that he is, managed to slip and tumble off a low bridge overhanging a frigid stream.  Arthur had yanked him out, and he was relatively unscathed--simply freezing, teeth chattering and skin ghostly pale underneath his now soaked clothing.  Arthur had wrapped his own thick coat around his manservants shoulders, and when they’d set up camp for the night, he’d given Merlin his spare set of clothes to sleep in.  Merlin had accepted them easily, blushing as he’d slipped out of Arthur’s coat to change into the prince’s clothing.  

Arthur’s things had been large on Merlin, the sleeves of the crimson tunic hanging down past his fingertips, trousers loose and baggy.  Even Arthur’s socks on his feet had to be rolled tight around the ankle, to keep them from slipping off--and yet he’d looked happier than Arthur thought he’d ever seen him, his big ears tinted a bright pink, eyes warm and relaxed as he’d sat curled up in front of the fire, knees tucked against his chest.  

When they’d returned to Camelot, Merlin had given Arthur his clothing back--all but the red tunic.  Arthur supposed Merlin might have simply forgotten, his manservant was known to let some things slip past his mind, a trait that was for the most part endearing, except when it came to grave matters.  But this was not a grave matter--this was just a tunic--so Arthur didn’t mention it.  

Days went by, and Merlin seemed happier than ever before, something Arthur was equal parts confused and relieved about.  His manservant was perkier, even in the evenings, when he usually grew sluggish and tended to yawn with every other sentence.  Arthur asked him about it, late one night as Merlin was turning down his bedsheets, whistling a jaunty tune as he worked, as if it was not fifteen minutes past midnight.  

“How is it you’re so energized at this hour, Merlin?”

“I seem to be sleeping better, these last few nights,” Merlin had answered after deliberating silently for several moments, shrugging his shoulders, and Arthur knew that tone--there was more which Merlin was not telling him.  But it was late, and even if Merlin was not tired, Arthur certainly was.  He’d not pressed further.  

Two days later, Arthur had gone to Gaius’s chambers in search of his manservant, needing Merlin’s help to prepare a speech for an upcoming banquet Uther was arranging.  It was technically Merlin’s downtime, Arthur knew this, and yet he went anyway, hoping that Merlin might help him regardless, if not as his servant, then simply as a friend would.  

Neither Gaius nor Merlin were to be found in their chambers.  Arthur had sighed, standing in the doorway of Merlin’s small room, wondering where he could possibly be.  That’s when his eyes had caught sight of the red tunic-- his red tunic--the one he’d given Merlin to wear after he’d fallen into that stream.  It was crumpled up on Merlin’s bed, only one shoulder and sleeve showing from where it was peeking out, tucked underneath the disarray sheets.  Arthur had scoffed--it looked as if Merlin had been sleeping on it, and leave it to his manservant to be so heedless as to not even notice the garment had fallen into his bed.  Arthur walked to the bed, plucking the tunic up with one hand, chuckling as he left Merlin’s room, then Gaius’s chambers altogether.  By the time Arthur had returned to his own chamber, stuffing the tunic back into his wardrobe, he was already forgetting the whole ordeal, mind once again thinking about the speech he had to prepare, and wondering where Merlin could be so preoccupied.