Our Biggest Mistakes | ✔

❝But what about you?❞

After training with the newly recruited knights and having a long council meeting that lasted almost three hours thanks to the members constantly questioning his strategies and ideas, Arthur was exhausted. He had gone into his chambers and collapsed onto his bed without even changing into something more comfortable--not even taking off his boots--, breathing into his pillow until he could no longer.

"Sire?"

Arthur lifts his head from his lovely pillow and scowls, turning to see Merlin standing by his closet and holding a bin of dirty laundry in his arms. His face immediately goes soft and his head is once again dropped onto the softness of his bed. "What, Merlin?" He breathes out quietly.

"Are you feeling alright?" The other man inquires, stepping closer to his king until the basket of laundry was on the floor and Merlin was bent over, feeling Arthur's forehead with roughly soft palms. Arthur would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate the concern or the touch he received from the other. He remains silent.

Merlin studies Arthur's face for only a few seconds more before pulling his hand back and leaving Arthur's skin yearning for another chaste brush of his fingertips. Merlin's nose wrinkles and the concern on his face becomes more evident. "You're burning up, sire. I can ask Gaius for some medicine if you would like."

Arthur finally responds with a slow shake of his head, opening his left eye to look up to Merlin. "No, I'm just tired. I'll sleep this one off."

"Sire, if this is a sign of terminal illness--"

Arthur interrupts. "Terminal illness? I think you're exaggerating."

Merlin clenches his jaw before correcting, "If  this is a sign of terminal illness, M'lord, then . . ." Then he stops. He stops to think about what to say next. He doesn't want to come off strong at all, what with his hidden feelings and all, but he didn't want to be an apathetic ass and say "Then you'll die haha".

"Then what?" Arthur perks an eyebrow, turning slightly so now he was laying on his side rather than his stomach.

"Then . . . you would die. The kingdom would be at loss. Guinevere would be devastated. The whole town would be corrupt. It'd be chaos, and there would be no Camelot."

But what about you? Arthur wanted to ask. How would you react if this really was a sign of terminal illness and I died? Would you shed tears for days and then move on? Would you kiss me on my deathbed and admit your feelings when it's too late? Would you do anything at all?

Arthur blinks out from his silent questions, focusing back on the here and now. " . . . Again, Merlin, you're overexaggerating. I'll be good in a few hours. Now let me sleep." The king closes his eyes and doesn't open them again. He can only hear Merlin pick the basket of laundry back up and shuffle out the room, the door creaking shut behind him as he takes his leave.