Like a Phoenix

7: time crawls on

There was something heavy pinning Merlin to the bed.

He tensed, taking shallow breaths, remembering how the guards strong-armed him to trial in the middle of the night. And then he looked down. He forced himself to slow down his breath. This was a year later, he reminded himself. There was no need to be afraid. He looked back up. Then he looked down again.

He willed himself not to panic, although this was for a different reason.

It was Arthur's arm. Arthur's arm was what was pinning him to the royal mattress.

Also, he was on the royal mattress.

It was getting increasingly probable that he was going to start panicking and losing his mind at any given second now. He tried to sit up, slowly as not to wake Arthur— not only was he a grump in the mornings, but Merlin was not ready to have this conversation with him, especially when it would most likely end with Merlin convincing Arthur he hadn't enchanted him to show affection. Arthur started to stir, just slightly, his breaths still mercifully even, and Merlin looked at his sleeping form. His hair was tousled against the pillow, his face relaxed, his mouth slightly quirked up. Merlin wondered what he'd been dreaming about.

He looked so... normal like this. Merlin had woken him up nearly every day for four years. He knew what Arthur looked like when he was sleeping, shrouded in the sunlight peeking through the curtains, mouth twisted up and eyes squeezed shut, like even in his dreams he was fighting a battle. But it was different, waking up next to him. There was something precious to this. Something Merlin felt honoured to have been granted.

As carefully as he could, he lay back down, slipping under the covers so that Arthur's arm was no longer over Merlin's waist but his chest. Merlin was further away than before, to his disappointment. He must have moved over in his haste to figure out what was happening. He closed his eyes.

As if the adjustment had startled him, Arthur's arm squeezed him tighter and flexed with unconscious purpose, sliding him right back to where he'd been in slumber: molded to Arthur.

He fell back asleep, thinking maybe he wasn't really awake after all. Nothing so good ever happened to him without a price.

***

When Merlin woke again, Arthur was gone.

The curtains were still closed so the room seemed darker than it usually was, but birds were chirping animatedly outside, so he knew he'd slept well into the morning. He couldn't believe Arthur let him.

He wondered if Arthur saw the same thing he did when he woke up— if he had looked at his arm wrapped around his manservant and ran from his rooms, or if he'd rolled over in his sleep and woke looking at curtains and completely forgetting Merlin was there.

Either way, his stomach was grumbling something fierce. He had best get down to the kitchens before there are no more scraps for him to eat.

Merlin padded over to the fireplace where he'd set his shoes before bed and toed them back on. He looked towards the table, expecting to find dirty dishes from Arthur's breakfast to pick up, but instead it was a tray full of food and a goblet of juice. His first thought was perhaps someone had brought Arthur food and he wasn't hungry, but there was a note tucked under the corner of the tray. Merlin picked it up and read it.

Your lazy arse is going to wake up late, as usual, and by then all the food would've been gone.

Breakfast. You're welcome. Eat. -A

Merlin grinned. He hadn't gone stingy, either. This was as much as Arthur usually got, himself, except maybe there were a couple extra sausages. It was a breakfast fit for a king.