Wrap Your Arms Around Me (merdred)

3. Painting Moons

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        MERLIN HAD GROWN FAMILIAR TO THE SILENCE that followed the restless nights and sleepless mornings. He could mimic the sounds of chirping crickets and barking dogs perfectly in his mind. He could paint the stars and the moon on his hand with invisible ink and memorize the names of the drunks whose wives angrily called them inside from the streets below.

When Merlin was younger and still living in Ealdor with his mother, she'd sing him songs and tell him stories to help him fall into a peaceful slumber. Those were the only things that worked. And although Gaius' salves and medicines for his nightmares helped, they didn't cure him like Mother's tales and melodies. Sometimes he wished he could just go back to his small, dainty village with his mum and Will. His nightmares would go away once again and the gap in his heart would finally be filled.

But he couldn't leave Arthur's side, not while he was still breathing in this world. That's how things were and there was nothing to change that. He could never move back home into the loving arms of Mother, where he wouldn't have to memorize the names of drunks yelling loudly on the streets or have to trace the moon on his palm. He wouldn't have to do any of it.

Merlin finally rose after the sun had set for several hours. It was a sign that it was time to retrieve Arthur's food from the kitchens and wake the prat up. But when he rose, a wave of fog hit him in the face and he suddenly felt very lightheaded. He held his head and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the blurriness to go away. Finally, it disappeared, leaving only a little nausea. He walked out of his room and down the small flight of steps, then stole a piece of bread off the table and made his way to the kitchen.

The castle was still quite dim and the shadows lurking in his surroundings began to freak him out. Not having slept for three days was causing him to lose his mind a bit. The shadows were not plotting the king's death.

After finishing his piece of bread, he picked up Arthur's tray from the table in the kitchen and walked back up to the king's chambers. He didn't bother knocking and simply barged in and tore the curtains to the side, exposing the fresh sunlight.

"Morning," he mumbled dryly. Woah! His voice was so dull and angry sounding that it surprised him; not Merlin-like at all. Arthur groaned loudly and pulled the sheets over his head, silently complaining as usual. "Arthur, get up," he sighed. He was already fed up with Arthur and they hadn't even made it halfway through the day yet.

"What's gotten you all moody? I mean, more than usual," Arthur grumbled as he pulled the covers off his body and walked over to the table. He sat down and began eating from the tray Merlin just retrieved. Merlin silently shook his head, then began tidying up little things around Arthur's room. "Okay, now I know something's up. You never just start doing your chores without me asking first. Nor are you ever this quiet."

"Maybe you shouldn't complain about it, otherwise people will start thinking you're an ignorant, entitled ass," he joked, though he really wasn't joking. He began stacking dishes in a tall pile but stopped abruptly, lost in thought. He zoned out, blocking everything out completely.

"...Merlin. Merlin! Mer-lin!" Arthur's roaring voice filled his ears yet again. "Earth to my clumsy manservant! I didn't think plates could be that entertaining. Yet another... talent of yours that doesn't cease to amaze me."

Merlin fought back the urge to roll his eyes.

"As I was trying to say before you started a staring contest with the dishes, go grab me my clothes and chainmail."

Merlin nodded and grabbed a plain white tunic and a pair of trousers from the cupboard. He tossed them to Arthur as he walked behind the screen to change. When he came out, Merlin suited him up in his armour and handed him his sword.