Date Published: November 20th, 2022
Word Count: 2158
A/N: I have so many one shots in the works that are way longer than this, but I was getting frustrated with not having anything to post, so I wrote this one in the meantime!

Merlin's hands moved on their own, knowing what to do without his mind having to tell them. They took Arthur's right arm and began to unbuckle the clasps to his wrist guard. His fingers were precise and accurate. There was no struggle with the strap. It came loose, allowing Merlin to pull it away. He placed it gently on the table so he didn't make any loud noises; then he repeated the action with his left arm.

This was a routine they did often. Arthur would finish some quest or win a battle, coming home exhausted and emotionally drained; of course, he wouldn't admit that latter bit. It was always Merlin's job to get the king out of his armor, but there was something different about these moments.

The sky outside was dark and the stars had already started to sparkle. Merlin had started a fire in the fireplace, which bathed the room in an orange glow, provided warmth, and offered its soft crackling as ambiance. It was the only thing in the room making noise, other than the soft rustling of Merlin's actions. There was a gentleness in the air that relaxed him. It let his mind empty of worries, focusing purely on the movements of his hands. He did not rush, but did not dawdle either. He worked at a perfect pace that maintained the calmness of the moment. The shoulder pieces he'd been working at joined the wrist guards on the table.

Merlin could only describe these moments as intimate. This was the closest he got to Arthur on a semi-regular basis. He could hear his deep breaths standing directly behind him. He undid the clasps to the chest plate. As the heavy piece of metal was removed, the king inhaled noticeably. The weight of the armor being lifted likely allowed him to breathe more deeply. He placed the chest plate on the table and turned around, waiting expectantly.

Neither of them needed to say anything as Arthur lifted his arms up. Merlin took ahold of the hem of his chainmail, expertly gathering enough of it to lift it off of the king in one smooth motion. Its links clinked together musically as he folded it and placed it with the rest of the armor. As he did so, Arthur sat down in one of the chairs. Merlin followed him and knelt down in front of him. He carefully unlaced his heavy boots, sliding them off.

Most servants likely hated this part of their job. Dressing and undressing someone was a chore, especially when armor was involved; yet it was relaxing to Merlin. Perhaps it was the methodical nature of their routine or how it provided a distraction from the stresses of the kingdom.

The king stood back up, padding over to stand in front of the fireplace. Merlin walked the opposite way to the small drawer beside his bed. This wasn't part of their routine every time, but after a quest or a fight like this, it was an added step. He retrieved a small bottle from the top drawer. He double checked its label, confirming it was the ointment Gaius had prepared for the king's pain.

Merlin nodded to himself as he walked over to where Arthur was standing. Setting it down on the mantle, he turned back to the king. His eyes were cast downward. Arthur was always distant after a tough fight; his body was still wired and prepared to defend itself, while his mind was trying to convince it the threat was over. The fresh memories of his knights dying or getting injured didn't help either. He wasn't exactly vulnerable, or open, but he wasn't as guarded as he typically was either. It was part of what made these moments feel intimate.

The raven-haired young man inhaled calmly, reaching up to undo the ties at the top of Arthur's shirt. They repeated the actions they'd done of the chainmail with more ease. The air of the room changed but only slightly.

Arthur was exposed now. His skin glowed as the light of the fire hit it. His torso was littered with past scars, but fresh bruises covered him too. Merlin's stomach swirled with something he compared to concern. It felt deeper than that, but there was no other word he would think of. He didn't like seeing his king injured, even though he should be used to it after all these years.

Merlin grabbed the vial, his movements sure and confident despite the way his heart started to beat just a little faster. He uncorked it and poured some of the ointment into his hand. He set it back down and rubbed his hands together, spreading it between both hands as well as warming the tonic. Merlin moved around to stand behind Arthur. He took a deep breath, counted to three, and then placed his hands on the king's back.

A small hitch in his breathing occurred, and he tensed slightly as Merlin began to rub the ointment into the bruises. He knew it was a bit painful to press on the them, but it would ultimately help in the long run; he also used it as a chance to work out some of the tension that was always coiled in Arthur's muscles. He was firm but not rough. As he worked out the last knot in his shoulder, Arthur exhaled slowly. Merlin could feel the moment he relaxed.

Finished with his back, he walked back to the mantle and poured more of the ointment into his hand. He kept his eyes on his hands. Merlin swallowed, feeling his throat closing up with nerves. He forced himself to focus on the task. It was simple; he was applying a medical tonic to the bruises on his king, that was all.

There were no more reasons to stall. He swallowed again and turned to face Arthur. He was still looking at the floor, eyes glazed over slightly. Merlin spotted a large bruise on the right of his abdomen. He decided to start there, placing his fingers on it. There was no reaction from the king as he rubbed the ointment into his skin. Merlin's cheeks felt warm, but he kept himself focused in on the motions. Once his hands touched Arthur's skin, the barrier was broken. There was energy in the air, but it was no longer awkward. He felt himself relaxing into the routine again.

Merlin moved from bruise to bruise, applying the tonic to each. He was relieved to see that Arthur hadn't received any cuts during this fight. Open wounds always worried him. Even if not serious, the risk of an infection was a constant fear in the back of his mind. There were times over the years that Arthur had nearly died to wounds that went sour. The cuts and gashes hadn't been life threatening, but the infections were. As much as Merlin hated to see his body covered in black and blue splotches, it was better than constantly changing bandages.

Arthur hadn't said a word yet. The raven-haired man tried not to worry, knowing he could be quiet sometimes, but the concern and curiosity nagged at the back of his mind. Arthur had built strong walls during his upbringing. Merlin never tried to knock them down, but over the course of their friendship, he'd been taking bricks off the top. They were far shorter than before. He could see in a little bit, but all the important stuff was still blocked from view.

His thoughts were trailing off as his hands moved up to the last bruise. It was at the top of his shoulder. He applied the ointment and began to pull his hand away. Suddenly, Arthur took ahold of his wrist. Merlin jumped, looking at the king questioningly only to find that his gaze was still cast downward. He did notice that the fogginess had disappeared.

Merlin wanted to say something, but he was afraid that words would shatter the moment. The king's hold on his wrist was gentle. He could definitely pull away, not that he wanted to. After a few beats of silence that seemed to stretch on for eternity, Arthur's hand guided his back down to his chest. Merlin's eyes widened as his face flushed.

Arthur removed his hold on his wrist to place his hand over Merlin's. He pressed them softly against his skin. Merlin could feel his heart beating directly underneath his palm. It was steady, maybe a little faster than average, but not racing the way his own was.

He looked from their hands to Arthur's face, hoping for some explanation or reason. This was certainly new. Arthur's eyes were closed. He raised his free hand and placed it atop the other. He didn't say anything as he held Merlin's hand there.

This wasn't normal behavior for him. Merlin was unable to ignore his concern any longer. He leaned forward a little, intruding on the king's space. His voice was soft as he spoke. "Arthur?"

Arthur inhaled deeply at the sound of his voice, his fingers brushing over the back of Merlin's hand. He opened his mouth but seemed to struggle with words. Merlin was patient, knowing how difficult it was for him to talk about more emotional issues. After opening and closing his mouth a couple times, the king shook his head in frustration. He squeezed Merlin's hand. "I just..."

He opened his eyes and found Merlin's. He was stunned to see how shiny they looked. It wasn't like Arthur to cry, and it tugged at his heart to see him so vulnerable. It seemed that the king found the words he was looking for in his eyes. "Sometimes... Sometimes I feel like I'm... I don't know, not really here?" Arthur started, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to explain. "Like... Like I'm here but not in the room, or my body... It feels like my mind is... floating away? I'm not even sure if that makes any sense..."

"You can feel my heart beating though," he said. He squeezed Merlin's hand again for emphasis. The raven-haired young man nodded with wide eyes. "I can feel your hand on my skin. I know I'm right here. I feel... grounded again. I know I'm here, alive, and breathing."

Merlin felt lost for words at the king's admission. The openness and vulnerability that Arthur was displaying was incredibly rare. He couldn't remember the last time he'd talked about his feelings; his emotional and mental wellbeing, not feelings regarding matters of state or women. Merlin often had to push him into sharing his thoughts, but he was doing it now voluntarily.

He understood what the king was describing. He had experienced it himself many times over the years. Sometimes he wasn't sure who he was; was he Emrys, or Merlin? Was there a difference other than the name? It felt like there was. The Druids had their own perception of him, their own idea of who he was.

Who was Merlin anyway? There were so many different ways he was expected to behave. He was Arthur's servant. He was his mother's son. He was Gaius' apprentice. He was a Dragonlord like his father. There were too many answers.

Swallowing the nerves that were growing, Merlin raised his free hand. He took ahold of one of Arthur's and pulled it away from his chest. The king's eyes followed the movements alertly. He guided them to his own, resting them over his heart the same way Arthur had. Even though there was a shirt between their hands and his skin, he felt tingles spread across his chest. He hoped Arthur wouldn't read into the fact that his heart was racing. "There," he murmured, feeling his cheeks warming. "You can feel my heart. I'm right here with you."

Arthur's eyes widened a little. Though he wasn't smiling, the emotions in his gaze told him how much his words hit. Merlin opened his mouth to speak again, but the king cut him off by stepping into his space. 

The even closer proximity added another level of intimacy between them. Merlin felt his breath catch in his throat as he tried to swallow. The only sounds of the room were the crackling fire and their synchronized breaths. Arthur leaned forward, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against the warlock's. 

Merlin's breath hitched; he felt nerves and never-ending questions bubbling up in his throat. Shoving them down, he closed his eyes. He thought only about the moment they were sharing. Warmth flooded through him and he relaxed. There was no point in thinking about anything else. He noticed his heartbeat slowing. Under his palm, he realized it steadily matched Arthur's. Merlin let a smile spread across his lips.

"What would I do without you with me?" the king murmured, surprising him.

He shook his head the tiniest bit. "Doesn't matter, cause I'm not going anywhere."