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Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Prompt: Hello! I absolutely loved this little series, although I would have a request that is separate from it, if that's okay?
Maybe a fic where Merlin just doesn't get to eat enough? He's so busy with Gauis and Arthur that he simply forgets or forgoes eating, simply taking a small snack occasionally? Even when he's out with Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table they always get first servings, or take away his servings (in jest, as they do in the series) without really realizing he doesn't get even a single serving?
I'd like to see how everyone reacts as they slowly realize, either trying to subtly get Merlin to eat but at this point he's so used to it (probably without even realizing) that he just waves everyone off because 'he's busy' or 'he'll eat later'.
He possibly slowly gets more sluggish, gets light-headed, faints, whatever you wish as side-effects ^^
Thank you very much! ^^ - Moonscar
Look, alright, this really isn’t such a big deal.
Merlin’s from a place where you finished your food because you weren’t sure when you were going to get the next meal. Granted, he was pretty well off, he got one meal a day. That’s better than most of the other people in Ealdor. And he always finished his food. His mother made sure of it.
Coming to Camelot, he knew Gaius wasn’t expecting to have a ward for the long term, so he didn’t really mind when Gaius didn’t provide him with regular meals. It was fine, he’d leave out a plate of scraps every day and Merlin was more than happy with them. Hell, he even had his own room. And Gaius gave him a blanket to put over the wooden slats so it was nice and soft.
He would be lying if he said the smell from the kitchens didn’t make his mouth water every now and then, but he always scolded himself for being greedy. That food wasn’t for him and he didn’t eat other people’s food. That wasn’t polite and his mother raised him properly.
And he’s busy. Really busy.
He’s running around after Arthur all day. When he’s not running around after Arthur, he’s doing chores for Gaius. When he’s not running around after Arthur or doing chores for Gaius, he’s off fulfilling his destiny. And really, that dragon in the basement thinks he should be freeing him too. So that’s four things. Oh, and he’s also got to hide who he really is because if anyone ever finds out about it, he’ll be killed in some horrible way and you know, he’d really rather not think about that right now.
So no, it’s not a problem.
It’s not a problem that he struggles to keep up with Arthur sometimes because Arthur seems to have all this energy and he’s got no idea where it comes from. His ego, probably.
It’s not a problem that the plate Gaius leaves out for him doesn’t really get any bigger. In fairness, he knows leaving too much food out will make is spoil and he doesn't always get back before dark and that’s not fair to Gaius. He’s already wasting enough of Gaius’ food, the last thing he wants to do is waste more.
It’s not a problem when the knights frown at how flappy Merlin’s tunic is on him. Come on, he’s not a knight. He doesn’t have big brawny arms, let alone Percival’s arms. His clothes aren’t going to look like that on him.
It’s not a problem when Gaius catches him eating from his plate and smacks his hand, yelling at him to “Put that down, Merlin, don’t eat that!” He simply shrugs, apologizes, and adds that to the list of things he’s not allowed to eat. That’s alright. He can still eat small snacks that Malwen gives him in the kitchens. She’s said that she wishes she could give him more, but he understands. He’s never got a predictable enough schedule to join the servants for their meals and the rest of the food isn’t his.
Merlin’s adjusted, really, he has. It’s not that much different from wintering in Ealdor. But he knows that gorging himself on village feasts wasn’t going to happen. For one, Camelot doesn’t exactly, er, ‘celebrate’ the same kind of thing they did in Ealdor. For another, he knows the feasts aren’t for servants. It’s fine. Really, it is.
And hey, he’s learned things.
He’s learned how to time getting back to Gaius’ just after Gaius has eaten dinner so that the plate Gaius leaves out for him is still warm.
He’s learned how to stand with his hands behind his back so he can stop his naughty fingers from reaching treacherously towards food that isn’t even his.
He’s learned he has to stay on his feet a lot of the time because if he crouches down or stands up too quickly he’s likely to fall over. That’s alright, but it makes it inconvenient for Arthur and he’s not about to give the prat any more ammunition to tease him with.
He’s learned to ignore the weird pit that opens up in his stomach and stand straighter, smiling. Luckily for him, Arthur never seems to acknowledge when it gurgles. Well, no, it happened once.
It during that whole thing with the unicorn that Merlin told him not to kill, when the whole kingdom was hungry and thirsty. Merlin had made the stew for Arthur and his mouth had watered, so much, but he forced himself to stay away. How rude would he be, it was for the prince, and Merlin did not take other people’s food. But then…then Arthur had…
Oh, it was wonderful. He’d sat Merlin down in the chair and let him have some of it. Merlin almost let it fall out of his mouth at how it tasted. It was warm and solid, and thick and rich and oh it was glorious. Part of him needed it to go away, so used to the light pastries and fruits Malwen would give him, but the other part cried out in joy. But he resigned himself to only one spoonful because this was still Arthur’s food.
Then Morgana had come and they had given it to her. And that was fine. Because it was Arthur’s food and Arthur could decide where it went.
Merlin had sat in the chair, both because it was so comfortable—honestly, no wonder Arthur’s backside was so fat, if he sat in chairs like this all day—and because he knew if he stood up too quickly he would fall flat on his face. Then his stomach had growled.
He flushed with embarrassment; everyone was hungry, that wasn’t even his food, he should be grateful he got a little bit of it, and honestly, he should be used to this. Then Arthur looked back at him and raised an eyebrow.
“See if I ever let you gorge yourself on my stews again.”
“Well, at the rate you eat, I wouldn’t have the chance.”
Arthur had huffed and turned away, but Merlin took in the words the prince had uttered.
He wasn’t to eat Arthur’s food.
He knew that already, of course, but it never hurt to have a reminder.
The only time he got slightly confused was when they were on patrol. He always carried the food and did the cooking whenever the knights made camp. There…that was all the food they had. There was no other food. And yet the knights had made it clear that it was their food.
Merlin dutifully ladles out the stew, portion by portion, to each of the grinning knights. He heaps it generously, making sure they each have enough. Then Leon grabs his arm when he makes to move on to Percival.
“Hey,” he says, frowning up at Merlin, “I’m famished.”
Merlin raises his eyebrows a bit—he’s already given Leon two day’s worth of the food he would’ve gotten back in Ealdor—but he does as bid, giving him some more.
“Thank you,” Leon says.
Percival takes his portion and when Merlin goes to finish off Gwaine’s, Gwaine pulls him back.
“I’m hungry as a horse,” Gwaine laughs, emptying the stew pot into his own bowl.
Merlin takes the pot back over to be washed, noticing there’s still just enough for him to eat at the bottom. He makes to get his own spoon out but before he can, Arthur comes over.
“Ah, good, you’re cleaning up.”
Before Merlin can say anything, Arthur frowns into the pot.
“Hang on.”
The last vestiges of the stew disappear down Arthur’s throat.
“Ah. Nice job. Bit salty though.” Arthur turns over his shoulder. “Drop your bowls off and finish making camp.”
Merlin’s eyes widen. Surely…surely Arthur’s joking. There’s no way they’ve all finished so quickly. And yet, sure enough, each bowl comes back, clattering in front of him, licked clean.
He’s going to have to bring more food for them, he decides as he makes the trek to the river, and then he’ll see if he’s got enough room for his own food. It’s alright. He’s got next patrol to figure it out. And if he doesn’t, there’s always the next.
It’s fine.
Arthur doesn’t think anything of it when Merlin brings him a single bread roll and an apple and thinks that it’s a perfectly adequate breakfast.
Arthur doesn’t think anything of it when he chucks an apple core at Merlin’s head and Merlin brings it with him.
Arthur doesn’t think anything of it when he catches Merlin munching on what appears to be the scraps of his own dinner in Gaius’ chambers.
He does start to get a little worried when Merlin stays standing all the time and he starts swaying. He offers Merlin a seat—in a brash, overconfident way, he can’t have Merlin thinking he cares or anything silly like that—and Merlin declines, tottering off, still swaying.
He does start to frown a little when Merlin’s tunics start flapping like banners in the breeze, bumps standing out sometimes. He glances around to see a few of the knights staring at Merlin curiously.
He does start to wonder when Merlin keeps meeting up with another servant—Malwen, he thinks—and he sees her pass Merlin little snacks from her apron. Is Merlin requesting more food? Aren’t the meals he gets from Gaius and the kitchens enough? He always brushes the knights and Arthur off, saying he’ll eat later, or that he’s busy, perhaps he simply likes her. Something tells him that’s not quite it.
But it’s not until he actually sees that he really notices.
Merlin’s been off lately. Just a little more than usual but it’s enough off-center that it sets Arthur’s teeth on edge. He’s been getting this glazed look in his eyes recently, not snapping back with his comebacks right away. He’s wobbling a little more, and it’s not just his knees knocking together anymore, it’s…it’s something else. And he’s…
Arthur’s not completely sure, but he’s pretty sure Merlin’s lighter.
Now, okay, he doesn’t make a habit of picking up his servants. He doesn’t really make a habit of picking up anyone, thank you very much. But he’s a tactile person, especially with the knights. Shoves and punches and scuffles, what have you. Horseplay. And Merlin, who has absolutely no regard for social convention whatsoever, is all bumps and pokes and pats and prods which means Arthur’s not gonna take it lying down. So he slings Merlin along wherever they go and it works. But that does mean he’s got a pretty good memory of how much weight he’s slinging.
Merlin’s lighter. And it’s not that he’s letting Arthur get away with it—not that he could really do anything about it—even though, yeah, they’ve gotten…more familiar as Merlin’s been here, but it’s…there’s less of him to sling.
Problem is, he can’t really come out and say that, so he has to wait. Then Gwaine, who has even less regard for social convention than Merlin, picks Merlin up one day for some reason and almost staggers.
“Gods, Merlin,” the knight mutters, his brow drawn, “you’re as light as a feather!”
The rest of the knights pause, turning to look at Gwaine holding Merlin aloft, barely any strain in his muscles. Merlin squirms halfheartedly.
“Put me down, Gwaine.”
“But you’re…you weigh less than a sack of potatoes, have they been feeding you enough?”
Percival snorts. “He can’t be that light, Gwaine, give him here.”
“Oi!”
“Sure,” Gwaine says, tossing—tossing Merlin to Percival, even as the man in question squawks indignantly.
“I’m not something you can just toss around, Gwaine, put me—Percival!”
Percival, meanwhile, is staring at Merlin, his hands tucked underneath Merlin’s armpits. Then he adjusts his grip until he’s pushing on Merlin’s chest and lifts…
The knight lifts Merlin up with one hand.
“Put me down!”
“Do as he says,” Arthur barks instantly, the jovial mood quickly dissipating by the second, “put him down.”
Percival does, dropping Merlin almost abruptly, only for the rest of the knights to surge forward when Merlin collapses.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Merlin grumbles, getting to his feet slowly, “just not used to getting manhandled.”
None of them can say anything except listen to Merlin grumble his way off to the armory. The second he’s out of earshot, Gwaine whirls on the rest of them.
“What the hell?”
“He felt like a child,” Percival mutters, staring at his hands.
“Sire,” Lancelot says, “do you know if anything has happened?”
Arthur takes a deep breath and tells them what he’s noticed, the things he did and didn’t concern himself with at first. By the time he’s finished, the knights are awash with concern. Leon speaks up first.
“He’s changed,” the knight says, “since he came to Camelot. I…I cannot attest to how much, but he has changed.”
“Is it just me,” Elyan says, “or does he look…smaller, too?”
“You all look small,” Percival snorts, “but yes.”
“He looks unwell,” Lancelot murmurs, “perhaps we can talk to Gaius.”
Arthur shakes his head. “Gaius is away with my father. We won’t have a chance to talk to him until after the patrol.”
“He’s not gonna stay behind, is he?”
Arthur just gives Elyan a look. “One, no, and two, you really think he’ll be good enough at looking after himself?”
A ripple of murmured agreements goes through the knights. Then Leon shakes his head.
“We must be careful.”
“We’re always careful.”
“More than usual,” Leon corrects gently, mindful of Arthur’s status, “because if Merlin is unwell, it is unlikely he will tell us until it is too late.”
Leon’s right.
They stay in an inn. It’s warm and Arthur’s heart lifts a little when he sees Merlin’s happy little face in the room with the knights, surrounded by them. Lancelot glances up and discreetly gives him a little nod. They’ll keep him safe tonight.
The next morning, though, Merlin doesn’t wake with the rest of them. Arthur glances at the door and decides, well, if he’s not feeling well, he should try and sleep as long as he can, shouldn’t he? None of the other knights are able to offer any further assistance, so they leave Merlin slumbering peacefully and go downstairs.
The innkeeper has set them a generous breakfast of bacon, sausages, soft bread, eggs, and fruit and they eat heartily. Gwaine and Percival keep calling for more until even they have to throw in their napkins. Privately, Arthur’s thrilled. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen Merlin eat more than a little snack here and there or see a meal to completion. This…this might help.
“One more plate,” Arthur says finally, “for my servant. I think it’s time to wake him, don’t you?”
“I’m—I’m terribly sorry, Your Highness,” the innkeeper stammers, “but there is no more. I can—we have some bread from last night and—and perhaps some cheese?”
Arthur frowns and the knights fumble guiltily with their hands. Guilt that only deepens when the innkeeper returns with a rather pathetic looking plate and says it’s the best they can do.
“It’s what the servants normally eat,” they say apologetically, before vanishing to tend to the other patrons.
Arthur decides he’ll wake Merlin. Perhaps…perhaps he can ask what’s wrong when none of the others will hear.
“Merlin,” he calls, reluctant to coax his servant awake, “Merlin? It’s time to get up.”
Merlin raises a hand to his head, rubbing his eyes until he blinks blearily at Arthur.
“Where…where’re the others?”
“Downstairs,” Arthur says quietly, “but I wanted to ask you something.”
“No, I haven’t had the chance to repair your boots yet.”
“No, not that.” Arthur sits hesitantly on the edge of the bed. “Are you…do you feel alright?”
Merlin gives him a strange look. “If you’re asking me that, I should be the one asking you.”
“Merlin,” Arthur says, rolling his eyes, “you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
“Don’t see why it’s any of your business,” he mumbles.
Arthur frowns. “Of course it’s my business, you’re my servant.”
“Sure,” Merlin grumbles, sitting up and wincing.
“What, what is it?”
“It’s fine,” Merlin says automatically, waving a hand. “Headache.”
“You should eat something,” Arthur says quickly, only to wince when he remembers exactly what there is for Merlin to eat. Well, it’s better than nothing, isn’t it? Even if it’s below Merlin’s normal fare.
“Have you lot eaten?”
Arthur frowns but answers. “Yes.”
“Alright then.”
Merlin stands up but quickly sits back down. Arthur, already standing himself, frowns. “What are you doing?”
“Stood up too quick,” comes the reply, Merlin tapping his fingers idly on his knees.
Arthur sheepishly offers his arm, trying not to grin too obviously when Merlin clutches him tightly, standing up. For a moment, it’s almost like he’s escorting Merlin as he would a lady.
The knights have all left the table, busying themselves outside with the horses. Arthur catches Leon’s eyes out the window and the knight nods. They’re all ready to go once Merlin is. Speaking of Merlin…
Arthur winces when Merlin tries to bite down on the bread and immediately had to take it out of his mouth. He tries again to the same result.
“We may as well go now,” Merlin mutters, standing up, “I don’t know how you lot managed it.”
Guilt worries at Arthur’s throat as they walk outside. Merlin didn’t even try the cheese or the milk. They mount their horses and Gwaine approaches him slowly.
“I’m so sorry, Merlin,” he hears Gwaine mutter, “if…if I’d known I wouldn’t’ve had so much.”
Arthur expects Merlin to frown or snap or even just nod but he doesn’t. He says something.
“That’s alright, it wasn’t my food.”
Arthur can hear Gwaine frown. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“It wasn’t for me. It was your food. That’s okay.”
Merlin pulls his horse up near Arthur. Arthur has no explanation to offer Gwaine. He’s just as confused.
Merlin doesn’t talk. It’s a good thing his horse is steady; a few times it almost looks like he’s about to fall off. He doesn’t, but that’s not for lack of trying. Arthur’s secretly relieved when Lancelot calls for them to make camp.
Merlin doesn’t quite fall off of his horse, but it’s close. Percival sweeps in to take care of his horse too as Elyan not-so-discreetly shuffles Merlin to sit down. The knights take care of the horses as Arthur starts looking around for firewood.
Merlin doesn’t quite fall into the fire as he lights it but he definitely catches himself, his eyes blinking more awake. He puts together the stew and passes the pot to Elyan, saying they can portion it out themselves. Arthur catches the mischievous gleam in the knight’s eyes and they tuck a filled bowl behind them, hoping the jest will help shake Merlin out of his funk. But Merlin doesn’t complain when the stew is all gone, doesn’t notice there’s an extra bowl missing, and trots off to do the washing up with barely a glance behind him.
Merlin doesn’t quite make it back to the campsite.
There’s a thud.
Lancelot tears off through the trees.
The knights stand, hands on the pommels of their swords.
He comes back carrying Merlin, passed out cold.
They lay him down on Arthur’s bedroll.
They check for injuries.
They gasp.
Merlin’s spine stands out clearly from his back, lumps protruding through his shirt.
Merlin’s ribs are easily counted, his stomach barely there.
He’s cold.
He’s skinny.
As they stare in shock, a thunderous growl shakes them.
Elyan curses, making for the bowl of stew and fetching the pots from where they were dropped.
Leon sits Merlin up a small bit and fetches a waterskin.
Gwaine punches his bedroll.
Percival lowers his head.
Arthur stares.
A simple broth is cooked. Water is collected. Stories are swapped. A question is not answered.
Merlin wakes slowly, a hand carding gently—oh, so gently—through his hair, a powerful chest keeping him upright. He moans, the ache in his stomach far louder than normal. He doesn’t realize there was a murmured conversation happening, only when it trails off does he open his eyes.
“Merlin,” Lancelot calls, face swimming into view, “you’re awake.”
“What’s…what’s happened?”
“You passed out,” Gwaine growls, “and didn’t tell any of us something was wrong.”
“I’m fine.”
“The hell you are.”
“Gwaine,” Elyan chides, before holding up the bowl of broth. “Here, Merlin. Drink this.”
Merlin frowns. “Where’d you get that?”
“I made it,” Elyan says, “I do have some medical training, you know.”
“But from where? I cooked all the food into the stew.”
“It’s from the stew,” Elyan says patiently, trying to get Merlin to take it.
Merlin refuses, stubbornly pushing it away.
“He didn’t ruin your cooking,” Leon jokes, ah, that’s who’s holding him.
“No, it’s not mine.”
Arthur frowns. “Yes, it is.”
Merlin shakes his head. “No, that’s not my food. It’s yours.”
“Merlin, I made this specifically for you,” Elyan says, frowning, “you’re supposed to eat it.”
Merlin huffs and takes the bowl, drinking a little bit and making to pass it back.
“You’re supposed to finish it.”
“But it’s—“
“Merlin,” Leon breaks in slowly, “did…are…did this happen because you haven’t been eating?”
Merlin scoffs. “Of course I’ve been eating, I need to eat to survive, don’t I?”
“Really,” Gwaine says, “doesn’t look like you know that.”
Merlin glances down and realizes, oh yeah, they must’ve checked him for injuries and seen…him.
“Merlin,” Lancelot asks quietly, “when was the last time you ate a full meal? A proper one.”
Merlin racks his brain. “What…what counts as ‘proper?’”
“The last time you got a meal from Gaius, or the kitchen, something close to what Arthur or one of us gets,” Percival clarifies.
“But I don’t get meals like Arthur or you.”
Arthur frowns. “What do you mean?”
Merlin shrugs. “It’s not my food.”
“So…so what do you eat?”
“Well, Gaius leaves out a plate for me after he eats—“
Scraps. Merlin thinks Gaius’ scraps are for him.
“—and Malwen will give me small things when I can’t make the servant’s meals—“
Merlin never eats with the servants and Malwen is always giving him tiny things.
“—and I’ll eat things like I did at the inn,” Merlin finishes, slightly confused as to why the entire camp looks murderous. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”
Gwaine curses again. Elyan pushes the bowl back towards him. “You’re going to finish that. All of it. It’s yours.”
Merlin does. And as he eats, Leon starts talking slowly to him. Arthur’s glad it’s Leon, he doesn’t think any of the others have the temperament for it right now. And he learns things.
He learns that Merlin’s used to life and food in Ealdor.
He learns that Gaius doesn’t get that much food and that Merlin doesn’t want to force him to share.
He learns that that rat stew was the first hot food Merlin’s had since he arrived in Camelot.
He learns and he’s furious.
They’ve got things to talk about. Merlin needs to understand that he’s allowed to eat. Gaius will be upset, of course, and he’ll get Merlin on some sort of recovery diet, work him back up to proper meals bit by bit. Arthur will insist Merlin eat with him in his chambers, just so he can make sure Merlin’s eating. The knights will make sure Merlin takes breaks to eat. Gaius will get a proper food supply from the kitchens and he will eat with Merlin. They’re going to help Merlin with this.
Merlin will get stronger. Merlin will start being able to stand up and move better. Merlin will start looking like he used to. He will start getting better.
But right now, Merlin will finish that goddamn bowl.
And then Arthur’s pretty sure Gwaine will want to hug him. And Lancelot will. And yeah, he’s seen Leon do it too. And Elyan. Maybe even Percival.
But not before Arthur does.
Merlin’s his servant, after all.