Burns Too Bright, Lives Too Fast

Arthur wasn't entirely sure what had happened after he'd returned from radio last night. This was probably a good thing. What had he earned that pillow for anyway?

... All things considered, it was probably also a good thing that Merlin didn't have a mobile phone for Arthur to have the number of, because the voicemails may have been... many.

Of course, all of this amounted to the fact that when he finally did wake up, about half an hour late, half-dressed and in his own bed (with his nightshirt still dumped on the floor where he'd left it last night before things started to go insane) he had a headache that pounded harder than a hammer, or something like it.

Give him a few moments to realise he had a spar scheduled this morning. Just give him that.

[[ for one big-eared manservant, please ]]

The bandage around Arthur's head wasn't the most ornate thing he'd ever worn, but as long as it kept his brains in, he was more than happy to let it sit right where it was. The new sling, though, was going to gain far more glaring once Arthur had spent the night in his own room, rather than the clinic.

Honestly. Could he please keep an arm to use for more than a month?

With Merlin's help, he walked into the room, shooting his bed a look that was more than a little pathetically grateful. Again, he wasn't stupid. Sleep. Sleep was good for injuries.

[[ for the ears, and sp! ]]