Arthur would have tripped over that broom and tumbled down the hard, unforgiving steps if not for Merlin's intervention, covertly moving it aside with his magic. Arthur would have likely broken that vase after he drunkenly bumped into it, but Merlin reversed its downward fall and it returned to its precarious perch on the stand in the hall.
He would have gotten a sword swung into his leg if Merlin hadn't caused the opposing knight to trip on a sudden mound of grass that appeared before his feet. Arthur claimed the victory with much enthusiasm and Merlin almost regretted having spared his humbling.
The horse reared up to kick Arthur, and, then, while he was riding in the forest, the low branches, battered by the storm only days before, threatened to fall and squash the prince, but Merlin quickly avoided both accidents, leaving Arthur none the wiser.
His head almost didn't land on the pillow when he plopped exhaustedly onto his bed, eyes already closed, but Merlin made sure that it was in the exact spot that thick skull of his would fall, comforters folding caringly over him by invisible hands when he at last was fast asleep.
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