His son has truly always been an idiot, although this isn't something Uther ever once thought he'd voice.
Arthur is brilliant! Yes, he's always known this, but he's just proved it . . . yet again.
Merlin is tired of Arthur dragging him into his brilliantly stupid plans and getting yelled at by Uther.
"No," Merlin says flatly, because I am NOT going there. Arthur's thought-out-of-boredom-plans are never good and Merlin isn't about to let himself get dragged into another one. "There is no way I'm helping you with this . . . Morgana is my friend—"
"You are my manservant, Merlin. You will do what I say, when I say it." Arthur's quick to cut him off. Stupid prat.
Merlin gives Arthur a fake laugh and manages to glare at him at the same time. Making his voice firm, and trying for a little deeper, Merlin barks, "You. Can't Make. Me. Do Anything."
The stocks are never fun, but Merlin always makes himself look like he's having the time of his life; in case a certain royal prat is looming around the premises or watching from a window. Which I know he does, considering Arthur always seems to know what kind of food is tossed at Merlin all day and have some brought up to his chambers just so he can blast Merlin some more. It's really surprising Merlin how much self-control he's been gaining. If he was back in Ealdor and someone had the audacity to throw rotten veggies at him- well, he probably would've gave them giant nasty boils all over there skin without even thinking about. What had mother been thinking sending me to Camelot? Maybe she knew I'd be too scared to get my head chopped off? Then again, that isn't very likely considering all the times he and Will almost—accidentally—got themselves killed.
Merlin dodges the potato that flies by his head and instantly dives for safety under Arthur's table. An assortment of flying smelly things try breaching the chair's legs while Merlin rolls on to his stomach and inches forwards, attempting to get closer to Arthur's bed without being hit by anything.
"Come on, Merlin," Arthur laughs out. "You can't hide from me, so just accept to help me with my Morgana plan and we can forget this ever happened."
"Never!" Merlin yells as he breaks through the wall of chairs and throws a stray banana peel towards Arthur.
Not stopping to check and see if he landed the blow, Merlin darts towards the bed and gracefully slides under. I totally didn't bang both my knees, rip my tunic, and smash my head against the wood. Telling himself that doesn't make the pain go away, though.
He hears footsteps and Arthur's smug voice, "come out, come out where ever you are! And accept your defeat like a man, Merlin!"
"Never!" He yells again.
"Very well then," Arthur sounds so smug that Merlin almost can't take it. He can picture Arthur's stupid little smirk and wants to knock it off his face.
Next thing Merlin knows his ankles are being grabbed and he's sliding across the dusty floor.
Merlin usually gives up once Arthur opts for using real violence, so Arthur decides the best course of action, in this particular case, will have to be violence. Normally he can teach Merlin lessons without actually hitting or wrestling, but tonight is not one of those nights, apparently.
He said I can't make him do whatever I want! Ha! Arthur thinks as he strides over to Merlin's pathetic hiding spot under the bed. Honestly, Merlin, you're a man! Not a dog in the middle of a thunderstorm.
Arthur grabs thin ankles and pulls.
He's expecting a little fight, maybe Merlin flailing uselessly a bit before Arthur manages to sit on top of him, like he always does. What Arthur isn't expecting is . . . well . . . what happens.
Merlin kicks one of his feet free and sends it straight into Arthur's crotch. Damn those stupidly long legs. Arthur drops his hold on Merlin's other foot by accident-not because Merlin actually hurt me—and before he can ever register what's happening he's being pounced on by—what seems to be—a hundred pounds of completely sharp bones.
First its Merlin's damn knees that give Arthur trouble, it's like the caps of them are secretly made out of rocks. The rock-knees jab into Arthur's thighs and instantly sends clenching pain to his muscle. Note to self: rock-knees can cause instant charley horses . . . avoid rock knees at all costs! Then it's Merlin's elbows. Trying to wrap Merlin up, so I won't actually have to hurt him, Arthur somehow manages to take a swift elbow to his side, and then consecutively after—which is completely out of luck, because I refuse to believe Merlin is actually using fighting tactics against the prince of Camelot—Merlin manages to bow him right in the eye.
Arthur's been hit with elbows a lot, Morgana's were always the worst, but this . . . Merlin's elbows . . . they are like thin miniature joisting sticks. Have I ever mentioned that jousting is my least favorite sport . . . in the history of ever?
Then all of the sudden he finds himself on the floor and this is honestly the most pathetic fight Arthur's ever been in. But for some reason he already knows he's going to be sore as hell tomorrow.
They roll around, fighting for dominance, in which Arthur would've clearly gotten, easily . . . if he wasn't introduced to Merlin's many other painful body parts. His hips are sharp and Arthur is now avoiding them at all cost, along with Merlin's shoulder blades and fingers . . . ugh those damn fingers!
Arthur can't avoid the fingers because Merlin is slapping him. Slapping Arthur in every place he can manage from their tangled position. And Arthur would compare Merlin to a girl—because honestly, no man should ever fight with slaps—only Merlin's slaps are really quite effective. His long, thin, boney fingers acting as whips, burning Arthur's skin and suddenly Arthur's very glad Merlin isn't putting his—surely rocky—knuckles to use.
Right as Merlin lands his first loud slap across his face, Arthur hears something that sounds like a dramatic Kingly gasps from the direction of the doorway . . .
Well damn.
Uther just needed one small conformation from his son, one tiny little nod. That's it. He should have known walking down here himself to get it would be a terrible idea.
Walking into Arthur—Prince of Camelot, my son—rolling around on the dirty floor with his manservant wrapped in a tight embrace and said servant slapping him in the face is definitely not what Uther expected he'd find though.
Arthur just stares at Uther, he's still clinging tightly to the boy whose now is stiff as a board and trying in an effortful manor to push Arthur as far away from him as possible. As Uther lets out a frustrated sigh, Arthur seems to snap out of his daze and quickly lets the boy go. The servant then jumps up about fifty times quicker than his son—which is something Uther must discus with Arthur another day—and rights himself, hands clamping behind his back.
"Did I just see you slap the Prince of Camelot in the face?" Uther growls, he doesn't even know who he's madder at! Arthur's idiot manservant or his own idiot son! He opts to go with the servant boy. Who still won't meet my eyes.
Instead of answering instantly like he should, the boy turns to Arthur. But what surprises Uther is the way this servant looks at his son. Instead of looking at Arthur for some sort of help or pleading, the servant merely glares and then, after taking in Arthur's disheveled state, the boy actually shifts his face into one of sympathy. I'm beyond confused.
"Yes, my lord," The boy starts, all the sudden standing straight and finally meeting Uther's gaze, "I did just slap Arthur in the face, but you must believe me when I say- I did it only thinking of the Lady Morgana's shiny hair."
"What?" Uther barks angrily. Yes, way beyond confused.
"Well you see, sire, Arthur here was planning on making me sabotage Morgana's hair treatments with stickypaste and I didn't want Morgana's hair to fall out because when I was back in Ealdor me and my best mate put stickypaste in this girls hair and well it all fell—"
Uther silences him with a swift hand movement, cutting off his useless babbling. Of course he should have this boy flogged, but from the look on Arthur's face Uther can tell his son is, not only okay with being slapped by a servant, but already moving on and thinking of another way to prank Morgana since he's been found out . . . Arthur really is an idiot sometimes.
Knowing he can't very well voice his true opinions because well . . . Uther could never be heard thanking a servant for trying to knock some sense into his son. He decides a threat will be most effective instead, "you will not put your hands anywhere near him again or you will be flogged." Then Uther turns to Arthur and scolds, "and if Morgana's hair falls out, you will be dancing with her at every gathering we have until it grows back."
Arthur and the serving boy both nod, and Uther takes his leave. Once he's out the door, Uther pointedly ignores the faint slap sound and hushed whispers about 'fingers like rocky whips.'
The one thing that Merlin likes about Arthur is the fact that they can roll around for nearly five minutes trying to hurt one another, then be caught by the King, and suddenly go back to normal.
"You said best mate?" Arthur questions after he walks over and makes sure the door is shut and bolted. "Were you talking about Will?"
Trying not to visibly tense at the mention of his life-long best friend—who is bloody dead and took the blame of sorcery for me—Merlin coughs a little causing Arthur to scrunch his brow as he falls on the bed.
"Um, yeah I was talking about him." Merlin admits.
Arthur pats the spot next to him on the bed. What the hell? Does Arthur seriously want me to sit on his bed? Of course Merlin isn't going to turn it down, its beats standing, especially after all that fighting. Not that he'll ever admit it, but that was hard work.
After Merlin gets comfortable, which is him taking the spot at the end of Arthur's bed, stretching his legs out, and leaning against the bed frame, Arthur asks, mirroring Merlin's position at the top of the bed, "but I mean . . . how did you like . . . have a best mate who was a sorcerer?"
Merlin snorts, he can't help himself. Maybe the same way you have a sorcerer as your best friend is at the tip of his tongue but instead he says, "Will's powers were great, once I found out about them we had so much fun."
"How so?" Arthur asks with an appalled look- like Merlin is suggesting the most revolting thing in the world. Like Arthur's picturing Merlin and Will prancing around the forest, doing evil things to travelers just for a laugh.
"Magic isn't evil, Arthur," Merlin starts and he's not quite sure if this is a good idea but he keeps going anyway, "it's only evil if an evil person uses it . . . Will didn't have a single evil bone in his body . . . so his magic was all fun and games . . . at least at the time."
"Games?" Arthur questions in a drawn out way, seemingly still uncertain that these 'games' don't have something to do with destroying Camelot.
Merlin laughs because Arthur is just . . . yes, Arthur.
"Yes, games," Merlin repeats. "Will's mother didn't let him use his magic, so when I found out we did everything in secret . . . but we were pretty much used to being by ourselves all the time anyway so it didn't really matter. But we would sometimes go off in the woods and use his magic to cut down an insane amount of fire wood, and then at night we would stack it all up in the middle of the village and watch how everybody would freak out in the morning . . . it was great."
"Nobody ever caught you?" Arthur asks. He never realized his manservant was so comfortable about Will's powers. He knew Merlin didn't hate them, but he hadn't realized Merlin played part in these sorcery games.
Merlin shakes his head and sighs, "Will's mother of course eventually caught on, but there wasn't much she could do about it . . . and nobody was complaining. It was free fire wood, after all!"
Arthur can't help the smile the tugs at the corners of his lips. Gods know father would have me flogged senseless, but he realizes he likes Merlin like this- sprawled out on his bed, face a lit with old memories. Arthur can't even bring himself to care that Merlin was a friend to sorcery anymore. Hell, he wouldn't even care if Merlin were the one with magic. That is, as long as Merlin keeps sitting at the end of Arthur's bed and looking at him with that happy smile.
A sudden jealousy pulls at Arthur- Will has seen Merlin like this. Will has seen my Merlin like this, and probably more times than Arthur has. He pictures Will and Merlin laying on hay mattresses giggling about their wood prank and then something Merlin said comes in to play- 'but me and Will were pretty much used to being by ourselves all the time . . .'
"You said you and Will were used to being by yourselves?" Arthur questions, not sounding jealous at all. "Why?"
Just when Arthur's realizing that it's stupid to get this jealous over a manservant, a red blush creeps up Merlin's cheeks and Arthur's princely emotion regulator jumps out the window. I knew there was a reason why I hated that bloody guy so much.
"We just . . . you know . . . liked being around each other most of the time."
I'm sure you did, is what Arthur wants to say but instead he spits out, "who would like being around you?"
Merlin smiles and pinches Arthur's toes, "apparently Will."
Merlin knows he made a bad decision as soon as he says it—in his defense he still doesn't know why—but Arthur's whole body tenses and suddenly Merlin is feeling really uncomfortable despite the soft mattress.
"Yes, apparently," Arthur practically growls.
"Um, a, yes . . . " Merlin's starts, having decided there is no way that, that was jealousy in Arthur's voice. Which means Arthur's finally seen through all this 'best mate' business and is disgusted. "Look I'm sorry I didn't tell you before . . . but me and Will, we weren't just friends. We were like . . . you know, and we've never told anyone and I didn't just not tell you . . ."
Merlin trails off because Arthur's face is suddenly red as an apple and he's seems to have stopped breathing altogether. Contemplating the situation, Merlin decides standing up for himself is the best course of action, "Don't look at me like that, Arthur! Will was amazing and not disgusting at all! He was a good man and he saved your life because you were important to me! He's dead now because I . . . cause I told him you . . . you . . ."
Merlin doesn't remember it happening, but somewhere along his explanation he started crying.
"Merlin—I—I wasn't . . ." Arthur looks crushed, his face now pale despite the redness earlier, "I don't think it's disgusting at all, I don't exactly hate Will for having magic, and I especially don't hate you for . . . you know, that."
"Then why did you look at me like that?" Merlin knows he's being stupid and he fully expects the Prince to remind him, but surprisingly Arthur doesn't.
Instead Arthur makes his way to the end of the bed, all the way, until Merlin can feel Arthur's heat ghosting his side.
"I was . . . I might have been just a bit jealous or something," Arthur admits, voice barely over a whisper, "I just . . . I don't know, I've never had a friend or anybody like that and well I was just being . . ."
Arthur trails off so Merlin wipes his tears, smiles, and finishes for him, "a prat?"
Uther really, really should have his son flogged a few good times, that would surely do the trick.
Merlin just really should have bolted after Uther yelled at him the other day because now Arthur is scaring him. You know, more than usual anyway.
Arthur is going to bloody run through someone.
Uther first notices at the feast held to celebrate Arthur's victory in a small tourney against a few of the southern kingdom's finest knights.
Everyone has finished eating and his son's had plenty of ale so his servant has wandered off. Arthur manages to focus on the knights banter around him for all of ten seconds before he somehow blindly senses the other boy's presence leave and is turning, searching the room for it.
Following his son's gaze, they both find Arthur's servant leaning against a shadowed pillar, talking to a knight from another kingdom. The knight seems to have no regards that he's talking to a servant. Sounds like somebody else I know.
Just as he's thinking that, Uther sneaks a peek at Arthur, and of course his son is bloody gritting his teeth and standing up.
Uther doesn't stop him, even though he really should.
Idiot.
"Merlin," Arthur growls, creeping up from behind Merlin and his little scrawny little knight friend.
Merlin startles around quickly, "Um, yes, sire?"
"What are you doing?" Arthur asks just as he registers Merlin's wearing his 'please make this guy stop talking to me about stuff I don't care about look.'
"I was just chatting with Sir Belvion here," Merlin explains, eyes widening, he adds, "he was just telling me all about the necessity of structural combat practice."
"Oh," Arthur starts, relaxing again as a weight seems to leave his shoulders, "well I hate to pull you away from such an important conversation, but I've decided to retire early tonight."
Merlin can't help but gape because Arthur just . . . he just . . .
Saved Merlin from having to listen to someone's rambling?
Any other time Arthur would smirk, punch Merlin in the arm and say, "good. Just the conversation I wanted to have with you tomorrow . . . listen intently, Merlin, and be ready to leave in four hours."
But apparently Arthur's not trying to cause Merlin any prattish suffering tonight.
Merlin doesn't like it. Not one bit.
As soon as Uther catches sight of Arthur storming out early, manservant following quickly behind, he does everything in his power to keep from smashing his fists into the table.
Curses inwardly.
Sighs and sips his wine.
Well, I may have some things to deal with and/or get used too.
At least Morgana seems to be keeping her bloody legs closed.