A/N: My first try in this fandom. It can be read as Gen or Pre-slash (okay, probably Pre-slash, but then, so is the show :) ). Warnings for some mild swearing and some not-so-mild violence. Merlin belongs to the BBC; I own nothing!

The story is set at some point in Series 1, during Merlin's first winter in Camelot.

Enjoy!

Part 1/2

To Arthur, it had always been something of a joke. A laugh, nothing more. Why not make fun of a servant's freckled face – "Did you stand too close when they painted the maypole?" - and why not share a laugh when one of the knights accidentally-on purpose bumped into one of the scullery maids, spilling water all down her front? Of course the maid would shriek and try to cover her wet chest, of course the knights would whoop and wolf-whistle, but it was all good fun. No one took it seriously, the maid included.

When Merlin caught the target butt with his foot and told Arthur that the joke was over, Arthur hadn't understood. He hadn't even thought about Merlin's meaning, and it was only much later when he realized that Merlin had actually been quite brave. To stand up to a knight - several knights, in fact - with nothing but a smile on his face and the voice of reason on his side… it took guts. More guts than you needed to attack an untrained youth with a mace. But these thoughts only came years later. At the time, all Arthur saw was a gangly young peasant who had volunteered to be chased around the marketplace for reasons best known to himself. Not for a moment had he imagined how it would be if he actually split open the boy's head, if his blood and brains spattered over the dirt road and the laughter died on people's faces. As so many helpful, if unpleasant thoughts, this one too took several years in coming.

As Arthur's manservant, Merlin no longer stood up to him like that. He acted as most servants did – grinning awkwardly at jokes made at his expense, ducking when things were thrown at him, never losing his inane smile. Of course, he told Arthur where to stuff it, not to be a 'prat' – in matters that concerned the kingdom, Gwen or whatever evil magical being had crawled out of the bog to attack Camelot this week (sometimes all three). But he never defended himself. He let Arthur have his laughs, let him think that it was a nobleman's prerogative to do so. Maybe – and this thought crossed Arthur's mind only when his beard was gray and he'd seen Merlin set fire to the sky and ride dragons as if they were the tamest of mares – maybe Merlin himself had known no better at the time. No matter what the legends said, Arthur knew that the Great Warlock wasn't omniscient. He was, in fact, a bit of an idiot. Sometimes.

But there were moments, early on, when something changed in Arthur, sometimes without his realizing it until much later. Many of those moments made him wince when he remembered them, and some made him blush in shame. And there was that one time, that one horrible day, that he couldn't remember without wanting to go out and do something extremely noble and kingly, as Merlin put it. It was how the poor tanner's family from the low town had ended up with a two-story house in Camelot's best street, why Mercia had celebrated for three days after King Arthur had forgiven all their war reparations, and how Aelfen, the kitten Sir Percival's granddaughter carried everywhere, was saved from a tree by the King himself. These things helped, but they never quite erased the memory of what had happened that day. What Arthur had caused to happen, however unintentionally.

It began, for once not with dragons or plotting sorcerers, but with a simple visit from the neighboring kingdom of Bernicia. Yuletide was almost upon the land, and Uther had invited King Edwin, his wife and sons to spend the holiday at Camelot and, in Uther's words, "celebrate a decade of peace". At the time, Arthur hadn't cared much why Edwin had been invited; he was simply glad that there was no princess he would have to entertain while Uther and the visiting king watched them shiftily from across the table. The last one had been 'stunningly beautiful' (in Uther's advertising speech before her arrival), had charmed the entire court with her wit and graceful conversation, and had, in a private moment, informed Arthur that she carried a dagger in her boot, just in case he got any ideas. Her handmaiden had given Arthur a look that foretold in no uncertain terms the fate of any suitor who dared touch her princess, 'her' being the operative word. Arthur was glad, in any case, that Edwin only had sons to bring along.

"I wouldn't rejoice too soon, sire," Sir Leon said with uncharacteristic gloom when Arthur mentioned this fortunate turn of events.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, tossing his vambraces down next to his discarded chainmail, right into a snowdrift. Training was over, and Merlin was late again to pick up his armor, never mind helping him undress.

"Well, they say…" Leon flushed slightly. "I mean, not that I listen to gossip, sire, but it is known that Princes Eadwig and Eglan are... not too easy to get along with."

"How so?"

"I don't wish to speak disrespectfully of our royal guests," Leon said piously. "I should not have mentioned it. My apologies, sire."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You know I don't give a damn about that, Leon. Come on, I'd like to know what I've got to look forward to this time."

"Well… I still recall the first time King Edwin visited. I was a but a little boy then, and the princes only a little older than me. They tormented their nanny by putting spiders down her dress, and fed the horses sugar cubes with pebbles inside. I believe you were too young to remember, sire, how they…" Leon broke off, looking embarrassed.

"How they what?" Arthur asked, not sure if he actually wanted to know, from the look on Leon's face.

"Well, you were only two, sire, and they thought it would be funny to lock you into a cupboard in the armory. You'd been in there for several hours when the King found you."

To Leon's credit, he kept a completely straight face. Arthur imagined his two-year-old self, no doubt bawling like a banshee, being rescued from the cupboard by his father, and felt his cheeks grow warm.

"I'm sure they must've grown out of it," he said, with a slightly forced grin. "They can't go around locking people in cupboards anymore."

"No, but from what one hears, they take great delight in tormenting their servants."

"Sounds like they're right royal prats," a voice said behind them. Arthur turned around, and of course, there was Merlin, ears and nose red with cold and grinning in a way that told Arthur he'd heard it all, including the cupboard incident.

"Merlin." Arthur unbuckled his sword belt and dropped it on top of the messy heap that was his armor. "Now don't you hurry or anything, I'm sure the demands on your time are manifold and far more important than attending me at training."

"They are, actually." Merlin smiled his usual ear-to-ear smile, which faded slightly when he saw the armor in the snow. "Do you have to do that? Do you know how long it takes to rub that chainmail dry, what with all the little holes and everything?"

Leon snorted, trying to cover it up with a cough. Smiling sweetly, Arthur knelt down next to Merlin in the snow. "I'm sorry, how inconsiderate of me. Would you like me to help you?"

"No-" Merlin raised his hands, but of course stood no chance against Arthur's tackle.

"Why, I'd be happy to show you how it's done. You'll need a cloth-" Arthur grabbed a handful of snow, "-and then all you have to do is rub really hard, like this."

Merlin yowled and struggled, trying to push Arthur off, but to no avail. Arthur made sure to get snow into Merlin's mouth and nose, and stuff the rest down his collar before he got up again.

"Now, if you need another lesson, feel free to ask," he said, watching with his arms folded as Merlin struggled back to his feet, face even redder and wet hair sticking up like a mad hedgehog. "The sentiment might not be mutual, but you know I'll always make time for you."

Merlin muttered something which sounded suspiciously like 'dollop head'. He gathered up the scattered armor, balancing it in a precarious heap (Arthur had no doubt that at least one part would fall down with a spectacular clatter before Merlin reached the armory; sometimes he wondered if most of the dents in it came from training or from Merlin's loving care).

"If t-that's all, s-sire?"

Arthur waved him off. "You'll attend me at the banquet tonight, of course. And Merlin-" He watched as Merlin turned and, naturally, dropped one of the vambraces in the process. "Do be on time for once?"

"I'm always on t-time." With that, Merlin walked away in what he obviously deemed a dignified retreat. His patched winter jacket was soaked through, as was the seat of his trousers, Arthur noticed with a smirk. Royal prat indeed.

"It's been unusually cold these past few days," Leon remarked, apropos of nothing. Arthur nodded in agreement. He could feel the chill even through his padded doublet and fur-lined gloves.

"Let's get inside then." He clapped Leon on the shoulder. "Nothing like some hot mulled wine after a good day's training, eh?"

Leon followed him, and if he rolled his eyes a little, Arthur never saw it. At the time, he didn't really pay attention to such things.

###

King Edwin and his entourage arrived just before sunset, and it took only ten minutes to convince Arthur that Leon's information (knights didn't gossip) had been correct – Eadwig and Eglan were, there was no other word for it, prats. Eadwig had brought his wife, a slight girl who couldn't have been more than sixteen, and had the hunted look of someone living in constant fear of harassment. And sure enough, when Eadwig helped her dismount, Arthur saw him pinch her painfully in the backside. Next to him, Morgana stiffened and hissed something to Gwen. Both of them glared at Eadwig, who took no notice whatsoever.

Eglan was as stocky and broad-shouldered as his older brother, wrapped in a fur coat that made him look like a walking boulder. "Prince Arthur," he said, squeezing Arthur's hand as if he wanted to crush his bones. "You've grown since our last visit – though not by much!" He let out a booming laugh, showing two rows of perfect yellow teeth. "Still not too big to get caught in small spaces, I'd say!"

"Prince Eglan." Arthur squeezed back. "I can see that the rumors about the food shortage in Bernicia must have been true."

Uther shot him a look, and Arthur had to admit that it was childish, but what the hell, Eglan had started it. Eadwig, in the meantime, had moved on to greet Morgana.

"My lady," he said, leaning over her hand while his eyes lingered on her breasts. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Morgana yanked her hand back. "Likewise, my lord. And your wife," she added pointedly.

"Oh," Eadwig nodded towards the pale girl behind him. "May I present the Lady Lynet."

Morgana and Gwen drew the girl between them, their arms around her as they turned their backs to Eadwig. "Lynet, welcome. You must be tired from the journey. Come on, let's retreat to the bower while the men do their talking. Do you like honey wine and ginger bread?"

Lynet looked slightly intimidated, but seemed glad to follow them inside. Arthur bit back a grin at the look on Eadwig's face. First round goes to Morgana.

A loud crash at the bottom of the stairs distracted him. One of Edwin's servants, a boy about Lynet's age, had slipped on the ice and dropped the bags he was carrying. Their contents spilled into the muddy snow as the boy scrabbled around, trying to stuff it all back where it belonged.

"Wulfgar, you idiot, that had better not been my surcoat!" Eglan rolled his eyes at Arthur. "Really, that useless lump needs a good kick once a day to get him to do anything right."

Before Arthur could think of anything to say, Merlin had pushed past him and was helping Wulfgar repack the bags. "It's okay," Arthur heard him say. "I slip here all the time. Spilled half of Arthur's breakfast today on my way from the kitchen."

Wulfgar smiled a little, and Arthur resolved to order a double breakfast from now on. He knew only too well that when Merlin said 'all the time', he really meant 'all the time'.

Things didn't improve much during the banquet. Camelot's cooks had pulled out all the stops, and the food was delicious – there were meat pies and roasts, all manner of poultry, sturgeons cooked in parsley and vinegar, Arthur's beloved herb-crusted capons, an enormous sugar cake shaped like the Pendragon coat of arms and adorned with gilded plums, a jelly dyed in Bernicia's black and silver, and of course flagons of mead, ale and Camelot's finest vintage. Even Uther, who never paid much attention to food, smiled appreciatively at the sight of the laden tables.

"A happy Yuletide to all of us, and may our esteemed guests enjoy their stay!"

Everyone applauded as Uther sat back down. Eglan clapped his hands twice in a perfunctory manner, then picked up his fork and proceeded to clean his nails with it.

"In France," he said, "they make the most delicious flambéed quails in cognac. Have you been to France?"

"Not yet," Arthur said, holding out his glass for Merlin to fill.

Eglan wiped his fork on the tablecloth, inspecting his nails. "I accompanied my uncle to Paris last year. Quelle ville – envoûtante!"

Arthur smiled through gritted teeth. "It sounds fascinating."

Eglan laughed his obnoxious toothy laugh. "Oh, it is – certainly a change to the rustic life you enjoy in these parts." He held up his glass. "Wulfgar! Plus de vin!"

Wulfgar came stumbling over, holding two flagons and looking helplessly from one to the other.

"More wine, you oaf! Really," Eglan rolled his eyes at Arthur. "C'est scandaleux!"

Arthur had a feeling that he might empty his own glass over Eglan's head if he had to listen to this for much longer. He concentrated on his capon, and was glad about the distraction when Morgana arrived, followed by Lady Lynet and Gwen. Morgana was often late on these occasions – all the better to make a grand entrance, Arthur suspected. He had to admit that her calculation had paid off today. There was not a single knight or courtier who didn't look up as the three women entered: Morgana resplendent in her favorite green dress, her hair pinned in an ornate knot, Gwen in a flowing gown with an embroidered bodice that flattered her form, and little Lady Lynet in a blue and silver dress, her long blond hair trailing down her back.

"My ladies." King Edwin got up and bowed to Morgana. "May I have the honor of escorting you to your seat, Lady Morgana?"

"It is my great pleasure, sire." Her hand in Edwin's, Morgana swept past Eadwig and Eglan as if they didn't exist, and sat down next to Uther. "Come, Lynet, you must try our almond pastries."

Lynet smiled at Morgana. She looked far less frightened than before. "I'd love to."

Eadwig, Arthur saw, was watching them with narrowed eyes, his knife clutched in one fist.

Eglan seemed to have noticed as well. "Quite a minx, your Lady Morgana," he said in an undertone, leering at her. "Tell me – is she a spirited one?"

Arthur found it hard not to grimace at the man's tone. "Lady Morgana upholds her honor and the honor of Camelot." Besides, Sir Leon would have your head if he saw you looking at her like that, he did not add. There was no need to tell this slimebag about Camelot's shyest knight and his undying devotion to the King's ward.

Eglan smirked and held up his glass. "Wine, Wulfgar!"

Wulfgar hurried over, a flagon in his hands. Arthur knew it would happen half a second before the boy himself did – he saw one of Wulfgar's feet catch on the protruding stone slab, saw him lose his balance, eyes wide as he flailed and fell. The flagon shattered on the floor, wine splashing on the diners close by. Wulfgar himself lay stunned in a pool of spilled Malvasia and glass shards.

Eglan jumped up. "Wulfgar, you thrice-damned fool!" He kicked the boy in the ribs. "I've had enough of your incompetence. You're the worst servant I've ever known!"

Arthur put a hand on Eglan's arm. "No harm done, Eglan. I assure you we have plenty more of those in our wine cellar. As for the worst servant-" He grinned a little and glanced at Merlin, who was helping Wulfgar to his feet. "I'm afraid that title was taken long since by Merlin here."

Merlin glared at him, and Arthur raised his eyebrows in response. At least Eglan's attention was no longer on Wulfgar, who had turned away, sniffling and wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"Worst servant, eh?" Eglan looked Merlin up and down. "Even worse than this useless dung beetle? Its hard to believe, Arthur."

"I assure you." Arthur's grin broadened. Eglan might be an ass, but this was turning out to be fun. "No one beats Merlin at being useless. Not a day has passed when my meals weren't cold, my chambers weren't a mess, my socks didn't have holes in them and my fires were actually lit when I went to bed. Not to mention that he can't cross the courtyard without getting distracted by a funny cloud or a pretty butterfly."

Merlin mouthed something at him that Arthur couldn't decipher – not that he didn't get the message.

Eglan grinned. "A wager then, Arthur. You lend me your Merlin for a day, and I'll inflict Wulfgar's services on you for the same time. After that, we compare notes and see who really has the worst servant."

Arthur looked from Eglan to Merlin, whose mouth had dropped open in apparent outrage. He'd been about to refuse the 'wager' – Eglan was too much of an arrogant bastard – but seeing Merlin's indignation, he couldn't resist.

"Very well then," he said, trying hard not to laugh at the utter disbelief on Merlin's face. "You have yourself a bet, Eglan. Merlin will serve you until noon tomorrow, and I'll take Wulfgar as my manservant. I'm sure it will be a welcome relief."

Wulfgar's chin trembled. Feeling slightly guilty, Arthur smiled at him. "Come on, it's not that bad. I don't bite."

"I wouldn't count on it," Merlin muttered, and was promptly slapped on the back of his head by Eglan.

"Watch your mouth! And clean up that mess – don't just stand there!"

Rubbing the spot Eglan had hit, Merlin disappeared, presumably to get a mop and bucket. Arthur sat back down. Merlin usually snapped out of his sulks fairly quickly, smiling reluctantly at one of Arthur's jokes, pushing back when Arthur playfully poked him in the side. This time would be no different.

When Merlin came back and began to mop up the spilled wine, Arthur was back to ignoring Eglan's prattle about France and the French girls who (allegedly) threw themselves at the feet of handsome knights from Albion. He ate too many capons, drank too much spiced wine, sang along loudly (and out of tune) when some of the knights broke into a rendition of "Sweet Elwyna, the Tavern Keeper", and had soon forgotten about his wager with Eglan. There was a moment of confusion when he staggered (walked, definitely walked) back to his chambers, and it wasn't Merlin helping him out of his clothes, but a scared-looking boy with dirty blond hair. The moment passed quickly, however – after several glasses of Malvasia, Arthur tended to just run with these things as they happened.

He slept well that night, as one tends to do under a heap of heavy fur blankets. He woke late, finding that the fire in his chambers had been stoked and breakfast set out on the table – raisins, nuts and dried peaches, was this Merlin's idea of a joke? Not that Arthur was particularly hungry, which was probably the fault of the goblin that was trying to work its way out of Arthur's skull with a blunt axe. Dear gods, couldn't Merlin have foreseen this and gone to Gaius to get that disgusting hangover concoction of his?

Someone, probably his sadist of a manservant, had opened the curtains to a sunny, blue-skied day. Shielding his eyes, Arthur staggered to his dressing table to splash his face. A second later, he almost overturned the bowl as a flurry of knocks came from the door. Whoever it was seemed to be in an indecent hurry.

"What!? If that's you, Mer-"

"Arthur!" The door burst open, and it was very definitely not Merlin. It was Gwen, her hair flying everywhere as if she'd run the entire way to his chambers. "I mean, sire! You've got to hurry – I mean to say, please come quickly!"

"Guinevere," Arthur held up a hand, "calm down, I'm sure it's not-"

"It's Merlin!"

"Merlin what?"

Gwen bit her lip. "He's in trouble, sire. They-" She swallowed. "I think they're going to flog him."

To be continued...

I'm still finding my feet in this fandom, so I'd really appreciate any feedback you can give me, concrit of the Arthur-wouldn't and Merlin-doesn't variety included! Part 2/2 should be up soon.