"You're firing me?"
Merlin lies on the bed in Gaius' chambers, swathed in bandages, weak as a lamb. Arthur doesn't understand how Merlin can look so indignant, angry and hurt all while lying there as still as a log –his extensive injuries don't allow him to move –but he's pulling it off, very successfully.
"You're firing me? You're firing me?" Merlin repeats, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Arthur sighs impatiently. "Yes, yes and yes. I'm firing you, idiot. Get it into that thick skull of yours! You –are no longer –going to be –my manservant."
"Oh." Merlin visibly deflates. Arthur is still wondering how he does it. Even while lying injured, Merlin seems to crumble, his body collapsing in on itself at Arthur's words. "Oh," Merlin mumbles, "Okay."
Arthur feels a tad guilty for making Merlin feel this way but he's brimming with anticipation like a child. He steps closer. He wants really badly to see Merlin's reaction.
"And then," Arthur announces, "I'm rehiring you as Court Sorcerer!" He's the proudest of this idea, the brainchild of many nights of thought and planning.
For a moment, Merlin's face seems to light up with shock and excitement. He looks as stunned as a deer that has caught sight of the hunting dogs. Then it goes blank, wiped off, leaving an empty, emotionless look. Calmly and coolly, Merlin looks up to meet Arthur's eyes. "I'm afraid," he says, his voice shaking ever so slightly, "that such a thing will not be possible, sire."
It is Arthur's turn to sag in disappointment, for his shoulders to slump as he falls from his metaphorical throne to the deepest dungeons. He schools his face blank immediately. Kings do not express their feelings, especially to manipulative sorcerers who have just been fired. But for the life of him, Arthur can't figure out why Merlin would turn down a position of such honour. It had been the perfect plan! Merlin would be allowed to use magic freely and he could still protect Arthur with his magic. Wasn't that what Merlin wanted? Wasn't it?
His mind is screaming why, why, why, why? Instead he says out loud, "Why not?" trying to sound merely curious and not like a petulant child whining.
Merlin keeps his eyes fixed on the king but his facial expressions change subtly. Arthur knows the scrunched up forehead and slightly opened mouth means that Merlin thinks he's the idiot here. "Because," he says slowly, as if explaining a particularly difficult concept to a child –it makes Arthur bristle –"I am not a sorcerer." And when Arthur opens his mouth to protest, continues, "I'm a warlock. Difference!" Just like that, Merlin's goofy, carefree smile is back as he smirks cheekily at Arthur. "Prat,' he laughs, just because he can.
Arthur can't decide if he wants to send Merlin to the stocks as Court Warlock or to get him to muck out the stables as his servant. Of course, only after he recovers.