I am not going to apologise for the wait. That implies I have learnt my lesson and can promise I will never do it again which anyone who has ever read my works will know is not the case. I update when I can which nowadays is when I get five minutes away from work. Having your own booming business and being a single parent to two very active kids, sucks when it comes to free time in which to write!

I still have no claim over my favourite warlock and crew.

...

He's at the tavern

Chapter 2- It gets worse.

The door at the top of the tower steps would have slammed if his head hadn't been pounding so badly and the diatribe he was about to launch at his mentor died on his tongue when he realised the room was echoingly empty.

He sighed instead upon seeing the note left on the table, the same type as had been placed thusly so many times over the last few weeks. Opening it only proved what he had known as soon as he saw it, propped in the usual place against the base of the largest candle stick. Gaius had been urgently called away to the lower town again. The physician having been urgently needed for yet another accident, this time involving a mason working on the walls damaged during Morgana's last assault. He sighed in resigned irritation, the pace his mentor kept could not continue, hell Merlin was barely keeping up and he was five decades younger and not still in recovery from Morgana's torture and starvation. Something needed to give soon or his Mentor would end up as a patient and Merlin's workload would consequently become ten times as large.

There had been so many instances along the same vein in the last few months due mostly to the lower town's healers either being killed, injured themselves or having fled during those few frantic days of Morgana's second rule to never return. It put a lot of pressure on the court physician, even now when the illnesses and injuries directly arising from the conflict had all been taken care of.

But it almost seemed as if the people were afraid of yet another imminent assault from the witch, hence the rather frenetic pace of the rebuilding. He didn't exactly blame them, with two insurgencies in as many years things looked grim, and yet he could not help wishing the citizens would take more care instead of trying for speed over caution. It was Gaius who ended up seeing to the inevitable accidents and consequently Merlin who was sent out for the increasingly dwindling supply of autumnal herbs with which to heal them. Both of them had been running on very little sleep lately and he wasn't entirely sure if Arthur knew that, or just counted it as something they couldn't avoid and everyone would just have to put up with it. At this point Merlin wasn't sure which was worse Arthur not knowing and just assuming everything was normal or being aware of the difficulties and still expecting excellence without consequence. Sometimes Merlin hated Arthur's entitled attitude with a passion which scared him.

Going into his room, grabbing and downing a headache potion as he went, and pocketing another (since he couldn't see Arthur allowing him the few moments it would take to retrieve it if he needed a second dose later) he changed his breeches for his last clean pair and realised the ones he had worn would need to be laundered not just brushed and aired, since the muddy grass stains were so ingrained they wouldn't budge without a proper scrub. Yet another job he would need to do later, oh joy.

Whether Arthur knew how much he and Gaius now had on their plate or not he still had duties to the king. The note stated Gaius would not be back until probably early evening, telling him to go ahead and get some sleep. To not worry about any remedies, unless he felt able to make more of the cough medicine he needed for the Thatcher. There was also a slightly wonky addendum on the bottom in a shakier hand as if scrawled hastily whilst on his way out of the door asking if he could wash the few over robes they used as aprons between them as they were now down to the last clean pair.

Merlin groaned in exhaustion and frustration, it would seem the laundry was a little more urgent than he had guessed, he sighed again. Tonight it would have to be and hope Arthur's current mood would not keep him so late there would be no sleep for yet another night. He gathered the robes into a bundle along with his own clothing, leaving them tied in a rough knot on his bed for as soon as he could get away, and praying it would be sooner rather than later.

He had almost laughed aloud at the mention of sleep, the chance would be a fine thing and the remedy would also need to wait until he finished with Arthur. He scowled again at the unfairness, training with the pratt would mean no hot food unless he managed to finish at some kind of reasonable time this afternoon. And knowing Arthur's temper whenever the subject of the tavern came up lately that just would not happen. He wasn't so bothered for himself, he could always raid the stores for some bread and cheese, but Gaius deserved better.

Leaving his room only moments later he made his way down to the training field, hoping against hope the pain potion would start to kick in before Arthur went at him full tilt. And praying to any god that would listen it would be jousting or shield work with swords rather than maces.

He'd gotten used to Arthur's mannerisms over the years he'd had to hold that damnable shield or those tiny training hoops and knew what to expect, could dodge the worst of the blows. But maces were another story altogether. He'd never gotten the hang of the way they swung, or of Arthur's technique. They just seemed random to him, although that could just be because he'd never had as much training with those as he had with every other weapon in Arthur's vast arsenal.

Neither of his prayers were going to be answered. He could see even from the shadowed doorway of the gate that Arthur was handling a mace with a determined air. Merlin swore, briefly turning the air around him blue with his irritation. Arthur must really have it in for him. And just to top off the perfect morning as Merlin moved out of the shade into the full sun, the stab of a fully fledged migraine returned in abundance. He just knew it was going to be one of those days.

"Oh so you did indeed decide to join us Merlin? How wonderful of you to take the time out of your busy schedule to drop by and grace us with your presence." Merlin didn't acknowledge his monarch's sarcastic quip as he turned to the weapons rack and grabbed a helmet, mace and shield of his own. "Not today Merlin just the helmet and shield for now." Risking a quick glance in his king's direction Merlin noted Arthur's decidedly demonic grin and realised just how doggedly he would go after his blood. Oh what fun, he thought gloomily, he was to be the equivalent of a live dummy again, as he reluctantly replaced the spiked ball and chain back in its holder. It was definitely going to be one of his worst days. The type where he really wondered at himself and his capacity to forgive and forget in the face of the overbearing dollop head Arthur could still revert to when the mood took him. And this would be one of those, no holds barred training sessions he really needed his wits about him to stay upright. It really was a pity then, that right now his wits were scattered to the four winds. He wondered how long he would hold out against Arthur's full might and whether he would need Gaius's aid by the end of it. Hopefully not Gaius had enough to do.

From the very first blow he knew this would be one of the hardest he had ever had to endure. Every bit of Arthur's strength was brought to bear, as if he could beat Merlin's supposed dependence on mead and ale out of him. The blows were pulled only minimally if at all and Merlin couldn't help but think it a good thing Arthur was such a good warrior who knew just how precise his aim or he could have been in serious trouble by now.

After only a few more minutes Merlin realised he still might be. He was having to grit his teeth as shockwaves reverberated up his arm from the now flimsy seeming piece of wood and metal held as the only barrier between Arthur's wrath and permanent maiming. Just how was this supposed to help really? Shutting his eyes to minimise the peril of someone seeing the glow he ducked a little further behind the shield and risked a little magic to ensure he could keep his hold. The resulting brace helped a little but it was a far from perfect solution and wasn't helping his headache nor keeping him from feeling increasingly like jelly.

He lasted maybe another five minutes, but it felt like hours until finally his foot slipped on the dew drenched grass and he went down to his knees. The shield still valiantly raised to try and ward of the last blow, but when it came, it knocked him the rest of the way to the ground. The migraine had gotten steadily worse at the abuse and left him feeling nauseous, his head swimming from the lack of proper rest. He lay gasping, willing his rebelling stomach to cease its somersaults and trying desperately to reconcile this Arthur with the one he had sworn was worth the sacrifices he had made. Because the man he knew would not normally have hit another when he was down. Not even a supposedly heavy drinker needing a lesson in discretion.

A hand came out of nowhere to help him up, and he grasped it with gratitude until he was actually upright and the world spun. For the second time he ended up on his knees, this time his stomach won and he ended retching helplessly into the short grass at the side of the grounds. All he could think was that this would just exacerbate Arthur's belief in his tavern trip and garner him even less sympathy than before.