King Pads-His-Shoulders and his son Prince Too-Much-Padding-On-His-Ass, were scheduled to stay at the palace for a month. Thankfully, they brought with them enough staff to offset the sudden spike in demand that would have been placed on the already over stressed workforce that strained to keep the Camelot royals comfortable. As far as royals went, they were typical. Nothing about them stood out as unique, but that did not mean that they were not ignorable.

Merlin had personally spied.. errr.. checked out each member of the visiting kingdom. That is to say he went through their things, listened to their conversations, secretly followed them around, and of course chatted each one up to see if they made him feel creeped out in any way. It was not that he felt that he was a great judge of character. If history had anything to show for it, he was a lousy judge of character. He couldn't tell the difference between the attraction of his magic to someone's magic and the attraction of his good soul to that of another good soul. However, he had grown a sense of paranoia and that was helping him filter who or what might need special attention.

Most of the servants from the other kingdom were very nice, those who weren't nice - were at the very least professionally polite. There was no one who stood out magically. There was no one who had taken to the shadows as a lurker. No one had made any strange inquiries.

What bothered Merlin the most was that, most of the visitors had blended into Camelot far easier than he ever did when he had first started working for the Prince. It was hard to think about things like this. It was hard to allow himself into certain mental pathways because of the lack of discipline involved. He had no doubt that maybe if magic were allowed in Camelot that maybe he'd know his own mind better, but it wasn't. Therefore he didn't dare allow his mind to wonder about things like possibilities.

He used to, but experience taught him that he shouldn't. If he were distracted, his magic might act. If he felt strongly about something, his destiny might react for the good or for the worse. He wasn't allowed to deviate and therefore he also felt like he wasn't allowed to think over his own situation. He just had to play it out. The last time he tried for happiness...

Merlin shook his head violently to clear his thoughts before his emotions could spiral out of control and lifted a tray held high above his head. He swiveled and swerved through the bustling bodies of what he thought were Camelot's finest. His thin frame was made for dodging over eager servants who were also hellbent in fulfilling their master's wishes.

Arthur might have thought it was his blood stained knights, but in his servant's eyes – it were these mere servants who were his fellow comrades that kept Camelot running. They were were blood and nerve network that the armored ones protected. They were fragile, but they were so much more important without them working as well as they did – well Arthur and Uther would .. be.. inconvenienced until they found replacements.

Merlin scowled but then a pretty maid brush by his chest and a reflexive grim blossomed to greet her. "Brunette, full-bodied, dimpled and smells really nice..." – he tore his eyes from her retreating figure as he dashed down the remainder of the rapidly emptying servant hallway. He had merely moments to get his employer his afternoon yum-yums.


Merlin quietly turned the knob of the door without opening the door, squared his shoulders, and then used his foot to kick the door semi forcefully open. If he was going to serve another with his life and be denied the happiness that others found so easily - he was going to show a bit of backbone. Destiny might have made him a servant, but he was going to be damned if he was going to be a boot-licker.

"Time to eat, Sire. Before you ask, I've already mucked out the stables, polished your armor, walked your dogs, sharpened your sword, and mended yet another pair of hunting gloves," Merlin kept his voice formal yet again as he droned through the list of things he had already accomplished for his late-night snack-sneaking pain in the ass prince. To punctuate that the meal was ready to be devoured without ceremony - he half slammed, half placed the Prince's food in front of the presently merciless future monarch. Merlin then sharply turned on the spot and started cleaning Arthur's room.

Arthur was speaking and Merlin wasn't listening. He was cleaning. He wasn't tidying. He was really cleaning. He stripped the bed and threw the linens into the basket and then started scurrying around the room picking items off the floor. Arthur had a tendency to throw things, anything, when he was cross. Arthur tended to be cross more than he was thoughtful, which of course meant more work for Merlin.

"Merlin. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Are you even listening to me? What is wrong with you? Is there something wrong with your brain?" the Prince demanding answers for the most obvious things was really starting to grate on Merlin's nervous system.

"I'm cleaning, Arthur. I am in charge of your chambers, if you haven't forgotten. Once you're done stuffing yourself, you are expected in your father's chambers. His man informed me when I was putting your delicious mid day feast together," the sentences were punctuated with clothing being removed – item by item – from Arthur's wardrobe. The items he was choosing were not dirty, but needed attention nevertheless. The side seams needed letting out and resewing to accommodate Arthur's slowly expanding waist and with a little bit of magic, Merlin felt like getting it done before he was asked to do it – might spare Arthur a huge amount of embarrassment.

It was one thing to tease the Prince, it was another to try to work with a humiliated Prince who was vain, prattish, and who tended to take his frustrations out on other people.

"I need to reorganize your things, even though I'm supposed to be the one who dresses you and therefore you'd think I'm the only one who goes through your wardrobe. Somehow, maybe in the night, things rearrange themselves inconveniently," muttered Merlin knowing full well that Arthur was to blame. He chanced an accusing look at the royal who was still stuffing his face with slices of pork folded over his fork and dripping in gravy.

Arthur laughed smugly, "You're not the only one who looks through my clothes. Occasionally I do. There are times my father asks me if I want something new. I cannot answer him if I don't know what I want."

Royals and their clothes. Merlin rolled his eyes with his back turned to Arthur. It wouldn't matter soon. Gaius had told Merlin that Uther's state of mind was failing further day by day. His depression that followed Morganna's betrayal and attack, had literally broken his heart. There weren't many days when he was lucid and when he was, he smothered Arthur with affection. He acted childish and fearful. Merlin wouldn't shed a tear for Uther - when that maniac finally died, but he probably would for Arthur's heartbreak.

Merlin's mind fluttered to Balinor and once again, he forced personal thoughts out of his mind.

"I need to gather herbs and important supplies for Gaius," Merlin informed his employer.

Arthur's laugh was delighted and his reply was laced with phrases about "flower picking" and Merlin "was such a girl" and "what's the truth about your dainty hobbies" and "a scrawny thing like you is perfect for that job." However, when Merlin did not insult Arthur back – the Prince lost interest in the word game and finished the last of the bread and cheese.

"You may help Gaius, but be sure to be at dinner tonight. As long as we are entertaining guests, I want to make sure we put our best foot forward. That said, you should wear something that isn't so – worn."

Arthur rose from his chair and then went to see his father, but not without giving his servant a few more insults and a long lengthy list of things to do. Instead of his usual cheeky remarks, Merlin just nodded and kept working. The moment the door clicked closed – the bottomless ocean blue eyes of the young warlock changed into fiery golden spheres for as long as two breaths.

Spills, splotches, and filth rose in a gray haze off of the surfaces of the room and pulsed three times before shimmering silver and blue. Items returned to where they should have been instead of where the Prince had casually abandoned them. The air of the room was purified. Hours of work, done. However there was still more. There was always more, and it was more that he couldn't do with magic in the Prince's very own chambers.

Merlin heaved the laundry basket to his chest and hurried along making a mental note to give Arthur a bath. He really did stink and maybe a proper soak would improve that greasy feeling that Merlin was getting when ever he was around him. Merlin, feeling stressed, still had Gaius's list and that was far more important than Arthur's. He couldn't take to long getting those precious supplies.


Merlin dumped the majority of Arthur's laundry and clothes in his room before grabbing up his gathering bag. If it weren't for the face that some of his magical experiments required herbs, they wouldn't be low on some essential supplies. However shape shifting wasn't fun, but it did make spying on people that much easier. If there was anyone he could talk to about magic he would say that there were so many other spells, runes, and charms that he wanted to try out.

Gaius made it plain that he shouldn't be experimenting so openly and he laced his speeches with guilt trips so there was much that Merlin just could not talk about even if it was just wishes. Half the things he wanted to do, he couldn't afford. He only was paid a penny a week, but he had the privilege of not having to pay for housing. He paid that through service to Gaius as an unofficial apprentice and that small fact was something that Arthur conveniently ignored. Despite all Merlin wanted to do with the money, he sent a portion of it to his mother. Once a month, without fail – he sent her a package of something from Camelot with a penny so that she could buy something that she needed.

Last month, Merlin had sent her raisins.

Grabbing a list of essentials, plus a small purse of coins, Merlin dashed out of the physicians quarters without grabbing the apple his mentor left for him. His mind was to full to notice his empty stomach even though his body was fatigued from the constant personal neglect.

The last items, alcohol and vinegar, would be a pain. There were many people who made them but they were not friendly and tended to try to cheat a few coins from Merlin's purse even though it was for Gaius. Everyone eventually got sick or wounded, and for that reason alone Merlin thought the people would treat the elderly man with more respect.