Day 2
The problem, Arthur realised as he shuffled around trying to get comfortable on a pallet so skinny his shoulder blades popped over the edge on each side, the problem was that everyone in the entire Kingdom except Uther had so ardently embraced the swap.
Arthur had not been serious when he'd told his father that the people would love it; that they would see it as a Midwinter joke and appreciate the reversal of fortunes. It may not be the real reason he had agreed to it (why had he agreed to it again? That was one question he barely dared answer. He was the Crown Prince of Camelot and admitting he'd just done it for a dare seemed...childish upon reflection) but that was the story he and the new Arthur had given everyone in Camelot.
To his astonishment, they had greeted his pronouncement enthusiastically, taking such great delight in bearing down on him in the street and asking 'Merlin' how he was going and whether he had had enough of working for that arrogant prince. Why the common people had decided that it was now acceptable to insult him to his face he couldn't fathom. But it nonetheless happened on a regular basis. Even the guards of Camelot had started harassing him as much as they harassed the ordinary people. He'd decided to take the name-calling and character assassination good-naturedly and found people slapping him on the back and inviting him for a beer.
As if he ever had time for a beer.
After only one day he was already convinced that Gaius was just making some of these chores up. Clean the leech tank? Why did he have a leech tank anyway? He'd never noticed it before. He'd never even seen Gaius use leeches. He couldn't possibly have acquired one just to make the 'new Merlin' clean it, could he?
And the worst, the absolute worst, was his so-called loyal, noble Knights of Camelot. Instead of humiliating their new scrawny whip thin leader, they had spent all yesterday singing his praises. Loudly. 'Merlin' had gone to the training ground in the afternoon expecting (hoping) to find 'Arthur' being soundly beaten by his Knights, possibly with an embarrassing bruise or two from falling off his horse during patrol.
Instead, he had found Merlin sitting propped up against a tree while his Knights had fought each other. He wasn't entirely sure but he thought he was lightly snoring.
"What on Earth is going on here?" he'd demanded and to his horror Sir Caradoc had clipped him over the ear.
"Don't speak like that to your liege," he'd said, the smirk he was trying to hide peeking out from the side of his lips. "Have some respect, boy."
"Of course, My Lord," he'd managed through clenched teeth, "I don't know what I was thinking."
"Very well, attend to your duties servant. I'm sure your Master has a great deal for you to do."
'Merlin' had walked over and sat beside 'Arthur' who it turned out was not sleeping but was writing notes on a piece of parchment. 'Merlin' saw drawings of Knights and notes beside them. He was completely flabbergasted when Sir Peregrine wandered over after winning his sword fight with Sir Leon and asked Merlin for his opinion.
He was even more astounded when Merlin replied, "you're favouring your left foot and it's causing you to lose your balance. Do you have an injury on your right leg?"
"Yes Sire," replied Sir Peregrine, "I sustained it in the last battle. My leg has healed but my knee still gives me trouble if I exert it too much."
"Umm, Merlin here might have a poultice for that. What do you say, Merlin?"
"Ah, um, ah," managed 'Merlin'.
"Just as I thought," said 'Arthur' smoothly and, he noticed, not a bit sardonically, "report to Gaius after training and see if he can help."
All in all, everyone around him was having far too much fun at his expense. For some reason, there seemed to be some Camelot-wide conspiracy to make his life harder and Arthur's (Merlin, he was Merlin. I'm Arthur) easier.
The only one, apart from Uther, who didn't seem in on it was Guinevere who avoided him as much as before. He and Gaius had passed her in the street just this morning, him with pots dangling off his shoulder looking like a complete idiot, but instead of greeting him as she would Merlin she'd simply nodded and walked on.
He sighed and gave up on sleep. The one benefit of this ridiculous charade might have been an excuse to spend time with Gwen as equals. It appeared she wasn't about to let that happen.
'Merlin' climbed out of bed, pulled his shirt over his trousers and stumbled down into the main room. It was at least an hour before dawn but he was nothing if not a fast learner. Between the breakfasts and mushrooms and horses and cleaning and pot-collecting and armour polishing and leech-tank cleaning, he hadn't had enough time yesterday to do the laundry and Gaius had made some ominous noises about the floor of his workshop needing scrubbing. He figured he could have his own breakfast, take 'Arthur' his, do the laundry and then the robes could dry as he cleaned 'Arthur's' chambers.
Gods, he thought, only one day and I'm already thinking of him as Arthur. Something is very wrong with this world.
There was only one flaw with his plan, he realised, as he surveyed Gaius' sleeping form in the corner of the room. He had no idea how to cook breakfast.
"Great," he said softly, "that's just great."
"Oh Merlin," said a cheerful voice and to Arthur's astonishment he realised it was Morgana that addressed him. She actually sounded happy to see him. Who was this person?
"Yes," he replied sharply, not happy to be once again interrupted in the middle of his chores. Honestly, how was he supposed to get anything done if people kept asking him to do things? He'd only just managed to find time to go to the laundry and at this rate the robes for the Midwinter Feast would not be dry in time. What would Arthur say?
No, it's fine, he said to himself, I can still get all this done. I'm me. I am better than Arthur (Merlin! No, I'm Merlin. Am I? Who am I again?) I can do this.
"Merlin?" she said disbelievingly and he realised she was referring to the tone he'd used to address her.
"Oh, oh, um, yes My Lady, how can I help you?"
"No," Morgana said crossly, "you're supposed to run them together, like milady, and you're supposed to sound happy to serve. And you're supposed to smile a lot. And bring me flowers."
'Merlin' smiled inwardly at her flippant tone. Although his feelings toward Morgana had ranged wildly over the last few years from 'annoyance' to 'beauty' to 'sister' and back again to 'annoyance', he had noticed with some concern her increasingly reserved mood over the past few months. Ever since the Druids, he thought, she's been so morose. It was good to see her getting into the spirit of things, even if it was at his expense.
"Yes milady," Merlin – Arthur! his internal monologue screamed – managed to strain out between his teeth that were beginning to clench. "How can I help you?" And he thought, flowers? Plural? I only know of one bunch. That sneaky little...
"I went riding this morning and I'm quite sore from the exercise. Do you think you have time to give me a massage?"
"A massage? What's a massage?"
"Oh, Merlin learnt it off some travelling physicians a few months ago. It's a way of rubbing sore muscles so they feel better. Does he not do this for you?" she asked, "I would have thought it could be very therapeutic for injuries you sustain in jousting and such."
"No, he's never mentioned it to me," he replied, his teeth clenching even tighter.
"Well, it's really amazing, so relaxing. If you just come to my chambers, I'll get into my nightgown."
Arthur's face froze in terror at that statement. Morgana saw his expression and looked concerned, or what he as a child had soon learnt was Morgana-concerned. It meant she wasn't really concerned at all.
"Oh, Merlin, I mean the other Merlin, said I need to wear only my nightgown because it makes it easier not to have to go through so many layers of fabric."
"Does he now?" said Arthur, his jaw starting to throb with the pressure as images of Merlin's hands all over Morgana's naked shoulders flitted through his brain. Uther would have his head if he knew. Arthur might just beat him to it.
"Oh," she said, "well, I can see that you're busy and don't know anything about massage. I'll muddle through without it. I wonder why he's only offered massages to me. I'm sure he has a reason."
"Yes," he managed to reply through teeth now so ground together it was almost impossible to move his jaw, "I'm sure he does."
And as soon as she was round the corner, he could have sworn he heard her laughing.
"That devious, scheming, underhanded...skinny, big-eared, funny-faced..." the insults continued (and continued getting lamer) echoing off the hallway as he walked down toward the laundry with the basket containing the royal robes and their servant equivalent.
"Thinks he can get away with behaviour like this right under our noses? I'll show him."
"But first I have to get this blasted laundry done."
