It took me while to get over the final. Six months or so, to be accurate. This is the last pre-S5 chapter. (Okay, it has been sitting around on the hard drive for a while. But- JUST HOLD ME)
57-68
Nomenclature:
"Emryssss." A sibilant hiss.
"My boy." A fond, exasperated sigh.
"Young warlock." A regal, sarcasm filled rumble.
Honestly, he thought, couldn't anyone just call him-
"Merlin!"
He sighed. "Coming, Sire."
xxx
"Sisssster."
"Witch."
"Traitor."
"Usurper."
"My lady."
The dark-haired green-eyes woman clutched at her dress, her mind momentarily gone blank. What was her name?1
xxx
"My King."
"Sire."
"My lord."
They were all extremely fitting names for him, thought Arthur. Respectful and short (unlike some of the title's he'd heard in his time), all in all he was pretty happy with the way he was addressed each day.
"Prat."
Yes, he was quite happy with the way he was addressed. "Idiot."
xxx
"Physician."
"My love."
"Gaius."
But never until one memorable day, "The man who is as a father to me."
Non-sectarian:
A king must not take sides. A king must rule with his head. A king should not get het up over an unconscious servant's honour.
. . .
"Get him, Gwaine!"
Notarize:
The meeting had been going well in Arthur's opinion. Right up to the point where the double doors had been flung open and one of the newer knights had stormed in, dragging a thunderous looking Merlin in by the necktie and flinging him on the floor beneath Arthur's feet.
"Sire," he said without preamble, "I have caught this despicable creature forging your signature on several important documents of state and I brought him to you immediately to receive the appropriate discipline. I believe in the state of Mercia it is not uncommon for a forger's hand to be chopped off…"
Arthur's gaze slid over the ruffled knight, startled crowd and murderous-looking manservant.
"Well this is a little awkward," he said. "I ordered him to do it."
The knight gazed incredulously at him and he gave a small, self-conscious shrug. "Hand cramps and all that." He coughed, then to cover his embarrassment turned to protocol. "Thank you for your concern, and I applaud your conduct, but Merlin was only doing his job. You are dismissed."
There were a few more moments of silence before the knight, looking rather embarrassed and still as if he couldn't quite believe it, gave a short bow and left, clutching his dignity and leaving Merlin on the floor giving Arthur A Look.
Arthur saw The Look and drew back a little. He then straightened. He refused to feel threatened by Merlin. Even if he did have access to all his clothes and Gaius's potions, among which Arthur knew was a triple-strength itching powder…
"Why don't you take the afternoon off then Merlin?"
Obsequious:
"Would you prefer a bootlicker, Sire?" Merlin had said icily after a particularly long rant of Arthur's. "Would you prefer me to become a George?
"Actually, that would make a welcome change," Arthur had snapped back in the same freezing tones.
He should've know it wasn't such a good idea when Merlin's voice had remained arctic and he'd said in an infuriatingly emotionless tone, "As you wish, Sire."
xxx
At first it had been rather nice. He woke up gradually to a hot meal, roaring fire, and a wonderfully attentive (if silent) servant. It had been a bit strange to only hear quiet, respectful, 'Yes, Sire, no Sire, oh really, Sire?'s to his attempts at conversation instead of the usual funny, drawn-out and –he'd admit it- rather insightful replies he was used to, but with a pleasantly bulging stomach he thought he could cope.
No, waking up had been fine. It was as soon as he left his chambers that he ran into difficulty.
Training had been first on the day's schedule (dutifully written out instead of being hurriedly related by mouth on the way there- an improvement, he thought, until he lost the sheet). He'd been fighting against Gwaine when he found, to his horror, that a full breakfast managed to slow him down more effectively than any armour he'd ever worn.
He'd excused himself early and then was forced to make the long walk back to the Great Hall in silence as this new, obedient Merlin seemed to have forgotten how to prattle and answered Arthur in monosyllables. Arthur had even tried to fill the unnerving silence with some babble of his own but stopped when he found he was receiving odd looks from every passer by.
When they finally arrived at the hall where he was to sit and judge some of the population's complaints it was no better. On difficult cases, where he usually asked or was offered Merlin's opinion (quietly while the other judges were arguing amongst themselves) Merlin remained quiet, if prompted he simply agreed with whatever Arthur had said. On the commonplace problems he stood placidly to the side, offering no form of entertainment (face-pulling, mimicking mockingly, etc) and generally doing nothing to assuage the boredom of his king.
It got worse as time went on. He had an impromptu meeting with the floor when his chair was pulled out for him, had been unable to find his favourite dagger anywhere (it had been put away properly, the cheek of it) and been embarrassed in the council meeting when his doodling was discovered on several important documents (he had been so bored).
To add insult to injury most of the knights had asked Merlin if he was feeling unwell, and then proceeded to glare at Arthur when they discovered why their usually vibrant and amusing companion was so sullenly quiet.
Exasperated, he eventually decided on a hunt. He might actually catch something without Merlin crashing about for once, and it was always easier to apologise when there were no other people about.
Obsequious:
Guinevere hadn't exactly been a bootlicker when she was a servant, but when she was around nobles she wasn't familiar with she kept her head down and nodded obediently at every statement, however outrageous. She wasn't stupid, and she knew what gathered more tips and less attention.
So it was more than a surprise for Sir Boris of Blackwoods to find that the submissive girl he'd had serving him last year had become a non-nonsense queen who was actually very good at debating her point thank you very much and wasn't going to get into an argument unless she could win it and win it in style.
Oligarchy:
Arthur looked round his group of knights, every single one of whom had his hand raised, and groaned.
Sometimes he really started to reconsider this democracy lark.
Omnipotent:
Merlin cried quietly, for the child at his feet, for all the others before him, and for the knowledge that no matter how hard he tried or however much people expected of him he was never going to be omnipotent, never able to save everyone.
For many, all he could do was mourn.
Orthography:
You had to be fastidious in the pronunciation and intonation of the spells, make sure you knew exactly how it was to be said if you wished to achieve the desired effect. If you got it wrong the consequences could be disastrous and, potentially, fatal (they could also be highly amusing but it was a risky gamble).
But Merlin's magic did not originate between the pages of a dusty pronunciation guide and the wordless roar he gave was all that was needed for the golden barrier to be erected around the entirety of the royal family and the death spell to bounce harmlessly around the room, eventually deciding on a passing blackbird upon which to enact its revenge.
Oxidise:
Arthur looked at his apple. His pre-cut apple (because if you didn't make your servant de-core them for you you obviously misunderstood the point of having a servant). His pre-cut still-green apple.
He pointed a finger at Merlin. "Sorcery!" he proclaimed.
Merlin looked startled for a moment, then noticed the piece of apple in Arthur's hand. "Lemon juice, actually," he said rather smugly. "Stops it going brown."
"Oh." Arthur looked at the apple then back to his manservant. "Merlin?"
"Yes?"
"What's a lemon?"
Parabola:
That which goes up must come down.
It was a fact of life, completely undeniable.
Or so Gaius kept reassuring Merlin, who was getting increasingly antsy floating in midair.
Paradigm:
"Take that old man, Dragoon, for example," Arthur said. "A perfect example of his kind. I offer him freedom, come crawling in on my knees begging him to save my father, and he kills him anyway then runs off like the coward he is. He could've lived comfortably for the rest of his life; he might've even been able to return some aspect of magic to the land. Instead he provided incontrovertible proof that magic is a poison and will cause all who use it to become like him- weak, merciless animals."
Merlin had his back to him and was noisily sharpening his sword, so Arthur did not hear the quiet, "Maybe he just made a mistake," that followed him out the room.
Parameter:
"We'll split up," Arthur said. "I'll go to the throne room, you head for the drawbridge. No matter what you hear or what happens make sure you get out. Understand?"
"I do."
"Goodbye then."
"Goodbye."
Merlin waited for Arthur to creep out and along the corridor before whispering a spell and running after him on silent and invisible feet.
Pecuniary:
"I think it's Merlin's turn to pay for a round, am I right mates?" Gwaine said with a well-meaning grin, elbowing him in the ribs. "Use up all that money that must be burning a hole in his pocket, what with no women to keep and no living costs."
Merlin, who had been in an increasingly jovial mood thanks to the mead, stiffened. It wasn't that he didn't have the money –he had a month's worth of wages in the money bag sewn into his clothes- it was just that if he used it all up on drinks he would have nothing to send to his mother that month and he knew that the crops had been bad…
He suddenly realised that the knights were looking at him expectantly. His mind spun, doing mental calculations. He could afford one more, surely? He'd be sending a little less than usual but he was sure that his mother wouldn't begrudge it if she knew it was giving her only son a pleasant evening out with his friends, his first in a very long while. And when everyone else had been faithfully paying their due, he would be seen as a bad sport leaving them to foot the bill when he had been drinking just as much. In fact, it was a matter of personal honour that he pay his way.
Mind made up, he slapped the money down. "Another round of drinks please, Grendle!"
xxx
The morning after and he was regretting being so free with his money (one round had turned into two which had turned into an ugly monster of a number) and also sampling every round. His head ached, his eyes were bloodshot, and he felt continually nauseous. His sorry state of affairs weren't helped by the feeling of guilt rolling round his gut. He still had money left over –he wasn't quite that irresponsible- but it was nowhere near the amount he had been intending to send and he knew the winters were hard. Adding to that the knowledge that he'd been short last month as well since he'd bought himself a jacket (that had been a necessity but he was almost wishing that he'd left himself to freeze) and it was an entirely unpleasant feeling. He should've just excused himself, who knows he could've even made a joke about how little Arthur was paying him. If worse came to worse he could've just admitted his financial state- they were knights and they were his friends, they were unlikely to hold it against him. He scowled at himself. Stupid pride. Stupid desire to fit in, to be one of the lads out for a drink. He ground his teeth and returned to his polishing, wincing at the noise. Stupid hangover.
xxx
Despite everything, he thought he'd been doing a pretty good job of hiding it from everyone. No one seemed to have noticed, other than a few commiserating looks he received from the knights he'd been out with, all who were suffering along with him. Even when his black mood persisted after the hangover faded no one mentioned anything.
It was in fact Arthur who noticed first (which, if looked at from a magical point of view, was extremely worrying. Merlin relied on his general obliviousness to stay alive) who after several days of Merlin's increasingly worsening temper (as the due date for the mail to be sent approached) finally asked, in his usual caring way, whether he was really such a lightweight when it came to drinking that he was still feeling the effects three days later.
Merlin, unsure of how to respond, shook his head.
Arthur threw his hands up in defeat. "Then will you please tell me why you've been so crabby all week? It's like working with a bear with a sore head and it's getting on my nerves."
Merlin scowled. "Don't worry your never-moody-ever head about it, Sire."
But then Arthur had sat down next to him wearing the rarely seen actually sort-of-caring expression on his face and asked him properly what was wrong and what was he supposed to say? Then somehow in the resulting conversation it had all come out, his thoughtlessness and his worry for his mother and they'd made a joke of it, naturally, but it didn't exactly change the fact that he was confiding in Arthur of all people, Arthur who had never had any money worries in his life, Arthur who thought missing a single meal starvation, Arthur, the spoilt King with no idea of the real value of money.
Still, Arthur was a good listener and it felt kind of good to get it off his chest even if nothing came of the conversation. Arthur had gone back to his kingly duties (sleeping) telling Merlin it was his own stupid fault and it would all work out in the end, while Merlin had gone back to his scrubbing.
It wasn't until several years later that his mother had mentioned the overly large sum of money she'd received the one month and he'd put two and two together, unsure whether to be highly embarrassed or eternally grateful to the prat.
1Inspired by something Kitty O said. Go, read her stories. Shoo. You won't regret it.