Chapter on steroids alert :D Many thanks to the lovely people who reviewed; Xanthiae, Mr. Guppy, CrayonsPink, Cynth19, ForzaDelDestino, and passthejennifish. Your feedback is much appreciated.

Quick favour to ask; I'm debating about the direction in which to take this, and I'd like to know what opinions the people reading this have on slash..? Lemme know.

Anyway...in which there are birthdays, and everything that goes along with that; presents, friendship, and too much alcohol.

On the 21st of June, Arthur Pendragon turned twenty one years old.

As you can probably imagine, the birthday of the Crown Prince was a big occasion in Camelot, and every time his birthday rolled around, Arthur was subjected to another lot of jousting, feasting, and dancing.

The only thing that differed from any other special occasion was that people sent presents.

It was the first royal birthday Merlin had witnessed in Camelot; and Arthur got the distinct impression that the other boy didn't really get the celebrations.

When Arthur had told him about the jousting, Merlin had stared at him and said,

'You're fighting a tournament on your birthday?!'

Arthur had patiently explained that he wouldn't actually be fighting. The tournament was just being held in his honour.

Merlin had looked yet more puzzled.

'So Uther is giving you a jousting tournament for your birthday? And a feast? And a ball?'

'Yes,' Arthur had said wearily, 'so that the people have a chance to honour me.'

'The people are going to honour you by dancing the night away, stuffing themselves with your food and bashing each other on the head for your amusement?'

Merlin had sounded distinctly unimpressed, and this had only increased when Arthur informed him the celebrations were not to be held on his actual birthday.

'Why not?' Merlin had demanded, ''I thought your birthday was the point of these celebrations.'

'It is,' Arthur had replied, 'but I don't want to spend the actual day enduring yet another feast and ball, and watching a tournament I'm not even allowed to participate in.'

Merlin had just stared at him in disbelief, before turning away, muttering,

'And there was I thinking that your birthday celebration was meant to be something you actually enjoyed.'

Arthur rolled his eyes. Clearly Merlin was never going to understand social protocol.

The day of Arthur's birthday celebrations dawned bright and sunny. Arthur opened his eyes at his usual time of half past seven, expecting to see Merlin waiting to wish him happy birthday.

Now, on normal days, it was touch and go as to whether Merlin had even made it up to his room by the time Arthur awoke, let alone actually started on his chores. But today was his birthday, so Arthur had dared to hope that he might wake up to a freshly drawn bath, a nice breakfast and his best clothes, clean and ironed.

As he scanned his chambers, Arthur now realised this had been hopelessly naïve. Not only was there no hot bath, clothes or food, but there was also no sign whatsoever of Merlin.

Looking round his empty room, Arthur felt a strange twinge of something in his stomach. He had never minded waking up on his own before but today, he found himself wishing Merlin were there to banter with and tease.

He lay there for five minutes, just on the off chance his excuse for a manservant would show, before rolling haphazardly out of bed, and pulling on his favourite red shirt.

He pulled on a pair of clean breeches he'd found in the cupboard, washed his face and torso with cold water from the basin, and was halfway through lacing his boots when Merlin finally deigned to put in an appearance.

His manservant edged awkwardly through the door, balancing a large silver tray, and juggling three bouquets of flowers.

Arthur crossed his ankles, leant back, and watched the show.

After a few minutes, several stumbles, and enough curse words to make Hunith's ears burn, Merlin had made it across the floor and deposited his load on the table in front of Arthur.

He straightened up (Arthur had to hold back a wince at the loud crack his back made) and glared at Arthur.

'Thank you for lending me a hand, sire.'

'Kindly try to remember I don't pay you to sit around on your ass all day, Merlin.'

Merlin huffed.

'Well, you could have helped me through the door at least. I've battled with these beastly things…' at this he shot the bouquets of flowers a vicious look, '…all the way through the kitchens and up seven flights of stairs.'

Arthur rolled his eyes.

'What are they for anyway?'

'You, you prat,' Merlin said, 'For your birthday? This is just the finest sampling. I haven't checked but I'm pretty sure there's an entire room downstairs filled with bouquets if you'd care to look later.'

'An entire room?' Arthur did his best to sound surprised.

'Yes, sire. And the madness doesn't end there. You've got hundreds of different parcels of food, plenty of shirts, new breeches, new boots, a new saddle, new pens, new bedding, new hangings for the wall, a new rug, seventeen new tapestries, new riding spurs, a new shield, a new helmet, fourteen new cloaks, several oriental trinkets and a really ugly gold ring.'

Merlin rattled this off without pausing for breath, and uttered the last item with a gasp.

Arthur smirked.

'Not a bad haul then.'

Merlin gaped.

'You mean this is normal? You get this every year?'

'I am the Prince, Merlin. You should see what my father gets. One year, a couple of young women from an outlying village came and presented themselves as gifts to him.'

To give Merlin his due, he did appear to be doing his best to keep the revolted look off his face.

'Please tell me he just sent them away.'

Arthur raised an eyebrow, and Merlin turned away with a shudder.

'I'm not going to be able to look your father in the eye anymore.'

'I'm not entirely sure servants are meant to look the King in the eye, Merlin. Wouldn't it be more proper to study his kneecaps?'

Merlin looked surprised at this.

'I look you in the eye.'

'You also call me Arthur. Both are flog-able offences.'

Merlin looked horrified.

'I look forward to acquainting myself with your kneecaps then, sire.'

Arthur laughed.

This was what he had missed earlier that morning. The banter, the laughter, and the way Merlin wasn't in the least bit frightened of him. It was almost like conversing with an equal. Add this to the fact that Merlin had called him 'friend' during their conversation in the woods, and the feeling of warmth and camaraderie that Arthur couldn't seem to stop feeling when he was around, Arthur was finding it necessary to remind himself more and more often that Merlin was only a servant.

It was far too easy to imagine the luxury of having him as a friend.

Arthur spent the next half an hour idly watching Merlin doing his chores.

He was normally out on patrol at this time, but all of the knights were otherwise occupied today, preparing for the tournament.

This had its benefits, because Arthur couldn't remember the last time he'd had a lazy morning, and, he'd discovered, watching Merlin like a hawk while he was working made his servant twitchy and irritable in a most amusing fashion.

In fact, Arthur's only grievance at that particular moment was that Merlin had so far, failed to say happy birthday. Arthur had realised that expecting good service was stretching it too far, and had certainly not expected a present, but it would have been nice if Merlin were to actually wish him many happy returns. Surely that was just courtesy at this point?

But then Merlin never had been very good with courtesy, and as he finished sweeping the hearth, he shoved himself to his feet, nodded at Arthur, said,

'I'll see you at the tournament later, sire,' and walked out the door.

Arthur tried not to sulk.

An unknown number of hours later, Arthur was drunk. Really drunk.

In his defence, it had been a very trying day. He had spent the latter part of the morning watching knights and a few villagers bash each other around in the tournament, and had tried to clap and look honoured and impressed each time a victor thrust his sword in the air.

Secretly, he was picking faults with each fighter's technique, and making a mental list of teaching points he really needed to run over with his knights.

Next had come the feast; twelve courses, with every noble dressed in his or her finery, making polite small talk and listening to the best musicians the court had to offer. The food had been wonderful (the cooks had outdone themselves), but Arthur had been more than slightly bored by the conversations going on around him.

Finally, he'd had to endure the ball, three hours of dancing and drinking, during which Arthur had lost count of the number of 'happy birthday's' and 'many happy returns' he had received.

Merlin, for once, had actually been a halfway decent servant, perhaps because the occasion warranted more people looking at him than usual, and as it were Arthur hadn't seen much of him. He had spent the evening discreetly lurking behind pillars, and filling Arthur's cup when Arthur wasn't looking.

The only time Arthur actually got a good look at him was when he looked down towards the servant's end of the hall, and saw Merlin laughing with Gwen, both of them with their heads thrown back. He'd felt a strange pang in his stomach, and if he hadn't been Prince Arthur he might have thought it was jealousy. As it was he put it down to some under-cooked meat.

Unfortunately, a side effect of Merlin actually performing his duties and making sure that Arthur's cup was filled, was that Arthur had felt it was only fair to empty said cup to give him a chance to fill it again.

He'd lost count of the number of goblets of wine he'd had around number eight, but he had a feeling he had perhaps consumed more than he should have.

He was sure Morgana didn't usually have two heads.

When Arthur next came to, he was equally drunk, but lying on something warm and soft (later identified as the bed) in his chambers.

Two candles were lit on his bedside table, their glow giving the room a cosy feel. Arthur looked down at his chest, and realised he was dressed in his nightshirt.

He wondered briefly who had brought him up here, and who had undressed him, but a sideways look solved both those problems. Merlin was snoozing in Arthur's favourite chair; head nodded forward onto his chest, and long legs stretched out towards the fireplace.

Arthur coughed loudly, and watched his manservant start awake.

Merlin ran a hand through his already rumpled black hair, and yawned hugely, blue eyes scrunching up. Then, he looked around, blinking sleepily, until his eyes came to rest on Arthur, watching him from the bed.

'How did I get up here?' Arthur could hear that he was slurring his words slightly, and guessed his blood must still be at least two out of seven parts alcohol.

Merlin merely looked amused.

'The party got a bit rowdy, and you looked like you were about to fall over, so Morgana and I tactfully removed you. She left dragging you up here to me – were you aware you weigh a ton while drunk?'

Arthur glared at him.

'I'm not fat. And I'm not drunk.'

Merlin grinned.

'Only the very drunk ever deny it in such vehement but slurred tones, sire.'

If Arthur had been feeling more co-ordinated, he would have thrown a pillow.

'Well, alright Merlin, you can go now. You look exhausted.'

Merlin rolled his eyes.

'I am exhausted, sire. I've been up since the crack of dawn, as have the other servants, preparing all the celebrations.'

Arthur was starting to feel very sleepy. He yawned hugely and replied,

'It is my birthday Merlin.'

His manservant stubbornly shook his head.

'No it isn't. Your birthday is tomorrow, Arthur. You didn't even want to celebrate like this.'

Arthur yawned again.

'Of course I did, Merlin you prat.'

Merlin rolled his eyes.

'I've been working here for over a year now, Arthur, and you're not actually that difficult to read. It's easy to tell when you're bored stiff.'

Arthur was far too tired to do this now. This and the alcohol were combining to stop him thinking straight and it was this that he blamed for his next words.

'Fine. I hated it, but it's the way things are done when you're a Prince.' Arthur was vaguely aware he hadn't meant to admit that.

Merlin pulled a facial expression that Arthur could have sworn was a pout.

'Personally, I think you being a Prince is even more reason for you to enjoy yourself on your birthday.'

A light bulb went off inside Arthur's head.

'Is that why you haven't said it?'

Merlin looked befuddled. Arthur expected he might not be entirely sober either.

'Haven't said what, Arthur?'

'Happy birthday.' There was a small voice in Arthur's head, one that wasn't swimming in wine, that was screaming at him to stop this conversation so that he could still look Merlin in the eye tomorrow.

Merlin however, had a strange look in his eyes, one in which Arthur thought he could detect sympathy (he might have to beat that out of Merlin later) and something which could have been affection. He spoke, sounding faintly amused.

'God, Arthur, you are going to kick yourself if you remember this conversation in the morning.'

Merlin did, on rare occasions, speak complete sense. But he still hadn't answered Arthur's question.

'You didn't answer the question.'

Merlin laughed.

'No, sire. I don't agree with you being forced through these celebrations, but I understand why you have to do it, and that isn't why I haven't said happy birthday.'

Arthur glowered at him.

'Then why?' he demanded, suspecting he sounded like a three year old.

Merlin's mouth was now twitching with amusement.

'Because it isn't your birthday, sire. I'll say it tomorrow.'

It took longer than usual for this to register, and once it had, Arthur leant back, feeling somehow lighter.

Merlin smiled at him, blue eyes warm.

'You didn't honestly think I'd forgotten did you?'

Arthur remained stubbornly silent.

Merlin laughed.

'You're my friend, Arthur. I wouldn't forget to say happy birthday.'

At these words, Arthur felt something twist in the region of his chest and his cheek muscles ached with the urge to smile. But even drunk, he forced himself to remember exactly who he was. He was the Crown Prince and Merlin was just a servant. He could only imagine his father's reaction if Uther could hear this conversation.

He forced the urge to smile back at Merlin away, and said,

'Don't flatter yourself it actually matters to me if you say happy birthday, Merlin. You are just my servant.'

As soon as he said the words, Arthur wanted to take them back – he could almost see them winging their way across the room and stabbing into Merlin. But what was said was said, and Arthur felt a cold weight in his stomach as Merlin visibly winced, and drew back a little.

He bowed his head, refusing to meet Arthur's eyes, and said,

'Yes, of course. There's a hangover cure on the bedside table; Gaius suggests you take it before you sleep. Goodnight, sire.'

The door to Arthur's chambers shut with a clunk; and Arthur felt the noise echo inside him, before he fell back and let unconsciousness claim him.

When Arthur awoke the next morning, the first thing he wondered was who had glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and the second was who was pounding his head in with a hammer.

He lay on his back and groaned quietly for five minutes or so, his eyes tight shut. The events of the night before were rushing back to him, and only made him groan all the louder.

He remembered with a flush of humiliation questioning Merlin, and wondered how he had never before realised he was such a pathetic drunk. He topped the flush of humiliation with a flush of shame, as he recalled the harsh words he had spoken.

Arthur was not as quick tempered or prone to cruelty as his father, and his words had been mean and uncalled for. He found himself regretting them, and wishing he could take them back.

Merlin was probably angry with him, and Arthur felt a twinge of regret that he'd probably ruined whatever comradeship had been growing between them. Sure, Merlin was only a servant, but it had been nice having him as a friendly servant, and Arthur had come to look forward to his company.

With a sigh, he opened his eyes, belatedly recalling that today was actually his birthday.

Arthur looked around the room and his eyes opened in shock.

There was no sign of Merlin, which Arthur had fully been expecting, but what he hadn't been expecting was the state of his rooms.

The floor and grate were swept, the shutters were thrown open, clean clothes were laid out at the foot of the bed, boots by door, and on the table lay a tray.

Arthur rolled sideways out of bed, wondering, slightly panicked, whether Merlin had just upped and left in the middle of the night, and if this was, in fact, the work of another servant. A closer look at the table dispelled this notion.

The tray on the table was laid for breakfast. There were two slices of ham, a fried egg and some sliced tomatoes. Accompanying this was warm, fresh bread, with butter and honey, and, in pride of place at the side of the tray, a single orange. Oranges were rare delicacies in Camelot, and Arthur didn't even want to know where the kitchen staff had found it.

Looking at the food laid out, Arthur had to fight a smile. He had a feeling Merlin might be behind this array of delicacies.

He sat down, preparing to eat, when he noticed two small parcels, and a bunch of flowers sitting in the empty fireplace.

Kneeling down, he picked up the flowers. Unlike the bouquets he had received yesterday, these were simple wildflowers; violets and forget-me-nots, tied together with a piece of white ribbon. They were beautiful.

Arthur reached for the first parcel, which was square, and hard. He untied the string, and the cloth wrapping fell away, revealing a bound book. Arthur looked at the spine, and found it engraved with the title 'Beowulf.'

The volume was made from thick, creamy parchment, and each page was edged with gold, and illustrated beautifully. Arthur gently touched the cover, wondering who had sent the book to him.

Beowulf had been his favourite book when he was a boy, but he had never owned a copy, only borrowed one from his tutor. It had been years since he last read it.

Only intense curiosity about the third package stopped him from settling down to read it right then.

The last parcel was the smallest, rounded in shape, and when Arthur lifted it, soft.

He unbound the string, and pulled away several layers of brown paper. He found a small bundle of red cloth, and as he shook it out, wondering if it was perhaps a neckerchief like the ridiculous ones Merlin wore, a small object fell out, and hit the table with a thwack.

Wincing, Arthur reached for it. He turned it over in his hands, but could see no damage, and so set to examining it. The object was a small, flat piece of grey stone, with a tiny hole carefully bored through one end. Through this hole was threaded a thin strand of leather, turning the stone into a pendant.

Arthur flipped the pendant over, and found on the other side, carefully carved into the stone, a miniscule representation of a dragon, exactly as it was to be found on the Pendragon crest.

The dragon was rearing up; neck curved proudly, and wings aloft. Each line had been carved with delicate precision, and the small creature seemed almost alive.

Arthur wasted no time in tugging the pendant over his head. The stone came to rest at the opening of his shirt, and when he looked in the mirror, it looked like it belonged there.

Now grinning broadly, he sat back down at the table, buttered a slice of bread, and sat down to ponder who was responsible for all this. He was very firmly squashing the part of him that really wanted it to be Merlin.

As he did so, he reached for the book, and spotted something he hadn't noticed the first time he'd examined it. A piece of parchment was sticking out from between the pages.

Arthur yanked it out, and smoothed it down on the table.

Arthur,

it read,

I'm sure as you read this you've already opened the presents. The book is from Morgana, the pendant is from me. Yes, I made it, and I look forward to the jokes. Oh, and Gwen sent the flowers. I hope they meet with Your Highness' royal approval.

Enjoy the breakfast - you don't even want to know what I had to do to get that orange.

Happy Birthday.

M

Arthur finished reading, and then crumpled the note in his fist, unable to stop himself grinning like a mad man.

Never before had he received presents like this. The only similar occasion had been when he was six and his nurse had given him a small wolfhound puppy. Arthur had adored the animal for all of five days before Uther decreed he was too attached and decided to teach him a lesson by giving the puppy to the daughter of a passing noble. Arthur never saw it again.

Stupid and unreasonable as it was to be so pleased over a book and a pendant when he had been showered with all kinds of finery the day before Arthur felt very warm inside.

He wolfed the egg and ham, drained a goblet of water, hangover almost forgotten, and then paused to look at the orange.

Reaching out a hand, he pocketed it, and strode out of the door.

Irritatingly, it took Arthur most of the morning to find Merlin, and by the time he finally located the stupid boy his good mood had waned slightly.

As it was, it had been something of a stroke of luck finding him.

Arthur had been reduced to checking the stables to see if Merlin was hiding there, and, not much looking forward to having to check every single stall, he was relieved to see a stable boy coming out of the nearest stable.

Arthur called him over, and asked,

'Have you seen a boy in the stalls?'

The stablehand shrugged, looking suitably terrified.

'There's no-one around this morning, sire. The King took a hunting party out, so most of the stable boys have gone.'

Arthur shook his head impatiently.

'No, I'm not talking about a stable hand. I'm looking for my manservant. He's about my height (slightly taller actually, but Arthur was never going to admit that), scruffy dark hair, unhealthily thin…'

'Enormous ears?' The stable boy cut in, looking relieved. 'Yes, he's round the back in the yard, by the hay bales. But I'm not supposed to tell anyone he's there.'

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him.

'I'm Crown Prince of Camelot.'

The stable boy cringed.

'Round that corner, through the second gate on the left. Look behind the hay stack.'

Arthur nodded his thanks.

He finally located Merlin sprawled in a pile of hay, stretched out like a cat, with his eyes closed in the sun.

Arthur coughed pointedly.

Without even opening his eyes, Merlin said,

'Marcus is such a snitch.'

Arthur presumed Marcus was the stable boy.

'Marcus has some respect for royal orders. You could learn a thing or two from him.'

Merlin opened one eye, and fixed Arthur with a baleful stare.

'I've done everything required of me this morning, sire. Was there something else you wanted?'

Arthur paused, unsure, now that he had found his manservant, what he actually wanted to say.

'We're going hunting.'

It wasn't quite what he'd had planned, but maybe a hunt would help clear his head. Merlin opened his mouth to protest.

'Royal order, Merlin.'

An hour later, they were stalking a fine deer through the forest outside Camelot. Arthur had already shot a couple of rabbits, and they were strung on a stake over Merlin's shoulders.

Few words had been exchanged between the two so far. Despite what Arthur had woken up to that morning, Merlin seemed determined to maintain a detached, almost professional façade. Getting one word answers where he would normally have received snappy retorts was grating somewhat on Arthur's nerves.

Eventually he had had enough.

'Come on, out with it. You've been surly all morning.'

Merlin deliberately looked the other way.

'Nothing's wrong, sire.'

Despite Merlin's attempts at professionalism, he still couldn't quite pull off the 'sire' without a trace of contempt.

Arthur sighed.

'Look, I owe you an apology. I was very drunk last night and…'

Before he could get to the end of his sentence, Merlin cut him off.

'It's fine Arthur. You don't need to explain yourself. Careful or I might forget I'm only a servant.'

His tone made Arthur's blood boil. Arthur Pendragon did not do apologies, and it was just so bloody typical that Merlin could not make it easy.

'And what's that supposed to mean?'

Merlin glared at him, something dark swirling in stormy blue eyes.

'You are impossible. Each time I'm convinced that you're different to your father, that you'll be a great King and that somewhere, maybe, you actually have a heart, you act like a self-centred, self-absorbed, self-obsessed…' Merlin trailed off, sputtering with anger.

'Clotpole?' Arthur suggested.

'CLOTPOLE.' Merlin seized the word with relish.

Arthur wanted to laugh, but sensed this might be deemed insensitive.

'If I'm so self-centred, then why did you bother to leave me all that this morning?

If looks could kill, Uther would be arranging the funeral right now.

'Because Morgana, Gwen and I had it all planned, and it seemed a shame to let it go to waste because you'd suddenly decided you were too good for the likes of Gwen and I!'

Arthur winced.

'Merlin, I don't think I'm too good for you and Guinevere.'

Merlin made a small noise of disbelief.

Arthur sighed. Pulling his sleeve up slightly, he showed Merlin the small white scar at the top of his palm.

Despite himself, Merlin looked curious.

'I got that when I was about sixteen. I was leading my first hunt, and we were tracking a stag. I was nervous, and when the time came to shoot the animal, I found myself reluctant to go through with it.'

Merlin looked a bit sceptical.

'You love to hunt.'

Arthur shrugged.

'I didn't then. The stag was a beauty, to this day I've seen few to match it, and it just seemed…a waste to kill it.'

'What did you do?'

'I lowered the bow. But then my father's favourite knight asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. I knew if I didn't take the shot, Uther would be furious. There are only so many times you can disappoint the King, Merlin, even if he is your father.'

'You killed the stag?'

'Yes. That was the first day I had to choose between what I wanted to do and what was expected of me. It's a choice I hate making, but at the end of the day my duty is to Camelot.'

Merlin sighed.

'And it isn't expected of you to be friends with a servant.'

Arthur shook his head.

'No.'

Merlin heaved a sigh. He smiled at Arthur, although it was tinged with a little sadness, and a little disappointment. It hurt Arthur's head.

'Ah well,' he said, 'I couldn't help being born a lowly village boy, anymore than you could help being born a prat.'

He paused.

'A royal prat.'

And then,

'Sire.'

They never did catch the deer that afternoon, and returned to Camelot with only a few rabbits. Merlin had remained quiet throughout the rest of the trip, yet what he had said played on Arthur's mind.

He'd spent the last ten years or so being Arthur, Crown Prince of Camelot, but this last year, with Merlin and Guinevere, and to some extent Morgana, he'd been rediscovering what it was like to be just Arthur.

And he liked it. It was nice to just be himself once in a while, with people who didn't judge. Anyway, how was he supposed to find it in him to be a good King, when he didn't even know who he really was?

Maybe it wasn't proper to be friends with his manservant, and the King's ward and her serving girl, but did that necessarily mean it was wrong? He was the Crown Prince and heir to the throne, surely the job must have some perks?

Arthur was fully aware that he might not be thinking this way, had it not been for the fact that Merlin was being unusually subservient and polite recently, and Arthur was starting to greatly miss his company. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone.

Arthur reached up to tug at the pendant around his neck, which Merlin must have spent hours carving, and which, Arthur realised, he had never actually thanked him for, when a knock at the door interrupted his pondering

Arthur called out,

'Come!'

A servant poked his head around the door.

'The King requests your presence in court my Lord.'

Arthur nodded at him, heaved a sigh, and got to his feet.

He made his way down to the courtroom, wondering what on earth his father could want.

On reaching the courtroom, he pushed open the heavy oak double doors, to find a room containing his father, along with two royal advisors, Gaius and Morgana, with Gwen and Merlin standing behind them in a corner, and a collection of villagers, who had presumably come to ask for Camelot's help.

Half an hour later, it had been decided that the village of Olivadan would be exempt from paying the grain tax this year as a failed harvest had left them with only the bare minimum in terms of food. The villagers had been dispatched to a nearby inn, where the court would pay for them to board and eat for a night.

Gaius, Morgana and Gwen were making their way towards the door of the courtroom, and Arthur was following, Merlin presumably somewhere behind him, when Uther called out.

'Arthur, a word.'

Arthur turned back, trying not to notice the way Merlin automatically dropped his eyes, until he was indeed staring at Arthur's kneecaps. Merlin brushed past him, with a muttered 'sire'.

'Yes, father?'

Uther gave Arthur a long hard look.

'Is something the matter, Arthur?'

'Nothing at all.'

It was the closest to a heart to heart they ever got.

'Hmmm.' Uther did not sound convinced and peered at him more closely. Arthur steadfastly refused to squirm.

'What is that around your neck?'

Arthur's hand went automatically up to tug at the pendant.

'Oh it's just a pendant.'

'I can see that,' Uther's tone was cutting, 'I don't recognise it. Who gave it to you?'

'Uh….'

Arthur ran through various options in his head. He couldn't say his manservant (inappropriate), he couldn't say Morgana (inappropriate), he couldn't say a visiting noble (inappropriate) and he certainly couldn't say Merlin (disaster).

Eventually, smiling slightly, he settled for,

'It was a gift from a friend.'

Uther harrumphed, but turned his attention back to the report he was studying, so Arthur considered himself dismissed.

He turned back in the direction of the door, and was greeted by the sight of Merlin, one hand on the door handle, clearly in the middle of eavesdropping, and grinning bright enough to light up the entire court.

And Arthur, God help him, smiled back.