Merlin stood alone in Arthur's chambers. Time ticked by, and Merlin groaned disappointedly. That had gone horribly. That had gone so horribly Merlin thought he ought to win a medal for it.

Merlin sighed and began picking up the pieces of debris that littered Arthur's chambers. There was no use in going after the king. What more could he say?

Suddenly remembering that he could use magic openly now, the warlock waved a hand, and the broken furniture mended itself. The wine stains drained from the pillows and papers. It still seemed like a sort of alternate reality, similar to his own but just different enough to be alarming. Still, in disbelief, Merlin figured out a way to fix the privacy screen after some meddling, too. Not that Arthur used it much, too accustomed to waltzing around his room bare as the day he was born. Merlin shook his head fondly, faintly remembering Arthur berating him for letting Gwen in the room while he was changing. Merlin remembered no such thing, but it seemed to greatly embarrass the king, so the warlock had teased him about it for days.

When he finished repairing the room, he looked around for something else to do. Perhaps boots to shine or sheets to wash. It was rather jarring to be unable to find anything. His magic had gotten away from him, and now the floors were still slightly damp from scrubbing, all of Arthur's clothes neatly put away and folded, the fireplace swept, and even the pillows were fluffed. If he'd been able to use magic freely before, he would have been a better servant than even George! But still, there was nothing for Merlin to do. And he wasn't a servant anymore. He wasn't sure what he was exactly. But he wasn't needed here, and he couldn't do anything to prove otherwise.

Magic aside, Merlin was an absolutely terrible servant. He'd improved over the years but only in the way that you improve from repetition. Not because he'd actually meant to. Most times, he was too busy trying to keep Arthur alive and not die himself. Now he could put on and remove Arthur's armor blindfolded, but he still wasn't quite sure where to put the ceremonial kingly attire. He'd stuffed it in an unused chest and forgotten about it. Arthur had chuckled and shaken his head. Called Merlin an idiot, too. But that was it. Honestly, the worst of it was the stocks, and that hadn't happened in years…

Any other master would've, at the very least, fired Merlin within a week. For some reason, Arthur hadn't. Despite the fact his baths and food were more often cold rather than hot, his room covered in a thin layer of dust, the fireplace layered with ashes, and his clothes put in random places… Arthur didn't do anything about it.

He'd complain, of course.

"Merlin, how has my food managed to become cold as ice during the simple journey from the kitchens to my chambers? And you decided to snag some for yourself as well I see. I should have known letting you off with the damned sausages would create a monster."

'Ice had been an exaggeration. I may or may not have taken a little detour to the dungeons. And maybe gave away some chicken. And ham. And potatoes. And I hadn't even tried to hide it.' Merlin had thought to himself.

"Would you like me to fetch you another plate, sire?"

"...No. It's fine. You came an hour late so Llyla should be headed home by now anyways…"

Merlin had nodded and poured some wine. He didn't ask how Arthur knew which cook was working tonight. Or comment that Llyna was still in the kitchens, probably working on dough for tomorrow's bread. Which Arthur likely knew, too. And Merlin definitely said nothing about the reserved chicken and mash Arthur left on the plate for him, even though some had been missing when he brought it up in the first place.

Or

"Merlin, this water is freezing, you idiot!" Arthur screeched. In a manly manner, of course.

"Would you like me to fetch another bath, sire?" Merlin sighed, looking tiredly at the basin. He could see Arthur watching him behind his displeased expression.

"No, Merlin…. I'm exhausted. I'm not waiting another two hours, or however long it will take, for you to just get more undoubtedly cold water. It's fine it'll help relax muscles or whatever Gaius says."

"It helps with injury inflammation, prat. And fine, but don't complain to me when you get chilly."

"I will complain as much as I see fit! It's your own damn fault you can't just fetch hot water the first time." Arthur groaned through clenched teeth as he dipped a toe into the water. He made a face reminiscent of a guilty man in court, all dread and trepidation.

"Oh, so to the stocks I go then, huh?" Merlin teased, turning to fold some clothing while Arthur dropped his towel and climbed into the tub.

"Don't push your luck. Now for the love of all things holy…. Shut up, Merlin."

Merlin laughed and threw a bar of soap behind himself, smiling when he heard it whack against Arthur's skin and the royal's returning chuckle. Arthur's teeth chattered for a solid fifteen minutes, and he glared daggers at Merlin. Next time, Merlin made sure to heat the water while the king was distracted. Arthur made a happy little moan and emerged himself completely, the water splashing out of the tub and onto the floor. Merlin complained, and Arthur laughed at him. It was peaceful.

Or

"I would be able to dress just fine if my shirts had been hung and my pants folded instead of the other way around. I can't find a bloody thing, it's so disorganized!"

Merlin had doubled over and wheezed behind a closed fist upon the glorious sight he was met with that morning. Arthur had his breeches on backward, his shirt far too small, and his shoes on the wrong feet. At this point, the only explanation Merlin could accept was that Arthur did this for comedic purposes. The king had dressed himself just fine on several occasions in the past. This whole joke had started when Merlin commented that perhaps Arthur didn't need his help dressing anymore, now that he figured it out. Arthur had agreed, and then the next morning Merlin found him with his arms trapped in his shirt and a hole in his breeches.

"Well, it looks like you found everything just fine. You just weren't sure what to do after that…"

"That's absolute nonsense!"

"Right. Of course, sire. Now let's see if I can fix this…"

After some wrestling and rummaging in the wardrobe, Arthur had looked less like a court jester and more like a royal again. Once Arthur had checked his reflection in the mirror and when it met his standards, he'd sat down and started on breakfast. Then he'd thrown an apple at Merlin's head. Clotpole.

It was moments like those Merlin hadn't realised he would miss. The friendship, the banter, the easy push and pull between the two of them. Yes, Arthur had made mistakes. He'd humiliated Merlin on occasion. Ridiculed him. Killed Freya. Failed horribly to comfort Merlin when he lost Will and Balinor. But it was never out of cruel intentions. He'd tried his best. He noticed Merlin's sadness when no one else did. Made him smile even on the worst days. Neither one of them was perfect, but they always tried to be good.

Determined to continue the conversation when Arthur got back, Merlin pulled out a chair and waited for his king's return.