Hands clasped behind his back, Merlin paced the length of the small cabin.

"Rule number one. Here, you are not the prince."

"But-"

To cut him off before he could go off on a tangent about bloodlines and legacies or whatever, Merlin raised a hand. "You're a prince, yes, but not the prince. I'm in charge around here, not you."

Although it would probably come up again (multiple times), Merlin was not going to waste his future time on the matter. If Arthur thought he could boss him around, well…his royal highness would find himself on the back of a horse headed to where he belonged (and should have been).

Merlin stopped pacing to look at him. "Understand?"

A trifle sullenly, Arthur nodded.

Satisfied that it would last for at least two days, Merlin resumed pacing. "Rule number two. You don't go traipsing off into the woods without me."

"Why not?"

Was this how it was going to be every time he said something? "Because I say so."

"Why?"

"There are others in the woods that should be avoided."

"Other sorcerers like you?"

"Yes and no. Unlike me, they might kill you."

Actually, there was a cult of druids that was trying to locate him to convince him to come to reign over them as some sort of supreme and eternal being while they danced barefoot around campfires and strung cranberry necklaces together or something. He didn't know and didn't want to find out and certainly didn't want Arthur to find out.

It was embarrassing enough as it was.

Arthur raised his chin defiantly. "I'm not afraid."

"At least your bravery can make up for your lack of brains, then." To keep him from talking and interrupting more, Merlin set an apple down in front of him. "They could kill you with a couple of words. And there are beasts that would eat you in less. While that's on you if it happens because you didn't listen to me, I would rather not pick up the blame for it or have to go through the trouble of burying you. Now, rule number three. You don't touch anything of mine."

Arthur picked up the apple and started inspecting it. "Anything? What about the floor?"

"No. You'll have to levitate." Merlin rolled his eyes. "The floor is fine."

"The table?"

"That's fine, too."

"What about the-"

"Let me rephrase that. You can't touch the trunk under the bed. Also, you see those glass jars?" He pointed at a row on the shelf on the wall. "You touch those, you die."

Arthur's eyes went wide. "You said you weren't going to kill-"

"Literally. The ingredients are poisonous. If you don't know what something is, keep out of it."

"What do you need poison for?"

"To knock off annoying princes. Now, rule number four-"

"I don't have this many rules back home," Arthur complained. "I make the rules."

Somehow, Merlin doubted that a little. Otherwise, it was better, then, for the sake of Camelot that Arthur wasn't there. "If you don't like my rules," Merlin shot back peevishly, "you can get on a horse and go back."

"I don't have a horse." Scowling, Arthur finally took a bite of the apple.

Although Merlin did own one, he wasn't about to share that quite yet.

Goodness, this was a lot of work.

"Now, rule number five-"

Through the food in his mouth, Arthur tried to say something.

A prince, indeed.

"What?"

Arthur swallowed. "You were on rule number four, not five." You idiot.

"Oh. Right." Because of the interruption, Merlin forgot what he was doing with rule number four. He frowned.

"Is that all of them, then?" Hopefully, Arthur shifted in his - Merlin's chair.

"No. Let me think." He put a hand to his forehead.

"Rule number four…rule number four…"

Oh, blast it. He was pretty sure it was important.

Obviously growing more bored by the minute, Arthur started scuffing his boot on the floor. He probably wanted to go outside and swing his sword around at trees instead of listening to Merlin-

Sword.

"Rule number four." Merlin ignored Arthur's sigh. "No attempts to maim, dismember, disembowel, decapitate, or permanently disable anyone or anything are allowed."

Blankly, Arthur tilted his head to the side.

"No stabbing anything," Merlin clarified, jerking his chin towards Arthur's sword, which had been propped up against the wall.

"Oh. All right."

Of course, if that did happen to Merlin, it meant nothing to him, but the experience was rather painful. If at all possible, he tried to avoid it. He'd thought about confiscating the sword completely and hiding it under the floorboards with some of his other things, but he guessed Arthur had some training already if he ever needed to defend himself.

So long as it wasn't Merlin on the opposite end of the hilt.

To himself, he frowned. It felt like he was forgetting something, and he wasn't sure he was going about this the right way.

"Are you finished now?" Arthur started wiping his sticky, apple dribble-covered fingers on top of Merlin's table.

"For now."

"Good. I'm going outside." Painfully scraping the chair's legs against the floor, Arthur stood.

Well, that was fine. They needed more firewood, anyway, and he was usually outside this time of the morning, too.

Merlin narrowed his eyes. It felt like the prince was up to something, though.

He hoped he wouldn't have to spend the rest of his life feeling like he needed to look back over his shoulder.

But it was a little too late to change his mind, wasn't it?

…

Questions.

Arthur was full of questions.

Never mind that Merlin was one of the most powerful magic users around (although Arthur didn't know that yet) and that his father had been killed yesterday. The prince wanted to know everything about nothing important and had been harrassing Merlin for the last hour.

"What kind of a name is Merlin, anyway?"

"Mine."

"It's not even a good one."

"My mother thought it was," Merlin grit out through his teeth as he scooped up another branch from the ground and shook it to dislodge a few dried leaves stuck on it.

Normally, he would have used his magic to make this go more quickly, but he didn't feel comfortable using it around Arthur. This was something to keep both of them busy, anyway, until he figured out how to deal with a prince.

Merlin didn't know what they were going to do when they'd collected enough wood and returned home.

"It sounds odd."

"It's unique."

"Merlin. Merlin. Merlin."

As it was, Arthur was doing a lot more talking than picking up branches, and Merlin was doing most of the work.

Why wasn't he surprised?

"Better than what the druids call me," he muttered under his breath as he bent over again to pick up another piece.

Up ahead, Arthur crunched through the leaves more noisily than a pack of deer before stopping at the base of a tree and staring upwards into his branches.

Merlin's arms were full.

Arthur's were not.

"Here. Get over here and take some of these." If Athur wasn't going to collect anything, he could at least carry some of the load.

Of course, using magic to do it would have been nice.

To himself, he sighed.

This was going to be a long hundred years.

"This is boring," Arthur complained as he tramped back over to Merlin. "I'm going exploring."

"Firewood first." He dropped his whole pile into Arthur's arms and started looking for more.

If Arthur was bored after this long, he would grow tired of Merlin and want to leave soon.

Now there was an idea to toy with.

Maybe it wouldn't be a hundred years.

The type of "excitement" Merlin usually involved himself in was labeled magical harassment by the local magic-hating authorities. King Uther included.

Lord Agravaine would probably carry on the same viewpoint.

"This is getting dirt all over my clothes."

"There was dirty already all over your clothes."

"Now there's more dirt. I look like a peasant."

"There'll be even more dirt."

Even though Merlin was leading the way through the underbrush, he could feel Arthur's scowl through his back.

He was getting a headache.

"I want a bath when we return. And my clothes washed."

"And how do you think you're going to manage that?"

Behind him, Arthur's footsteps faltered as he thought that through. "Don't you…"

There were a few experimental sniffs and then a cough.

Welcome to living in the forest, Prince Arthur. Want to go home?

"Wash days are once every two weeks." And that was when he wasn't on the road. If he was busy, it was even longer because there were more important things that needed his attention than smelling like the petals of a rose.

Brilliant. He was going to have to figure out how to keep an eye on Arthur and make his usual rounds.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to make an exception?" Arthur groused.

Merlin sighed. "It isn't time-"

The words died in his mouth.

"-to take a bath, Merlin."

"But I don't want a bath, mum. Didn't I just have one of those?"

"A month ago!"

"Really? But-"

"No more buts, Merlin. It's a bath for you, so hurry up about it. Give me your shirt. I'll fix the hole in-"

"-my elbow already!"

The real world slammed back into focus, and Merlin gasped.

What kind of magic was this?

"Can you fix-"

"Shut up," he snapped, stopping and whirling around. "For one second, can you be quiet?"

The chatter ceased.

Arthur's face went blank.

Instantly, guilt filled Merlin.

Fantastic. A few more days at it, and he would sound just like Uther, wouldn't he?

"I'm sorry," he apologized to Arthur, who was finding his stack of firewood quite interesting.

"I…"

I started hearing and seeing the voice of my dead mother because you wouldn't stop asking questions like I used to.

"I…have a headache."

"Oh."

Merlin gritted his teeth. He really felt like banging his head into a tree, but his hands were full, and he would probably only end up impaling himself by accident. "I'm sorry," he repeated instead. "I still shouldn't have yelled at you."

"Oh." Arthur's eyebrows knit together.

Merlin bailed. "Let's get back." Without waiting for an affirmation from the prince, he started walking in the direction of the cabin.

…

Food brought Arthur out of the sullen silence that took over him after the little incident.

Or rather, criticizing Merlin's cooking of the food did.

"What is this?" He poked at it with the fork Merlin had given him.

"Well, what's it look like?"

Merlin was encountering a new problem: dishes.

Since guests never ate at his cabin (because they didn't know where it was in the first place), he only owned enough for himself. If Arthur was staying longer than a day, he would have to make a run to the nearest village and purchase another bowl and fork.

Then again, if this afternoon was anything to go by, Arthur would be scared off pretty soon by Merlin's rusty people skills.

"It looks like…it looks like mush," Arthur gagged, poking it around some more.

"...That's because it is mush."

"Oh."

Merlin supposed he was going to have to find better food, too, if he was feeding someone else. Were children still growing at Arthur's age?

"I don't like mush."

I have a personal cook back at the castle.

She can cook better than this while blindfolded.

On any other day, Merlin would have tried to scare him into eating it, but he was too exhausted to deal with this now. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after tomorrow. Maybe a week from tomorrow.

So he sighed, went to the barrel, and pulled out more apples.

…

Despite his weariness, Merlin couldn't fall asleep, so he stared up at the ceiling as the hours of the night crawled by.

He felt like a disaster.

He couldn't even remember what he'd done the entire day except for collecting the firewood, which was now burning merrily away in the hearth.

It was boring into his eyelids.

Irritated, he turned over and buried his head underneath his arm.

"No, please."

He jerked up, almost knocking his blanket onto the floor. "Arthur?" he hissed.

The prince was lying down (on the floor, again, probably another thing he was going to have to deal with later), but he was wrestling with the blanket.

"Father!" he muttered.

Merlin didn't know what to do. Was he supposed to wake him up? Leave him alone?

While he debated, Arthur jerked over once more until he was facing Merlin, his eyelids fluttering. A second later, they opened.

Acutely awake and aware, the two of them stared at each other for a minute.

"Sorry for waking you up," Arthur told him gruffly, untangling a hand to rub his eye.

Merlin floundered. What was he supposed to say?

"Now we're even"?

"I was already awake, wallowing in my shortcomings"?

"Hope your nightmare wasn't too bad"?

If only someone had written a tome titled How to Properly Care For and Deal With the More Than Likely Traumatized Child Who Showed Up, Demanded to Stay, and Now Occupies Your House.

He would give the stash of gold coins under his floorboards to read it.

Arthur turned over again to face the fire, and Merlin stared at the ceiling once more.

His bones felt achy and ancient.

Day one of living with the prince, and he'd already messed up enough for three people.

He didn't know what he was doing.

He wasn't cut out for this - whatever this was.

Overall, he was a bit of a big failure, wasn't he?