A/N - Hi, I'm back! Sorry about that 'week' being longer than expected, but I really had a ridiculous amount of real life stuff I had to sort. In other news, I have now finally finished doing all of the things that I needed to get done, and yet I still don't own 'Merlin'. How is that fair?
-JKelly
Dreary:
adj. depressingly dull and bleak or repetitive
Merlin wasn't a good manservant, not by any stretch of the imagination. He dropped pretty much everything he had to hold for more than three seconds, seemed to be incapable of properly cleaning a room, and had absolutely no respect for courtly etiquette.
Things had been alright for Arthur before Merlin came along. He'd had the same rotation of interchangeable manservants, each one the same as the last. He would be woken up gently, predictably, every day - and actually on time for whatever he had to do. He would go on the patrols his father ordered him on. He would fight the enemies using the same techniques he practiced every morning and evening, except when he had to attend his father's eternal council meetings or a feast where he'd make idle conversation with those same councilmen. He spent his free time with the sons of nobles who were only interested in his position, not who he was, and he had the same conversations with them over and over and over. He was the dutiful prince, soldier, and son - in that order.
Yes, things had been alright for Arthur before Merlin came along. But perhaps, he thought, there were more appropriate descriptors than 'alright'.
Life had been dull. Grey. Dreary.
Now, he could scarcely get a moment's peace from Merlin's incessant rambling, with the occasional insult thrown in for good measure. He was woken every morning harshly - but only on those mornings when he wouldn't have preferred to get out of his duties anyway, or when they were absolutely vital. Patrols were filled with friendly bickering and a back and forth that he suspected neither he nor Merlin would ever win. Even fighting seemed to be more varied somehow, with tree branches dropping and enemies tripping at opportune (and often rather comedic) moments. No council meeting was complete without him almost losing his composure entirely at some sarcastic comment or pointed dig at a council member being whispered in his ear as Merlin poured him more water, and no feast without almost spilling his wine in indignation after an almost parental Merlin informed him that he'd had quite enough for one night and had to be up early the next day. He spent his free time hunting - or trying to, seeing as Merlin seemed to possess absolutely no grace whatsoever - or else doing paperwork in his chambers at a time that just so happened to coincide with when Merlin decided to pretend to clean them. He was still the dutiful prince, soldier, and son, but now there was something else that seemed like it ought to be towards the top of that list - now, he was a friend.
It was funny, he thought, how things could change, considering just how against Merlin's instatement he had initially been. Back then he hadn't been able to see any possible way that having Merlin as a manservant could ever work out.
Just then, Arthur's musings were interrupted by Merlin himself, who backed into the room with a pile of armour in his arms. Unfortunately, as he wasn't looking where he was going, he slipped on a patch of water he'd left behind when he had scrubbed the floor earlier and crashed to the ground, the armour following shortly after.
"Hey dollophead, what'd you spill that water there for?" Merlin asked, not helping his cause in the slightest.
Arthur sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
No, Merlin wasn't a good manservant, not by any stretch of the imagination. He dropped pretty much everything he had to hold for more than three seconds, seemed to be incapable of properly cleaning a room, and had absolutely no respect for courtly etiquette. And Arthur wouldn't have it any other way.