Arthur hated George with a passion.
Though, to be fair, he had hated every single one of his manservants so far.
They had all been competent, diligent, busy types. Exceedingly polite and willing to bend over backwards twice on a prince's silliest whim. Naturally, they all had also been – and without exception – spies. Carefully selected and planted by his uncle.
Just like good George here, who was serving breakfast with steady, well-trained hands while simultaneously bowing and scraping and generally kissing Arthur's arse. And at night, after he'd helped Arthur undress, prepared his bed and stoked his fire, creating a false sense of intimacy and trust, he'd slip out of the royal chambers and report straight to Agravaine.
Arthur glared at the bread, cold meat, cheese and fruit arranged artfully on his plate and once more cursed his life. His stomach growled, though, so he eventually ate his breakfast.
"I'm leaving," he finally announced and stood abruptly. "Make yourself useful and clean up, George!"
"Certainly, my lord," the manservant replied with absolute deference, immediately reaching for the plate with a perfect little bow. Arthur momentarily felt like his breakfast would come up again. "Shall I accompany you, sire?"
"Hm, let's see," said Arthur, placing a finger at his chin. "Do I want a slimy, spying piece of scum to follow me around?"
George swallowed. "No, my lord?"
"That's right!" Arthur mocked him. "Attend to me at lunch. Until then, stay away!"
"Yes, my lord, as you wish."
If George really wanted to do as Arthur wished, he'd throw himself off the nearest tower, but that really was wishful thinking. Besides, Arthur thought grimly, Agravaine would have this spy replaced with another before George's body had grown cold.
Sighing inaudibly, Arthur left his rooms and walked down the corridor, glaring at the guards stationed near his door for good measure. More spies. The whole castle was full of them.
It was only a short walk to the chambers of the king and like every morning, Arthur collected himself, knocked and entered.
It seemed to be a better day than most. His father had left the bed and, Arthur noticed with some surprise, even gotten half-dressed to sit at the breakfast table. Uther's servant had laid out various platters of food and the king was enjoying a glass of mulberry wine.
"Arthur! Come in, come in!"
And talking, too! Arthur found himself smiling as he briefly bowed his head. "Father."
"Do sit down, son. Have you eaten?
"I have, but I'll have some wine if you prefer company."
He sat and got poured a drink. With training sessions scheduled, Arthur added some water to the mix and took a sip.
"My man Calvin here reminded me there's to be a feast tonight!" Uther said with a nod to the white-haired servant. He cut himself a cube of cheese and bit into it heartily.
"Yes, father. You remember Lady Helen?"
"The singer? Yes, yes. Will she be performing?"
"She's expected to arrive at noon."
"Splendid!"
Already feeling a lot less miserable, Arthur watched his father's unusually good appetite. By the time Arthur had finished his drink, two of the prepared platters had been emptied and Uther had started to pick over the fruit bowl. His skin, usually sickly pale, had regained some colour and his hands were steady, hardly a trace of the usual tremble as he now peeled himself an apple with a crooked silver knife.
These lucid moments had become rare in the past years. When Arthur had been younger, Uther had at least had one or two good days a week, attending council meetings, inspecting the knights and holding court, with Agravaine by his side to smooth over any blunders. These days, the king hardly left his rooms and he had lost a considerable amount of weight and hair.
"You know who always adored music?" Uther suddenly said, stilling with a slice of apple halfway to his mouth. Arthur's stomach sank. "Your mother, she loved it so."
The change was immediate. His father's eyes were growing distant, his voice had turned wry. "Ygraine could play the harp, did you know? Such delicate hands, such talent…"
The knife and apple fell to his lap as Uther sank back into his chair. Calvin, unfazed through years of practice, quietly came forward and took them from the king.
"Your majesty," he said respectfully. "Are you feeling unwell?"
Uther hummed a diffuse melody, then whispered: "That was her favourite song." He shook his head, blinked at Calvin. "I—I feel tired. Prepare the bed, man!"
Arthur fled the room.
He wore himself out during training. This meant he'd be tired at the banquet, but Arthur didn't mind. Perhaps he could retire early and skip the ambiguous conversation with his uncle he never seemed to be able to avoid. He hated wondering what he might accidentally reveal.
He would have to take some pointers from Morgana, who seemed lucky enough to have found a true companion in Guinevere. Her lady-in-waiting always managed to find an opening for her friend to slip out of these social functions if needed.
Sore even after the bath that had been drawn for him, Arthur endured George's fussing over his evening attire before they left for the banquet.
They entered the great hall from a side entrance, as Arthur was unwilling to make a fuss. Yet, he still felt the eyes of nobles and servants on him almost at once. Undoubtedly, they were observing his face, his clothes, the way he carried himself today, filing away any information that might be of use to them for their own schemes or those of their masters.
Sometimes, Arthur hated this place with such passion that it took all of his well-trained composure not to give into an urge to smash everything in vicinity.
Morgana, wearing an impossible red dress that attracted quite the attention, had already settled down at the head table, with Guinevere, more modestly clad, seated by her side. They were talking intimately over glasses of wine, but stopped as Arthur approached.
"Lady Morgana," Arthur greeted his father's ward and dutifully kissed her hand, then bowed his head towards her companion. "Lady Guinevere."
"My lord," they chorused, though where Guinevere sounded genuinely respectful, Morgana's voice was laced with her usual irony.
"Are you looking forward to tonight's festivities, ladies?"
"A feast to celebrate twenty years of blazing pyres?" Morgana replied dryly, though she had the decency – or caution – to significantly lower her voice. "Why, I couldn't think of a better occasion to gorge myself!"
Arthur allowed himself a smile as he agreed in the same playful tone, then excused himself.
Morgana frowned at him. "Still not joining us, Arthur?"
"Not tonight, no," he replied and walked.
He gave the prince's seat left to the king's embroidered armchair a wide berth and settled down at a different table to sit with the knights. He greeted Sir Cador next to him, then waved at George to fill his cup.
As he waited, Arthur let his eyes roam over the guests. Any Camelotian noble of good repute seemed to have been invited. The hall was packed not only with those who lived at or near the capital, but those who must have travelled two days from their fiefdoms. On top, other members of the court had also been granted entrance, as he even spotted Gaius, the physician.
For some reason, Arthur's eyes lingered. Two decades ago, that man had been one of his father's most trusted advisors and had ranked even above many of the knights. But these days, he had lost much of his status due to Agravaine's interference and Uther's decline, and was now sitting far away from the head table.
Arthur pursed his lips when a servant moved into his line of vision. He instantly recognised him as the bumbling idiot from the training fields. It seemed Agravaine had reassigned him to spy on Gaius after the mess he'd made with Arthur. True to Arthur's first impression, the boy was completely incompetent. He was sloppily serving some ale and it sloshed onto Gaius' sleeve. Promptly, the servant got scolded by the glaring physician.
At this rate, Arthur gave him two more days at most before his uncle would get rid of him.
"Your wine, my lord!"
George had finally arrived with a jug and Arthur tore his eyes away, impatiently holding out his cup to be filled. Before he could drink from it, though, Agravaine arrived – and he certainly liked to make an entrance.
"All rise for the Lord Chancellor Agravaine de Bois!" came the announcement.
Gritting his teeth as Sir Cador jumped to his feet and stood at attention next to him, Arthur took his time to take a generous sip of his wine. He then belatedly rose to his feet, just in time to watch his uncle enter the hushed hall.
Agravaine, wearing a dark cape with the golden crest of Camelot over a fine red tunic and well-fitted breeches, was leading a dark-haired woman in a yellow dress to the head table. His face was modest, almost as if the attention embarrassed him, and he made a placating gesture as some of his worst sycophants bowed deeply when he passed them. Finally, after what felt to Arthur like eternity, he arrived at the head table, coming to stand just a half-step to the right of what would have been King Uther's seat.
"May I present Lady Helen of Mora?" he introduced his guest and the people of the court clapped politely, sitting only when Agravaine and Helen had settled down, leaving the king's and prince's seat empty.
Arthur hid his face behind his cup and pretended to listen to Sir Cador's remarks about Lady Helen's supposed beauty. He mustered his uncle. Agravaine was making polite conversation with the singer. He was wearing the seal of the royal chancellor around his neck, the gold disk gleaming in the candlelight as he leaned forward.
Suddenly, Agravaine's gaze shifted and he was looking at Arthur directly, briefly narrowing his eyes as he took in his place at the knights' table. Arthur raised his cup at him in mock-greeting and his uncle smiled, seemingly unbothered as he nodded, the barest hint of a bow. It was an insulting acknowledgement of the fact that Arthur technically outranked him. Suddenly feeling disgusted, Arthur turned away abruptly.
"More wine, toadface!" he snapped at George, though his cup was still half-full, and engaged Sir Cador in a conversation about today's training to distract himself.
The feast was well underway and the third of many courses served when Lady Helen got up from her place of honour to start the entertainment.
The conversation quieted down as the singer stepped in the middle of the hall, announced the name of the first song, then closed her eyes and took some deep breaths in preparation for her performance.
But before a single note had escaped her lips, a surprised voice called out: "The king! It's King Uther!"
All heads turned to the main entrance where, indeed, Uther Pendragon stood – impeccably dressed, bedecked with appropriate jewellery and all the insignia of his station befitting a royal banquet. Even though his manservant hovered nervously by his side, the king himself wore a calm, dignified expression.
The same, Arthur realised with glee, could not be said for Agravaine, whose mouth had gone slack. It took a few seconds before he schooled his features.
The sight of the king was so unexpected, it created a silence that stretched and stretched. With a grin, Arthur jumped to his feet. "All rise for the king!" he shouted and people followed his example as Uther confidently began to stride toward his chair.
"Be seated, be seated," he said good-naturedly as he walked. "I am unfashionably late and you're already eating."
Nobody dared to follow his command until he had settled down. Arthur watched as his uncle immediately bowed his head to murmur something into the king's ear, undoubtedly trying to take charge of the situation, but to Arthur's utter delight, Uther looked irritated and shook his head, even raising a hand to stop him.
"Not now, Agravaine," he snubbed him loudly, though the chancellor showed no reaction at this embarrassment. "Where is my son?"
"Here, your majesty!" Arthur hurried to Uther's side where the prince's seat had remained empty until now. He made a point of bowing deeply to his father, who smiled indulgently at him and rested a hand on his shoulder.
"It's good to see you get along with our men, but tonight your place is by my side, son," he said kindly. Kingly, even.
Arthur had to avert his eyes as emotions assaulted him. He sat.
Meanwhile, Uther had turned his attention to the centre of the hall: "Lady Helen, I apologise for my tardiness and the interruption. I believe you were about to start the entertainment?"
Lady Helen looked absolutely delighted as she curtsied prettily to the king. "Your majesty," she said with glee. "I am so glad you've come to see me perform!"
She smiled and began to sing.
She had, Arthur thought, a remarkable voice: powerful yet sweet. But the wine and the training really had to be getting to him as he was suddenly overcome by an undefeatable urge to yawn. Perhaps, if he could only briefly rest his head…
What felt like mere seconds later, Lady Helen – no, an old, evil-looking hag – lay crushed under a chandelier, a dagger had only narrowly missed Arthur's jugular and a servant boy held his arm in a surprisingly powerful grip. Arthur recognised the goofy face and silly haircut at once and was about to snap at the idiot to let him go – but his father spoke first.
"You saved my son's life!"
The servant released Arthur's arm on his own accord and, seemingly abandoning any etiquette he might have been taught about interacting with his betters, stared right into the king's face with wide eyes.
"Um," he replied with all the eloquence of a peasant.
"A debt must be repaid," Uther continued.
The boy raised his hands – a placating gesture he had directed at Arthur only yesterday – and seemed embarrassed: "Oh, well…"
"Don't be so modest. You shall be rewarded!"
"Honestly, your highness, I—"
This time, Agravaine interrupted him. "Yes, the boy should be given a reward for his heroic actions. I shall ask the treasurer to set aside a suitable sum—"
But Uther was having none of his chancellor's interference tonight.
"Nonsense," he said. "This merits something quite special." A heavy pause followed as Uther turned towards the crowd. "This boy shall be Prince Arthur's new manservant!"
After a stunned pause, the crowd hesitantly clapped.
Arthur was about to protest his father's decision when he looked past Uther's shoulder and saw Agravaine.
His uncle's right fist was clenched so tightly that all knuckles had gone white and the man was piercing the servant boy with such a spiteful and withering gaze that the prince momentarily experienced a dazzling paradigm shift.
A sudden sense of clarity hit him: This evening had spun violently out of control. Out of Agravaine's control.
The realisation was accompanied by an urgent rush of nerves. Arthur had to make a move. Right now.
"Father, what a brilliant idea!" Arthur enthused loudly and, mirroring what had happened only moments ago, grabbed a hold of the boy's skinny arm. "Alas, this whole ordeal has me rather worn out. An assassination attempt, can you imagine? Uncle, I'm sure you'll help father deal with this matter. Servant," Arthur cleared his throat, aware that a hundred pairs of ears were following every single word, "what's your name?"
The boy audibly swallowed and didn't sound quite sure when he said: "Merlin."
"Well, Merlin," Arthur continued, flashing the peasant boy his most princely smile, "as of this moment, by my father's grace, you have been promoted. Congratulations! Now, follow me!"
Agravaine looked like he was about to give orders to the complete contrary, but Arthur had already pulled his new manservant away from the head table and towards the nearest exit, mapping the quickest path to his quarters in his head as he rushed on.
"Let go," the boy panted behind him. "Please, you're hurting me!"
Arthur ignored him as he marched onwards. It wouldn't do to give Agravaine any time to poison his father's mind and get this decision reverted.
"Could you let go, please?" the servant continued. "Really, do you mind?" And, just as they turned the corner and the stairs to the royal chambers came into view: "Listen, you royal prat, I said: let go!"
Momentarily stunned by the sheer disrespect, Arthur did indeed stop and let go.
"Excuse me?"
Merlin glared at him as he was rubbing his arm. "Seriously, you've got a grip like a vice. This is going to bruise!" he complained.
The audacity of this boy! But there was no time to discuss his insolence. "Shut up and follow me," he barked at him and walked on, satisfied when footfall behind him signalled obedience.
When they had arrived at his chambers, Arthur threw open the door and unceremoniously shoved Merlin inside. The guard down the hall eyed the situation with some suspicion but whatever he saw on Arthur's face kept him silent and he pointedly turned his head away.
Good. Perhaps Arthur should remember that face, just in case.
He entered his chambers, closed the door and slid the lock in place. When he turned, Merlin was still sitting on the floor, rubbing the small of his back and muttering to himself.
Arthur walked up to him until he towered over the servant.
"Now," he growled, "tell me everything!"