However much advice on keeping his mouth shut and head down Gaius might have drilled into Merlin in the past four days since his arrival at Camelot, it had not prepared him for an interrogation by Prince Arthur himself.
In a matter of minutes, he really knew everything.
Well, not everything – Merlin had some instinct of self-preservation left and so had skipped the parts about the magic and the dragon and their supposed destiny – but enough that the prince could definitely track down his mother in Ealdor, get Gaius in trouble for pretending Merlin was his nephew rather than some distant acquaintance, and appreciate just how unprepared Merlin was for the post of personal manservant to the prince of Camelot.
Which was very, very unprepared.
At least, Merlin was now allowed to stand by the fireplace rather than sit on the floor. The flames soothed the aches of having been pulled and pushed around. From his new position, he watched the prince pace up and down his room, apparently thinking over all that he had learned.
"You're not Agravaine's man," he finally stated.
"For the last time, no!" Merlin replied, though at this point, he was too tired to fill the sentence with all of the righteous indignation he felt. "I've never even talked to the man."
"Seeing as you've got not the slightest idea how to address your masters properly, you should be glad about that," Arthur replied dryly.
"Sorry. Sire."
Arthur gave him a look. "Barely adequate. You're missing the bootlicker's intonation."
His tone tickled Merlin and he quipped: "I shall work on the grovelling then, my lord."
Arthur looked surprised by his own snort. "And your overall attitude, while you're at it."
Merlin's answer was interrupted by a knock and a violent rattle at the locked door.
"My lord," a muffled voice came. "Sire, I've come to help you retire for tonight. My lord?"
Any amusement vanished from Arthur's face.
"Your services are no longer required, George," he called out coolly. "Leave me be."
"But sire, surely you'd like me to—"
"No."
"My lord, if only you'd let me—"
"Leave, I said, or you will not like the consequences!"
Silence, then hurried footfall.
"Who was that?" Merlin asked quietly, bewildered and slightly intimidated by Arthur's icy tone and thunderous expression.
"Your predecessor," he growled. "Running straight to my uncle, I'd imagine, to beg forgiveness for his failure to sneak and weasel his way back into my good graces."
"Oh." Merlin tiredly rubbed a hand over his face. "He's right, though, it's quite late. You'll need somebody to attend you."
"Luckily, I have just been bestowed with a new pair of helpful hands by my generous father, have I not?" Arthur answered and pointedly looked at Merlin before walking over into the sideroom.
"Oh. You want me to—? Right. Of course." Merlin hurriedly followed him. "Sire," he added awkwardly, and Arthur rolled his eyes, then held out his arm.
Merlin had only some faint idea of a manservant's work, but he had had his fair share of being dressed and undressed by his mother, so he awkwardly began to help the prince out of his clothes.
Of course, Arthur then had to show him where his night clothes were stored, where to put the garments he had worn, order him to properly make up the bed, remind him to stoke and build up the fire – as the castle was cool and damp, even in the summer – and tell him when to be back the next morning.
"Well, you're absolutely rubbish at this," Arthur declared as he climbed into his bed.
Merlin wanted to say something about Arthur being a rubbish prince, but settled on: "Sorry, sire."
"Still," Arthur continued, "since you're not my uncle's spy, I've decided to keep you on."
"Um, thanks?"
Merlin eyed the soft mattress and fine linens with envy. He'd never seen a nobleman's bed before and he would have given anything in that moment to lay down and rest his drooping eyes.
"I expect you to be up to standard by the end of the week," Arthur announced casually.
"The end of the week?" Merlin squeaked, snapping awake again.
"Your poor performance reflects badly on me, the prince, and that will not do," Arthur informed him haughtily. "And work on that tone of yours, Merlin. If the steward catches you speaking like that to your betters, it's the stocks for you. Or worse."
"Right. End of the week. I got it, sire."
Arthur threw him a doubtful look as he slipped under the blanket.
"Can I go now?" Merlin asked.
Another look told him to try again.
"Am I excused, my lord?" Merlin sighed.
"Yes." Arthur waved him off. "Off you go. But remember, Merlin: bright and early tomorrow!"
It took Merlin longer than anticipated to find his way through the ill-lit hallways of Camelot and back to Gaius' chambers. When he was finally climbing the correct set of stairs to the physician's tower, he was utterly exhausted and lying down anywhere, even the cold floor, sounded heavenly.
The minute he entered Gaius' chambers, however, the man himself sprung on him, grabbed him right by his neckerchief and tossed him into his room – not unlike Arthur had done earlier.
This time, at least, Merlin stumbled onto his bed and not the floor. He sank down, rubbing at his eyes, but Gaius was having none of it.
The man had locked both the main door as well as the door to Merlin's chamber and was now standing inside the small bedroom, clearly agitated.
"Of all the foolish things to do!" he finally snapped.
"What, saving the prince's life?" Merlin retorted, tired of being scolded.
"With magic," Gaius hissed and Merlin swallowed. He hadn't realised Gaius knew.
"He was attacked by magic, Gaius," he argued anyway. "What was I supposed to do, let Arthur die?"
"No," Gaius conceded, "but you must be so much more careful! Who knows who could have found out? Has found out, perhaps, and is only bidding their time to reveal this secret? Magic, in front of the entire nobility of the realm! Merlin, think of what could've happened!"
"Well, at least the prince hasn't killed me yet," Merlin offered weakly.
This gave Gaius pause. "What happened, then?"
By the end of Merlin's tale, Gaius had grown pale. Merlin moved to make space on the bed and Gaius sank down next to him, sighing deeply.
"Isn't this a good thing?" Merlin ventured.
"Perhaps. You might have won an ally in the prince, but think of the enemies you have gained."
"Enemies? Aren't I a hero?"
"Some hero, yes, rewarded by the king himself – who, I might add, vanished shortly after you and the prince had left, muttering strangely to himself, and has not been seen or heard of for the rest of the night. Meaning, by the time the sun has risen tomorrow, Lord Agravaine is back to wielding power as he pleases. And who, do you think, might be the latest thorn in his side?"
Merlin suddenly felt sick.
"Quite," Gaius said with a pointed look. "Appearances are important to him, so he will not go so far as to toss you out without reason. This would be in defiance of King Uther's explicit orders, given in front of everyone of importance in the realm of Camelot, I might add. Your position is safe, for now. But he will look for any excuse, any small thing, to get rid of you. Especially if he feels the prince trusts you."
"Arthur doesn't even trust me to empty his chamber pot," Merlin quipped.
"Stop playing the fool," Gaius chastised him. "You must tread carefully now. Prince Arthur's good graces might be the only thing standing between you and Lord Agravaine's ill intentions. Don't antagonise the prince. Work hard. Show him that he can rely on you and he might be willing to protect you in return."
Gaius gaze wandered.
"With the right guidance, I believe, the prince would have all the potential to become a good king. A great one, even. But like all of us, he's caught in the web of intrigues Lord Agravaine has so masterfully spun…"
Gaius shook his head and got up from the bed.
"Enough ominous metaphors for tonight," he added. "You need rest and I have to think."
Don't antagonise the prince.
It wasn't like Merlin had the attention span of a loaf of bread, he had listened to what Gaius had said three nights before.
But Arthur was a prat, and winning his good graces easier said than done.
"You're absolutely useless, Merlin," Arthur complained – and it wasn't the first time in the past couple of days. Apparently, there was a lot to get wrong about being a prince's manservant.
As it turned out, it was a role that required years of experience in a lord's household, so by the time you made it to the royal chambers, you already knew about laying out cutlery in a certain way, matching the prince's wardrobe to his daily schedule – or, as he'd just now learned, having his favourite horse prepared for a ride in the woods.
"Well, if I'm not riding out, I might as well train for the upcoming tournament," Arthur sighed in clear annoyance. "To the armoury."
Dutifully, Merlin followed the prince from the stables and across the courtyard, trying to ignore the looks they received wherever they went. Undoubtedly, anybody who had not been in attendance at the banquet had heard the story by now and wanted to have a good look at the nobody turned royal manservant.
At the armoury, Merlin struggled to help Arthur into his chain mail and plates, earning himself some nasty pokes and pinches in retaliation from the prince, then hurriedly pulled on a worn hauberk himself and followed a – by then seething – Arthur Pendragon out of the castle and to a meadow below the castle walls.
Any frustration the prince felt about Merlin's incompetence was soon raining down on Merlin as they trained. Well, rather, Arthur mercilessly pummelled him with the blunt side of a training sword and Merlin hardly had a chance to deflect his attacks with his measly little shield, fervently wishing he could simply use his magic to knock Arthur over.
"Come on, Merlin! You're not even trying!" Arthur finally said, but his anger seemed to have bled away somewhat as he took another, much more half-hearted stab at Merlin.
"Ow!" he dared to complain, then added. "Sorry, sire. But I am!"
Arthur lowered his sword.
"Well, you're braver than you look. Most servants collapse after the first blow," he admitted dubiously, then scowled. "But you know I'm not talking about the training."
"Oh," Merlin said.
"I told you, you must be up to standard, or I'll be in a position where I have to sack you. And believe me, you do not want to be sacked!"
Merlin, remembering Gaius' warnings, swallowed down a swell of panic. "I swear I'm trying," he pleaded.
"My lord?" Arthur suggested pointedly and Merlin lowered his eyes to the ground, studying the grass.
"Look, my lord," he finally muttered, "I realise I still haven't got the slightest clue about being a proper manservant, but I'm not usually this useless. It's just a lot to take in!"
"Right," Arthur replied, but any trace of annoyance was gone. Merlin looked up. The prince eyed him thoughtfully. "You're in need of some guidance."
Merlin's eyes widened as Arthur twiddled with his sword, but the prince grinned as he effortlessly read his thoughts: "No, not like this, though perhaps this might serve as additional motivation. I have something else in mind. Go back to the castle, clean up and meet me in my chambers at lunchtime. I'll explain then."
One of the few things Merlin had managed to get right so far was how to get the prince food, so he did the same again for lunch, carrying the laden tray all the way from the kitchens and up to the royal chambers. When he entered Arthur's room, though, the prince wasn't alone.
"Um, sorry," Merlin said at once, starting to retreat. "I can come back later…?"
"You see, Calvin," Arthur said, his voice oozing with his usual arrogance, "a hopeless case. Get in here, Merlin!"
The man Arthur had spoken to was white-haired, with a lined face and sharp eyes. He gave Merlin a once-over, obviously not impressed by what he saw, then bowed his head at Arthur.
"Indeed, sire," Calvin replied politely, then nodded impatiently at Merlin. "Come on, boy, we haven't got all day. Serve your master!"
Merlin only just managed not to spill the food all over the table as he hurried to set it down, prompting an exaggerated eye roll from Arthur and an incredulous stare from Calvin.
"What on earth are you doing?" the man cried with outrage as Merlin awkwardly started to spoon some vegetables onto Arthur's plate. "Drinks, first! Then offer the platter to the prince so he may choose, starting with the beef. Where is the meat fork? Lay it out just so, on top! Come on then, this is a royal luncheon, not a peasant's tavern dinner, you fool!"
This, Merlin realised as he hurriedly obeyed, was the guidance Arthur had promised. Calvin turned out to be a merciless teacher, though quite clearly competent. By the time Arthur had finished his lunch, Merlin had got a basic idea of where to stand and what to do.
"Well, this wasn't quite as abysmal as breakfast," Arthur snidely remarked as he got up. "Merlin, I'm granting you the rest of the afternoon to study. Calvin has graciously agreed to act as your tutor."
Calvin looked like he dearly regretted his graciousness, but kept quiet.
At least, until Arthur had left the room, which was when he turned on Merlin with a hideous glare.
"Listen carefully, you lazy little lout," the man hissed, sounding positively disgusted, "I don't know what kind of trickery lead to you sneaking your way into this position, but if you expect me to be part of your scheme, you are certainly mistaken. I have been the king's manservant for twenty-one years and will not be disrespected by the likes of you!"
Merlin stared at him, shocked at his sudden hostility. "S-sorry," he finally stammered. "I didn't—I wasn't—"
"Oh, you can't fool me with this act, boy! I know your type: ambitious, but unwilling to do any of the real work. I started here when I was but five years old, scrubbing the kitchen floors and learning the way of things from the ground up, and I won't have people like you upend the natural order!"
"Look," Merlin finally managed, crossing his arms with a confidence he certainly didn't feel. "It's none of your business how I got the job. You're stuck with me by orders of the prince!"
"I'm the king's manservant," Calvin repeated haughtily. "I outrank you, boy!"
Remembering Gaius' advice on how things worked at Camelot, a thought occurred to Merlin.
"For now," he replied with exaggerated calm. It was a gamble.
Instantly, Calvin grew very still. "Are you threatening me?"
"All I'm telling you is that the future king of Camelot has clearly shown an interest to have me improve my skills as a manservant. In fact, so much of an interest that he went out of his way to speak to you."
Calvin's mouth was a thin, pale line as he seemed to think that over. Merlin pushed his luck. "You wouldn't want me to tell the prince that you believe you outrank him, too, do you?"
"Fine," Calvin snapped. "Follow me, then. But I swear, if you try any more of your tricks—!"
"Thank you," Merlin interrupted him, trying for a placating tone now that the man had relented. "I appreciate your help."
Calvin huffed, but led the way and started showing Merlin what to do, where to go, whom to ask and what to say, though he seemed to hate every single minute of it.
"…whenever you order something for the prince, specifically mention his name," Calvin explained as they left the kitchens and crossed the courtyard yet again. "Never assume, you must make sure…"
But Merlin had stopped listening. His eyes had been drawn to a group of people near the castle wall. A boy, perhaps twelve or thirteen years of age, was getting strapped to a pole by a guard. A few other servants and some nobles were watching the proceedings.
"Calvin", Merlin interrupted him urgently. "What are they doing over there?"
Calvin only threw a cursory glance at them, not even slowing his steps.
"It's a caning," he said mildly, as if talking of the weather. "Undoubtedly, you'll find yourself in the same position soon." He glared over his shoulder when Merlin slowed down to watch. "What are you doing, you fool? Come along! That poor boy doesn't need you to add to his humiliation. Show some decorum!"
Merlin caught up to him just as he entered a side door into the citadel, lowered his voice and said: "But why? Whatever did he do to deserve this?"
"Who knows?" Calvin replied dismissively. "Spoke out of turn, dropped something…" He looked at Merlin and smiled sardonically as he whispered: "The steward, Lord Pierce, takes after our esteemed lord chancellor and prefers a hard-handed approach. You'd do well to remember that!"
As they turned a corner, they could just hear the boy start to scream.
By the time Arthur was undoubtedly expecting to be served dinner, Merlin was still quite clueless about the prince's wardrobe or how to spot the difference between a fruit platter and a meat plate unless said food was on it. But thanks to Calvin, Merlin hoped he had at least a basic idea of his daunting new job.
"Thank you," Merlin said when Calvin made to leave and catch up on his own duties. "I'm grateful for your advice." The man seemed unimpressed and so, on a whim, Merlin added: "I owe you."
That certainly caught Calvin's attention. In fact, he looked so honestly taken aback that Merlin had half a mind to take back the words.
"Yes, I dare say you do," Calvin replied at last, and left, leaving Merlin to hurry to the kitchens to get dinner for the prince.
But as he made his way to Arthur's room and stepped into the hallway leading to the final set of stairs, a door opened out of nowhere, making him jump to the side just in time to avoid a collision. It took all of Merlin's self-control to let the pudding slide off the tray and gravy spill onto the floor instead of using magic to prevent it.
"Oh my, what a mess!"
Merlin's eyes widened when he realised who had stopped him so suddenly in his tracks. Lord Agravaine had stepped out of a room and into the hallway, looking taken aback with the door handle still in his grasp.
"So very sorry!" Merlin squeaked and took a step back.
"Ah. Young Merlin, is it?"
Agravaine sounded pleasant enough. There was, Merlin realised, even a friendly twinkle to his eyes. But Gaius' warnings, Calvin's threats and the sight of that poor boy strapped to a pole kept Merlin wide alert.
"Yes, my lord," Merlin replied and bowed nervously.
"Hm, it seems like you're already getting the hang of things. Serving the prince dinner, I take it?" Agravaine peered at the half-emptied tray in Merlin's hands.
"I should probably go and get this replaced—" Merlin started, but Agravaine had now stepped fully into the hallway, effectively blocking his path. A second later, another man slipped out of the room and came to stand next to Merlin.
"No need, no need," Agravaine said with a raised hand. "George here will make sure the prince won't go hungry."
Before Merlin could utter a word of protest, George had grabbed the ruined tray, given the mess on the floor a wide berth and rushed off in direction of the kitchens, leaving Merlin and Agravaine in the hallway.
"Do come in, Merlin," Agravaine continued and gestured towards the room. "I never got a chance to talk to the famed hero of Camelot and now we've been handed the perfect chance! I'm quite interested in hearing your remarkable story."
Agravaine's voice still sounded perfectly warm and kind, but Merlin bristled at the thought of turning his back towards Agravaine, and certainly didn't want to be in a room with him. Yet, he had no choice but to obey.
He slowly stepped through the door. It was a dark, damp chamber with one small window and no decor. Candles had been set up on a desk to offer some more light, but the small fireplace remained unlit. A fine cloak rested over a stuffed armchair beside the table. The only other furniture was a worn, three-legged chair placed in the middle of the room.
Agravaine closed the door. The sound of the busy castle was muffled at once.
"Sit, sit," the man continued in an easy voice as he went and reclined into the comfortable armchair.
Merlin, having just learned from Calvin that servants were definitely not to sit in the presence of their masters, hesitated.
"Sit, I said!"
Merlin obeyed. The chair creaked in protest.
"There, isn't that more comfortable?" Agravaine continued pleasantly. "Now, Merlin, I'm intrigued. A peasant boy from King Cendred's realm comes to Camelot and saves the prince from an evil witch on his first day!"
"It wasn't my first day, my lord," Merlin said nervously, then felt like kicking himself.
Offer no information freely. Agravaine had clearly already made enquiries. Telling him more could be deadly.
"Be that as it may," Agravaine said with a lazy wave of his hand, "it was quite the feat, pulling the prince out of harm's way." He smiled. "However did you manage it? Weren't you serving your uncle Gaius?"
Merlin swallowed. He had thought Arthur had been a ruthless interrogator. But the prince had been direct and forceful, threatening him outright, whereas Agravaine was clearly preferring slier methods.
"I was looking for wine," he improvised shakily.
"At the king's table?"
Merlin felt like kicking himself yet again. He had to try harder than that.
"Well, I'm quite new to this, my lord," Merlin replied, aiming for a shy tone. "To be honest, I wasn't doing a terribly good job, serving my uncle."
"That is understandable, given your lack of experience as a servant in a royal household. Or any household?"
It wasn't a real question, so Merlin only looked at him.
"I understand you've started to fill in the gaps in your knowledge, though," Agravaine prodded.
Merlin still said nothing.
Agravaine narrowed his eyes. "George told me he saw you talking to Calvin, the king's manservant, is that correct?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Was it your idea?"
"No, my lord."
"Prince Arthur's, then?"
"Yes, my lord."
"I see."
Merlin then endured what could have been either seconds or minutes of tense silence, with Agravaine's eyes simply taking him in. He tried not to fidget and most likely failed miserably. Just when Merlin was convinced the man was reading his mind, he spoke again.
"Being a royal manservant is a big responsibility, Merlin. Arthur Pendragon, prince of Camelot, cannot afford sloppy service. Do you understand?"
"Of course, my lord."
"Furthermore, a manservant is privy to intimate details of his master's life. Only a man of immaculate repute could ever be trusted."
Merlin desperately wished himself away. Luckily, his magic didn't obey his thoughts like it sometimes tended to do.
"Naturally, who could be a more fitting choice than a hero? The king himself found you worthy to serve his son."
"I was honoured, my lord," Merlin managed.
"Yes, yes, I'm sure, as you should be." Agravaine paused, tilted his head. "I'm only wondering if you are quite content with your prize. King Uther would fully understand if you felt like the task was too much for a young, inexperienced lad like you."
"My lord?" he ventured.
"George would be very willing to resume his duties with the prince. And it would take but one word from me to set you up with some coin instead – in honour of your heroic deeds!"
He was offering him an out, Merlin realised. Should he take it? You do not want to get sacked, Arthurs threatening voice echoed in his mind. Without you, Arthur will never succeed, the dragon had warned him. The decision came easier than he might have thought.
It took all of Merlin's willpower to suppress a tremble in his voice as he replied: "My lord, I thank you for your generous offer." Agravaine smiled broadly and opened his mouth to reply, so Merlin blurted quickly: "But I'm not taking it. The money, I mean. Being the prince's manservant is all I could have ever wanted! My lord!"
Agravaine's eyes narrowed then, and Merlin's stomach turned.
"I see." Agravaine stood, so suddenly that it took Merlin far too long to copy him. By the time he was standing up straight, Agravaine had walked around the desk and stepped much closer than Merlin was comfortable with.
"In that case," he stated coolly, "I shall personally keep an eye on you. Just to make sure you are up to the task, you understand."
Merlin cleared his throat. "Of course, my lord."
"I wish you the best of luck." He turned, then, busying himself with putting on his cloak. "You may leave."
"Thank you, my lord!"
Merlin hurried to open the door. When he had almost stepped out, Agravaine called: "Oh, and Merlin? Make sure to take care of your mess outside."
He was on his hand and knees, scrubbing meat pudding off the hallway floor when Arthur found him.
Merlin had looked up curiously at the sound of steps, then immediately cringed back. The prince looked so livid on approach that even Merlin, who had yet to get used to the grovelling required of a servant of Camelot, had half a mind to beg forgiveness at once.
"Merlin," Arthur said intensely, exaggerating his syllables, "you absolute imbecile. What are you doing?"
"Um. Cleaning, my lord?"
"I can see that." For a second, Merlin was convinced Arthur was going to kick him, but the man only took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, then shouted: "You! Servant!"
A young boy, carrying a basket of firewood further down the hallway, flinched, then sprinted towards them like his life depended on it. Perhaps, Merlin thought darkly, it did.
"Sire?" the servant said breathlessly, offering the kind of effortless bow Merlin had yet to master.
"Finish cleaning this up!" Arthur barked.
"Yes, sire, of course, sire, right away, sire!"
"Merlin? Follow me!"
Merlin scrambled to his feet, handed his brush and bucket to the boy – who glared at him the second Arthur had turned away, but obediently fell to his knees to continue cleaning – and ran after Arthur, who was already down the hallway and at the stairs leading to the royal quarters.
Moments later, Merlin had a sense of déjà vu as he was unceremoniously shoved into Arthur's rooms and landed on the floor.
"I'm already having so many regrets," Arthur sighed theatrically after he had locked the door. "Did you let Calvin trick you into this? You do know cleaning the hallways is not your job as manservant to the prince, don't you? You're not some minor hall boy, Merlin, you've got to pull rank!"
"On Lord Agravaine?"
"Oh." Arthur paused. "I should've realised. I thought George had acted on his own as he saw you were held up…" He scowled. "Stupid. I'm letting my guard down."
"I'm sorry," Merlin said weakly and dared to get up from the floor.
"Inadequate, as always." Arthur's response was haughty, but to Merlin's surprise, his next words were laced with something akin to worry: "Are you all right, then? What did he do to you?"
"Nothing," Merlin replied. "Asking a lot of questions and making a lot of threats."
This stoked Arthur right back to anger and he stepped forward, grabbing Merlin's shoulders: "Report to me, Merlin. In detail."
Merlin complied, sighing a breath of relief when Arthur let go of him at last in favour of pacing, a sight Merlin was fast getting used to. The prince seemed to mull over everything he had heard twice, perhaps looking for secrets and schemes Merlin was too inexperienced to pick up on, then cursed heartily.
Merlin blinked, impressed.
"He'll watch you. All the time. I doubt you'll be able to take an unsupervised piss," Arthur warned him crudely.
"Are my peasant ways rubbing off on you?" Merlin quipped.
Arthur barked out a genuine laugh, then shook his head angrily in the next second.
"Merlin, this is exactly what I'm talking about. Your disrespect – well, I must admit it's refreshing. But Agravaine will have you sacked on the spot if you don't precisely toe the line. Have I made myself clear?"
Merlin, unwilling to push today's luck any further, swallowed his pride, meekly bowed his head and murmured: "Yes, sire."
Arthur huffed. "Well, it seems Calvin taught you something of use. Let's see what else he managed to cram into your little peasant brain."
Arthur then amused himself with ordering Merlin about ("It's an exercise in obedience, Merlin!") while randomly asking him questions about etiquette ("My uncle will have your head!"), over half of which Merlin got so wrong, Arthur soon started to randomly throw things at him in punishment. Which, of course, Merlin then had to clean up, too.
"How can there be so many different training schedules?" Merlin finally muttered as he cleaned up a stack of parchment – admittedly one of the less painful projectiles of the evening. This abruptly stopped the tiresome game.
"You can read?" Arthur, his feet propped up lazily on his table, managed to sound insultingly impressed.
And Merlin, feeling raw and tense from an hour of needlessly being bossed around, with Agravaine's interrogation still an uncomfortable weight at the back of his mind, snapped.
"Yes, I can read! I am, in fact, not entirely stupid! Though, if you feel I'm so very much lacking, I'm absolutely baffled as to why you're keeping me on. Perhaps I should have just taken Agravaine's money, made off to the nearest tavern and be done with Camelot!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur sneered, "he'd have you branded a thief and hung up on the nearest gallows the second you'd stepped outside the city walls."
Merlin deflated as quickly as he had snapped. "If you say so, sire."
"Please, don't tell me you've refused his gold out of undying loyalty to me, Merlin. Sycophancy really doesn't suit you."
He was right, of course. What loyalty did he owe to Arthur, who would certainly toss Merlin onto the nearest pyre if he knew that he was talking to a dragon and conspiring with Gaius to learn about magic right at Camelot?
And yet, for no valid reason other than the ramblings of a dragon, he did feel a certain, utterly stupid sense of duty. Accepting the money and leaving had never been a real option.
Of course, none of this he could say to the prince, so he replied: "You're right, my lord. I'd only like it on record that I'm trying my best."
Arthur grinned. "Fine, then: Well done! Good boy, Merlin! Would you like a treat?" He threw some grapes, hitting Merlin square in the face. "Fetch!"
Merlin scowled as he bent down to retrieve the fruit.
Perhaps he should have taken the money. This ass, the Once and Future King of Albion? The dragon clearly didn't know what he was talking about.