"You know, sire," Merlin said, in that casually disrespectful way Arthur had yet to stamp out, "most knights have squires for this kind of work."
"Technically," replied Arthur through gritted teeth, "I'm not yet a knight."
They were in a tent on the training grounds turned tournament area. Merlin was awkwardly tugging at his right vambrace, cutting off the circulation in his arm, with Arthur quickly running out of patience with the idiot.
"Well, they've already made an exception for you, my lord," Merlin blathered on, apparently oblivious to Arthur's quickly souring mood. "You're a knight in all but age, competing at tournaments, riding on patrol, even teaching combat. You'd think any young noble would be honoured to serve as your squire!"
Merlin's dumb innocence could be as irritating as it often was amusing.
"Sure," Arthur replied haughtily, "and my uncle has sent me plenty of them from the day I've proven myself and took my place among the knights."
Merlin stared at him in that direct way no other servant would even dream of. "How many have you scared off?"
"Ten or so, I'd reckon."
Merlin whistled as he exhaled. "What did you do to them?"
Arthur grinned maliciously. "You don't want to find out. Fix the buckle on the gorget – it's loose!"
Merlin obeyed, lowering his eyes back to an appropriate level as he worked. He was, Arthur realised, still too slow in changing his naïve ways. Arthur certainly wasn't missing the bowing and scraping, especially in the privacy of Arthur's rooms, but the servant absolutely had to learn to be more respectful.
At least, he mused, Merlin hadn't outright embarrassed Arthur in public or got sacked by Agravaine, which undoubtedly was a win in Arthur's book. This idiot really could be the key to rid himself of a piece of his uncle's influence, if only he managed to stick around.
"You do know the tournament starts today?" he snapped as Merlin continued to fumble with the buckle.
Merlin's awkward cringe at the scolding amused Arthur, taking the edge off his irritation. Finally, Merlin finished and let go.
"Yes, sire," he sighed as he stepped back. "Sorry, sire. We're done."
For a beginner, Merlin had done a fairly good job, Arthur thought as he tested the weight and placement of the plates, tugging here and there until he was fully satisfied.
"Nervous?" Merlin asked and Arthur's good will vanished.
"Are you even listening to yourself?" he hissed and Merlin had the decency to blush as he took a well-deserved slap to the back of his head.
"I apologise, my lord," he said as he rubbed at the sore spot.
Satisfied, Arthur turned.
"I don't get nervous," he added, for no particular reason other than he wanted to.
"I do. I am," Merlin admitted, like Arthur cared. "Aren't…?" He trailed off, perhaps realising he was about to ask the kind of question that warranted a proper beating.
This had Arthur intrigued. "What? Oh, come now, Merlin, spit it out!"
And there he was again, staring right into Arthur's face like the village idiot he was as he whispered: "Aren't you afraid your uncle is up to something? He could easily get you killed in the tournament if he wanted to."
Arthur's mouth went slack for a second. "Merlin," he finally managed, his voice so low he could hardly hear himself through the buzz of the upcoming tournament outside, "you are going to get yourself killed. Accusing the lord chancellor himself of high treason? You're insane."
Merlin shrugged unapologetically and yes, there really was a fine line between brave and stupid. It took all of Arthur's will power not to fire him on the spot, but the thought of slimy George returning to his chambers kept his anger in check.
"Never," he hissed dangerously, "voice a thought like that again. Don't even think it."
Merlin quickly nodded, clearly picking up on Arthur's ire. He even took a shaky step backwards. Good. He had to get some sense into this boy.
"I'm much more useful alive," Arthur explained in the lowest of murmurs. "Agravaine is all about control."
A fanfare cut through the following silence. Arthur took his helmet and tugged it under his arm. "Come on. Bring the shield."
Uther, as expected, wasn't in any state to make an appearance today. On the field, standing among his fellow knights, Arthur instead endured Agravaine's self-aggrandizing speech and let the adulation of the crowd wash over him as his name was called first. On cue, Merlin raised the shield with the Pendragon quest behind him and the people dutifully cheered for the heir apparent.
Soon bored by ceremony, Arthur drowned out the many names and watched a neutral-faced Morgana sit by Agravaine's side. Her exquisite blue dress suited her well and her dark hair was artfully styled to embellish her unrivalled beauty. The winner of the tournament would not only win money, but the right to accompany the highest-ranking lady of the court to the final celebrations. Morgana definitely looked like a prize today, though Arthur would gladly pass her to the runner-up to avoid sitting at the head table.
As always, she was accompanied by the more plainly-clad Lady Guinevere, who was just now getting to her feet, clapping enthusiastically as her brother Elyan was called. The knight wore the faded dress and beat-up armour of unlanded, impoverished nobility. Yet, he looked on proudly as a squire raised his shield and presented the crowd with the family crest: anvil and hammer.
Finally, the tournament started. Arthur easily won his first fight, watching his beaten enemy – some nobody from the realms of Nemeth or Gawant – limp away in satisfaction, his skinny, worried-looking squire following him swiftly off the field.
"Oh, you're good, sire!" Merlin enthused as he fell into step besides Arthur on their way back.
Years of being lied to and gushed over by his uncle's spies had Arthur bristle, but he relaxed as he glanced at Merlin's face. It was impossible to mistake his smile as anything other than genuine enthusiasm. Merlin would soon have to get much more guarded, but for a moment, Arthur allowed himself to bask in the feeling of simple, honest admiration.
"You know I won this tournament twice already?" he snorted as they entered the tent. He shoved the shield and sword into Merlin's hand, laughing when the manservant stumbled and almost fell under the sudden weight. "Next fight is in half an hour. Get this ready, you halfwit!"
As he was still in armour, relaxing wasn't a real option, so Arthur stood by the entrance and nibbled on an apple, alternatively scolding Merlin and watching the bustle outside.
The brothers Sir Osric and Sir Odlof were warming up with sticks. Both had already been accomplished knights when Arthur was a page and he was surprised to see them. The older knights of Camelot usually bowed out of the tournament, unwilling to risk injury or no longer interested in gold and glory, whereas the younger ones participated with more enthusiasm.
"You ready yet?" Arthur asked, briefly turning his attention back to Merlin, who was currently doing a half-decent job of polishing Arthur's sword. Because he felt like it, Arthur threw the apple core at his head.
The manservant glared at him, but was wise enough to keep his response to the point: "Soon, sire!"
"Hurry up, then, we haven't got all day."
A commotion drew Arthur's attention back to the outside. A knight was being hauled across the grounds. He was struggling against Sir Bedivere and Sir Caridoc, the latter of which was also holding a shield. Arthur didn't recognise the crest of snakes on it, but he did eventually make out the face of the unwilling prisoner: Sir Valiant, hailing from the far edges of Camelot's realm, and a renowned fighter.
"Be finished with that when I'm back," Arthur ordered absent-mindedly and left to see what this was all about.
To his surprise, Bedivere and Caridoc were forcing the knight all the way to the arena, where another fight had just finished.
"Lord Agravaine," Bedivere called out. "Lord Agravaine, a matter of urgency."
From the side lines, Arthur watched his uncle rise from his seat and raise his hand. The crowd fell silent as Caridoc and Bedivere forced Valiant forward.
"Let me go!" the knight called out. "Let go of me!"
"Quiet, sorcerer!" Bedivere said heatedly and kicked him in the back. The knight went to his knees as the crowd gasped.
"Explain yourselves!" Agravaine ordered, his voice booming across the grounds. "You accuse this nobleman of witchcraft?"
Bedivere bowed his head. "Lord chancellor! Sir Valiant has been caught using sorcery in this tournament!"
"What proof have you?"
"The word of Sir Ewan, who is currently with the court physician, poisoned by the evil powers of this warlock. And this shield!"
Caridoc raised the object in question. Arthur did not see anything unusual about the shield, but magic could be deceiving.
"By the account of Sir Ewan, Sir Valiant uttered a spell and brought the snakes on this shield to life. They bit him, making him lose the fight."
Agravaine frowned. "These are grave accusations. What say you, Sir Valiant?"
"I'm innocent!" Valiant called out at once. "I know nothing of evil witchcraft, my lord. I won that fight fairly and honourably."
"Liar!" Bedivere responded, but Agravaine raised his hand.
"Did you use this shield in the fight?"
"Yes, my lord, but—"
"There, he's admitted it!" Bedivere interrupted.
"I take your accusations seriously, Sir Bedivere, but I want to get to the bottom of this," said Agravaine. "Fetch the physician, I want a detailed account of Sir Ewan's injuries. All fights shall be postponed until this matter is settled."
As Agravaine fell silent, the crowd's murmurs rose. Valiant was still forced onto his knees on the ground by his fellow knights, repeating every once in a while that he was innocent. He had looked angry at first but as minute after minute passed, a sense of alarm had crept onto his features.
"What is happening?"
Arthur jumped. He had been so engrossed by the spectacle he had let his guard down, allowing Merlin to sneak up on him. Embarrassed by his slip, he elbowed the manservant who promptly grunted in pain.
"Shut up," Arthur ordered, just as Gaius arrived at the arena.
"Physician," Agravaine addressed him and the crowd fell silent once more. "What news have you of Sir Ewan's injuries?"
Gaius bowed. "It's most odd, lord chancellor. Sir Ewan's injuries consist not only of the bruises and cuts of a normal fight. Two small wounds at his neck suggest a poisonous snake bite, as do his other symptoms: slow pulse, fever, starting paralysis."
"Sorcerer!" Bedivere shouted at Sir Valiant and many in the crowd agreed loudly.
"Silence!" Agravaine yelled in return. Bedivere, chastised, backed down. "Sir Valiant, the evidence presented weighs heavily against you. What do you have to say?"
"My lord, this must be a terrible misunderstanding. Perhaps there was a snake on the ground somewhere—"
But in this moment, the snakes on the shield did indeed come to life, hissing dangerously and aiming their heads at Caridoc. A woman in the crowd screamed, others pointed at the shield in shock. Caridoc cursed and promptly dropped the magical object. He swiftly drew his sword and, with a well-aimed swing, cut off all three heads. The headless bodies wiggled for a moment, then stilled.
Sir Valiant, having watched it all unfold, went white as snow, then used the moment of shock to scramble to his feet.
"I- I know nothing of this, lord chancellor!" he stammered, approaching the podium, but Agravaine's expression did not bode well. Bedivere grabbed Valiant's shoulder, forcing him back into the dirt.
"Here, then, is undeniable proof," Agravaine drawled. "Sir Valiant is a sorcerer – and the punishment is death!"
"No, please! My lord, I deserve a fair trial!" Valiant argued, panicked. "This isn't even my shield! I was handed it by—"
"You had your trial," Agravaine interrupted him snidely. "You have been heard. Witnesses have been questioned and evidence has been presented in front of your peers. Your guilt has been decided by your lord superior."
"I want this brought before the king!" Valiant demanded desperately.
"Sir Valiant, you know the king has vested his judiciary powers in me in his absence. I speak for him in this matter." He nodded at Caridoc. "In the name of the king: Execute him!"
Valiant howled and started to struggle in earnest. A few other knights jumped forward and helped to restrain their doomed peer, forcing his head onto the ground, holding his arms behind his back.
When Arthur felt sudden movement next to him, he blindly reached for Merlin's arm and held him firmly in place. "Watch," he ordered calmly.
They looked on silently as Bedivere swiftly removed any armour that might be an obstacle, the others holding Valiant in place with unrelenting strength. Finally, Caridoc once more raised his sword and did the deed, literally cutting off Valiant's last strangled scream.
The head rolled a small distance, leaving a crimson track in the dirt, then came to a rest near the podium.
"Burn the body," Agravaine stated, then turned towards the crowd: "Unfortunately, the evil of sorcery does not only corrupt the common man. Even nobles can succumb to its malevolent call. But let this wicked sorcerer not ruin what should've been a day of honourable men and exciting entertainment in beautiful Camelot. Resume the tournament!"
The crowd cheered.
Arthur felt Merlin tremble next to him, but he didn't let him go. Curiously, he watched Gaius pick up the heads of the snakes and leave. The body was carried off by Bedivere and the others and moments later, another fight begun.
"Come," Arthur finally said and turned. "I must get ready."
In the tent, he studied a pale Merlin who handed him his sword with jittery hands, his eyes downcast.
"Your first execution?"
"No, sire."
"Your first beheading, then."
"Yes, sire."
"You needed to see that."
"Why?"
Arthur lowered his voice: "This is what my uncle does. He's ruthless and he gets what he wants. Do you think Valiant was guilty? A sorcerer?"
"No."
"And I doubt many others did. But Agravaine orchestrated it perfectly and the rest of us let it happen, knowing full well it was my uncle who forced that cursed shield on him. Now, that knight is dead and whatever it is my uncle aimed to accomplish today was a success."
Merlin was still playing the obedient little servant, so Arthur ordered: "Look at me."
He waited for Merlin's compliance, noting with satisfaction that his eyes were scared.
"Sir Valiant was a nobleman, the son of a noteworthy dynasty, heir to a sizable fiefdom, all of which has been turned to ashes on my uncle's whim. Do you realise now how careful an absolute nobody like you must be?"
Merlin's voice was meek. "Yes, my lord."
Arthur nodded and adjusted the coif around his head. "Let's go. I've got a tournament to win."
The pungent smell of recently burnt flesh remained in the air for the rest of the day's fighting.
Merlin was still sulking by the time they had returned to Arthur's chambers to prepare for tonight's tournament feast.
"I hope you're planning on losing that morose expression when we're in the hall," Arthur said as he was handed his newly-polished rings.
Merlin nodded with pinched lips, plucking at Arthur's tunic.
"I mean, everybody already thinks me eccentric for keeping a simpleton like you on, but they're certainly going to talk if you spend all night looking like this."
Merlin roughly adjusted Arthur's belt.
Arthur sighed in frustration. "All right. I'd rather you get it out now than make a scene downstairs."
"Sire?"
"Don't 'sire' me. Spill!"
Merlin stepped back but took his time to reply. To Arthur's surprise, he didn't give a big, idiotic speech about how he was going to have nightmares about Valiant tonight.
"What's the point of being a knight?" he asked instead.
"What's the—? Merlin, have you gotten into the wine?"
"I'm serious, my lord," Merlin said. "Why be a knight?"
Arthur actually had to think about it. "For the glory, I suppose. For the honour."
"Honour," Merlin repeated dubiously.
"You don't think a knighthood an honourable position?" Arthur scoffed.
"Not a single knight acted honourably in my time here."
Arthur snorted. "And you're an expert, having spent all of two weeks at Camelot."
"I've seen enough," Merlin replied with unexpected heat. "I've seen people – good people, innocent people – get pushed around, bullied, bruised, beaten, and now killed for no reason other than it amused or benefitted somebody else. Plenty of knights and nobles are behaving in ways that are far from honourable."
"Oh, would you like me to treat your more nicely?" Arthur mocked him drily. "Am I being too mean?"
Merlin threw him a heated look: "That's not what this is about!"
He turned to the side, clenching his fist, clearly suppressing his true thoughts.
"What?" Arthur prodded. "Come on now, Merlin, you're not usually this shy."
"Fine," Merlin said, turning back to stare him down. "You're a knight of Camelot. The prince of Camelot. Yet you do nothing to uphold the honour of which you speak. You said it yourself: You let it happen! You knew an innocent man was going to be executed, in your father's name no less, and in spite of your position, you stayed silent!"
Arthur narrowed his eyes: "You overestimate my power. There was nothing to be done about it. Valiant was dead the minute he drew my uncle's ire."
"Really?" Merlin retorted stubbornly. "Nothing? This is the way things must be, then? Your uncle has established a reign of terror and tyranny and you're telling me the heir to the throne of Camelot is powerless to stop him?"
"Yes," Arthur replied with a grim smile, "exactly."
Merlin's shoulders slumped.
Arthur thought he deserved a proper caning for slandering his betters, a week in the stocks for his general disrespect, and another week of starving in the dungeons for questioning Arthur, and yet—
Arthur suddenly couldn't meet his eyes.
"We need to leave," he said curtly, adjusting his sword. "Get ready. And Merlin? Never talk to me this way again."
Much to Arthur's surprise, Merlin was the picture of deference and good service at the feast. An astute observer would have noticed that he was lacking the routine of experience, but Arthur soon ceased to anticipate disaster and could relax, indulging in good food and taking his turn boasting about the tournament at the knights' table.
As usual, he preferred to sit far from Agravaine's tampering hands and pretend that he wasn't the prince of Camelot. Though there was nobody among the knights that he could truly call a friend – Agravaine's meddling alone had made sure of that – he had grown up alongside many of them and an unspoken comradery came from countless trainings, patrols and hunting trips.
And so, after dinner was finished and drinks were all that was left to be consumed, he didn't really mind when the knights next to him had Merlin refill their goblets and cups with wine, ale or cider, too.
Perhaps, though, he got a bit too relaxed.
"Sire," Sir Leon suddenly murmured next to him, "your man seems to be in some trouble."
Leon, a modest, level-headed character, did not usually meddle in other people's affairs. Arthur frowned at him, then looked up. It seemed even the knights seated much further down the table had taken to order Merlin around as they pleased – even if their pages or other servants were close enough to do the job.
In fact, it seemed to have become a sort of game to them to see how often and quickly they could make the boy race about the hall for one thing or the other. As Arthur watched, he also saw them poke, prod and push Merlin, forcing him to regain his footing or duck away as he fetched their drinks.
"More ale, lad!" Sir Bedivere ordered just now. He had been spending the night repeating the story of how he and Caridoc had caught the sorcerer, presenting themselves as the greatest witchhunters of Camelot and generally getting on Arthur's nerves. "Come on, you fool, hurry up!"
Merlin walked towards him, a jug in his hands. The next moment, he was on the floor with the pitcher broken and a puddle of beer quickly spreading. Sir Caridoc had stuck out his foot and caused Merlin to fall. The knights were howling with laughter as Merlin scrambled to his feet, the front of his tunic drenched.
"Clean that up, boy," called Bedivere, "and then get me some new ale!"
By then, Arthur had stood and walked over.
"He will do no such thing, as he's required to attend to me," he said calmly, coming to stand by Merlin just as the servant had managed to stand up straight again. "You've had your fun, good sirs, but may I remind you Merlin is my personal manservant?"
Most of the knights had the decency to avert their gaze at the rebuke, but Bedivere clearly had had one ale too many – or perhaps, successfully seizing a sorcerer had gone straight to his head.
"But he's such a clumsy little fellow. Surely you appreciate our help with breaking him in for you, sire?" he bawled.
"I don't."
Silence descended among the knights and a few heads from the tables nearby turned, taking in the situation. Bedivere stared at him, his cheeks reddened by more than alcohol. Arthur decided that any further words exchanged would create a situation he might later regret, so he grabbed Merlin by his ear and tugged at it like he might have done with a misbehaving hound.
"You're making a fool of yourself, Merlin, crawling on the floor like a dog. Perhaps I need to talk to you like one? Heel, boy!" The knights chuckled and snorted, and the tension eased.
Arthur turned and walked back to his seat next to Leon. Merlin was trailing behind him, rubbing his ear.
"Thanks," Arthur said as he sat down and Leon nodded at him. For a moment, Arthur thought the man was sizing him up, but then the knight was answering Sir Geraint across from him and a curtain of wavy hair hid his expression.
Arthur made a point of staying for one more drink, keeping Merlin close, then excused himself from the feast. He had more fighting to do tomorrow, and he wanted to win. It wouldn't do to be hungover.
"You stink like a cheap tavern," Arthur commented as Merlin helped him out of his clothes that night.
"Sorry, my lord," Merlin murmured. "I'm soaked."
"Ah, yes. However did you get yourself in that situation? You know I can't watch your every step, you must learn to protect yourself!"
Merlin huffed. "How, my lord? I can't tell a nobleman 'no', can I?"
"Oh no? You're insolent enough with me," Arthur retorted, but Merlin didn't have a flippant response ready.
"I apologise, sire," he said instead, sounding tired as he stepped back and set Arthur's tunic aside for laundry.
"They're used to me being indifferent to my servants, of course, so I don't blame them for taking advantage," Arthur mused, accepting his nightshirt from Merlin and putting it on by himself.
"Naturally you wouldn't," Merlin murmured lowly, perhaps hoping Arthur couldn't hear.
"Well, I rescued you, didn't I? Next time, just say the magic words."
Arthur hadn't expected Merlin to flinch in response.
"What?" the servant gasped. He had gone pale around the nose.
"It's an expression, you idiot," Arthur replied, stunned at the reaction.
But then, he thought, Merlin had been deeply shaken by what had happened to Valiant today, so his fright made perfect sense. Arthur had wanted him to be frightened.
"What I meant," he continued in a calming tone, "was this: I can't, by order of the prince."
"Oh," Merlin nodded, but his voice had gone high-pitched. "Right. I get it."
"Your position as my manservant is your best protection," Arthur explained, "especially once they realise I really do intend for you to remain, and not just to humour the senile whim of my father."
His voice had gone bitter there in the end, he noticed. Perhaps he had had too much to drink.
"Is there anything else you need, sire?"
Merlin was still drenched in ale and looked like he was about to fall asleep where he stood, so Arthur, already halfway into his bed, took pity on him and released him for the night.