"I can't do this," Merlin told Gwen later that night. They were sitting in Gwen's kitchen, having a drink with Elyan.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Gwen replied and patted his hand.

"I'm not!" Merlin said miserably. He was bend over double at the table, chin propped up and pulling at his hair. "Everyone else is! It's Lord Wesley, and Arthur, and half the staff who suddenly expect me to know how to run the castle by myself!"

Elyan threw him a compassionate look over his mead. "I know how you feel, Merlin," he said. "I didn't even know half of the things I was supposed to do when Arthur knighted me."

Merlin glanced at him. "How did you manage?"

Elyan shrugged. "Followed Leon's lead and muddled my way through the rest, I suppose."

"I can't do that," Merlin said. He brought down his forehead on the table with a loud thud. With his voice muffled against the wood, he continued, "I've been doing nothing but muddling through for the past seven years. Clearly, that's not enough anymore."

"Well, for all your muddling, Arthur clearly thinks you capable enough," Gwen replied. "He's keeping you on, even now that he's King. That's a sign of trust."

Merlin snorted, then lifted his head again. "Please! Arthur doesn't trust me to wash his socks right most days. If anything, he keeps me on because he thinks I'm amusing, and that's on a good day."

"You can't honestly believe that," Gwen said. She had started to frown. "I mean it, Merlin, you've got to stop with the self-pity. It doesn't suit you and it doesn't get you anywhere, either."

"Thanks for the pep-talk," Merlin muttered. Gwen was being entirely too reasonable about the whole debacle.

"Gwen's right, though," Elyan said between two sips of mead. "Don't you back down now. You need to face this whole thing head-on! Courage!"

"Spoken like a true knight, Sir Elyan," Gwen said and proudly patted her brother's shoulder.

Merlin didn't think he could channel his inner knight any more than his inner Clive… now there was a thought! Merlin abruptly straightened on the bench. "Gwen! Does Clive still live in Camelot?"

Gwen's face turned thoughtful for a second. "Yes, actually. With his daughter. She lives near the eastern gate, I believe. Her husband is a cartwright."

The next morning, Merlin found Arthur an over-eager squire for his training. Half an hour later, he was in the lower town, winding his way through half-finished carts and wagon wheels to approach the master of the workshop. The cartwright was a thick-set man with an impressive beard, who didn't stop hammering away even after he had acknowledged Merlin's presence with a nod.

"I'm looking for Clive," Merlin told him, cringing a little at every slam of the hammer. "Formerly the King's manservant?"

"Aye, I know'm." Another thud. "What's he to you?"

"I'm King Arthur's manservant and I was hoping—" A particularly loud thud made Merlin wince. "—to speak to Clive about the job."

Finally, the cartwright stopped hammering. He turned and looked Merlin over for a moment, two bushy eyebrows drawn as he seemed to consider Merlin's words. "T'is about time you showed up, lad," he finally rumbled. "He's been gettin' into a right fret, worryin' himself sick. My wife's 'bout ready to throw'm out."

Merlin cringed. "Sorry?"

The cartwright grunted and waved his hammer towards a door in the back of the workshop. "Through there. Try the garden."

Merlin thanked him and made to seek out Clive. He found him kneeling in a small, fenced-off patch of soil, pulling weeds from a bed of carrots.

"Master Clive?" Merlin ventured.

The man glanced up, then did a double take. "Merlin!" he exclaimed and scrambled to his feet, surprisingly agile for a man in retirement. "Finally! I was about ready to march up to the castle and drag you here by your ears!"

Merlin hunched his shoulders. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise—"

But Clive cut him off with an abortive shake of the head. "Not here!" He wiped his hands on his trousers. "I won't discuss castle business where everyone can hear. Discretion is of paramount importance!"

Merlin followed Clive inside. They ended up settling down in the kitchen, where the cartwright's wife served them a cup of fresh well water each.

"Thank the gods you're finally here," she murmured into Merlin's ear before leaving the room.

"Now, Merlin. What took you so long?" Clive said with a disapproving eyebrow that rivalled Gaius's best. Merlin hadn't talked to Clive very often, but his sternly-given lectures had always been much-feared among the staff and he started to get an inkling why that was.

"Oh, well. Arthur's been keeping me busy…" Merlin said awkwardly and quickly took a sip of water.

"Of course," Clive replied, though he sounded sceptical. "I've been hearing worrisome reports. Is it true you haven't been attending the household convention?"

Merlin nervously played with his cup, almost sloshing the water in the process. "I missed a couple, yes. But I went to the last meeting."

Clive studied him. "How did it go?"

For a moment, Merlin considered lying. But he had come here for help, hadn't he? He sagged a little on the spot and sighed, "It was a complete disaster. I had no idea what to say and the steward was ready to bite off my head."

To Merlin's surprise, Clive's face suddenly lost much of its sternness and he chuckled. "I can imagine."

Merlin stared at him. "Oh?"

"I remember my first household convention well," he said. "Lord Huxley was the steward then. This was before your time. He called himself the Paragon of Propriety. Nothing was ever good enough. Nobody could please him. Plus, he highly disapproved of my appointment as King Uther's manservant."

"Really?" Merlin perked up. He couldn't imagine a man like Clive – praised and appreciated by all – to have similar troubles to Merlin, but here they were.

"He had been grooming another man for the job, but the King overrode his choice." Clive puffed up a little on his chair as he revealed, "King Uther picked me personally. It was an affront to the steward. Needless to say, Lord Huxley was determined to prove the King wrong by any means necessary."

"But he didn't succeed," Merlin said, leaning forward in interest.

"No," Clive replied with a proud sort of smile. "Though not for a lack of trying." He sobered a little and made a dismissive waving motion with his hand. "I won't bore you with the details. The important part is, I know what it's like to take on the job and immediately face opposition." He gave Merlin a pointed look. "You, of course, have always been a rather unconventional or, shall I say, controversial choice for the post of royal manservant. You're very, ah, casual."

Merlin shrugged, smiling a little as he said, "Arthur prefers it that way." He tried not to deflate too obviously when he immediately remembered last night's argument. Perhaps Arthur didn't anymore?

Clive tilted his head a little. "Arthur," he repeated. "Perhaps let's start with that. You don't call him King Arthur, do you?"

Merlin's shoulders drooped. "No, I guess I don't." His heart sank a little when he realised, "I should probably start doing that, now that he's King."

Clive leaned back in his chair. "It would seem proper," he replied.

Merlin frowned. "But?" he ventured and Clive sent him an approving smile.

"But," he said, "contrary to the late Lord Huxley's opinion, being the King's manservant is a lot less about propriety and a lot more about personal preference. The preferences of the monarch, naturally."

"Right," Merlin said.

"The King and you always had a relaxed sort of relationship," Clive went on. "I myself might have found it inappropriate at first, but if there is one thing I have learned from serving King Uther for fifteen years, it is this: The monarch is always right."

Merlin snorted. "Well…" Clive gave him a stern look and Merlin promptly pressed his lips together, immediately feeling chastised. He should probably try and copy that look for the next time he needed to berate a wayward hall boy.

"He is," Clive stressed. "Which means if King Arthur prefers you to be insolent and approves of you skirting the edges of protocol more often than not, that is his prerogative as ruler of the realm, and nobody at court, least of all the steward, has any right to question him."

Merlin nodded, feeling he was following Clive's argument. "So, keep doing what I'm doing?"

"In a way," Clive said, though his tone was hesitant. "Your behaviour does reflect back on the King. You wouldn't want to put him into an impossible position. Never force his hand by neglecting your duties or overstepping, if you can help it. But I already know you are quite capable of reining yourself in. I have watched you closely enough for the past years. You always were a perfectly decent manservant when the Prince needed you to be."

Merlin ducked his head a little at the subtle praise.

"You absolutely do need to take your new duties seriously. Slacking isn't an option. But you must also remember that you are somebody the King's trusts explicitly." Clive paused, then added, "It has been commented on by the lords, did you know? How close the King and you are. It hasn't escaped their notice that you have had his unwavering favour for years, that you are held in the highest esteem. Do you even realise how much power that gives you?"

Merlin blinked. "Power?"

Clive nodded. "I managed to assert myself against Lord Huxley only when I realised that King Uther had given me a gift by personally picking me for the job. I knew I had his trust and that gave me room to work with. I could act with the knowledge that I was doing so with the implicit approval of the King." He gestured at Merlin. "You find yourself in an even stronger position than I did then. You were manservant to the Prince for seven years. You two have grown unusually close, and the court knows it. Lord Wesley knows it. If you want to hold your own against him, you need to wield that power."

Merlin's head was reeling a little as he took all of that in. "Wield it how?"

Clive tilted his head. "Remind people that you have the King's ear. Subtly, of course, don't be a brute about it. Our betters respect power, and influence is everything to them, most especially influence on the King. Use your proximity to King Arthur to your advantage!"

Merlin mulled all of that over, taking another sip of water to stall. "I think I get it," he finally said. "What about the other servants, though? They keep coming to me, hoping I'll sort out their problems. Half of the time, I have no idea what to do."

Clive smiled indulgently. "Ah. Well, I'm afraid, only experience will help you there. Be stern if you must, sympathetic whenever possible. If they feel you are trying to do right by them, they will come to respect you in no time."

Merlin nodded. "Thank you, Master Clive. You have given me a lot to think about."

"I should hope so," said Clive. "Visit me any time, Merlin. I'd be glad to help you out." He frowned, which somehow was enough to make Merlin cringe back a little. "However, if I hear you've been skipping meetings again—"

"I won't," Merlin promised hurriedly. "I swear, I'll try my best to get this right."

And he would start by doing what Clive had advised him to do: Use his proximity to the King. Really, what he needed to do was talk to Arthur. If he wanted to appear at least somewhat less of a fool at the next household convention, he needed to know things he never bothered caring about, like Arthur's preferred flower arrangements or his views on round dancing.

It was only that Arthur, as King of Camelot, had become a rather busy man. Even standing by his side or serving him food, Merlin hardly had the opportunity for five minutes of undisturbed conversation with the King. In his chambers, Arthur was usually busy reading or writing, and distinctly annoyed whenever Merlin approached him. Still, between dressing, feeding and bathing the man, Merlin did have more access to Arthur than anyone else and found a window of time that night.

Arthur was already dressed for sleep and sitting by the fire, nursing a steaming cup of spiced wine to take the edge off after another long day. Merlin was pottering about, setting things to right and pulling out an outfit that would be suitable for tomorrow's busy schedule due to Lord Ashe's arrival.

Finally, he stepped up to Arthur's armchair. "Arthur?"

The King didn't even look up, clearly occupied with his thoughts. "Yes, yes, you may go."

"Actually, there's something I'd like to talk to you about."

Arthur glanced up at him. He studied Merlin's face for a moment, then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "What have you done now?"

Merlin bristled. "Why is it that you immediately think I've got up to something?"

Arthur scoffed, "Because it's likely."

Merlin scowled, but tried to rein in his annoyance. He wanted something from Arthur after all. It wouldn't do to antagonise the King.

"May I sit, sire?" he asked, knowing full well it was a blatant breech of etiquette, honorific or no.

Arthur rolled his eyes, but waved at the other armchair. Merlin sank down, then leaned forward to rest his arms on his thighs. He suddenly realised he had no idea how to best broach the subject. He had never seriously discussed his duties with Arthur. Hells, they hardly discussed anything seriously, falling back on banter and bickering even in the most dire of situations.

"Spit it out already," Arthur prompted when Merlin didn't immediately speak up.

Merlin cleared his throat. "Look, Arthur. About the whole, um, manservant to the King thing and my, uh, new duties…" He trailed off, unsure how to continue.

Arthur tensed, fingers curling tightly around his mug. He abruptly straightened in his chair and frowned. "Merlin! Are you trying to quit on me?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow at Arthur's sudden agitation. "First of all, we both know that I can't just quit. I can but humbly beg my liege to graciously grant my request to be released."

"Consider that request denied," Arthur said immediately and with far more vehemence than necessary. For some reason, it warmed Merlin more than the fire burning away in front of them.

"Second, I wasn't trying to leave," Merlin continued. "It's just, now that I'm the King's manservant rather than the Prince's…" He trailed off again, unsure how to best ask for help. He didn't want to rile Arthur up again.

The King had gone back to studying him. "Yes?" he prodded impatiently.

Merlin sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It seems everyone is expecting me to know things."

"You? Know things?" Arthur quipped. "Rather foolish of them, don't you think?"

Merlin made a face at him. "Thanks, you prat."

Arthur smirked, then motioned at him to continue.

Merlin turned his eyes on the fireplace. It shouldn't be so difficult, asking Arthur for help, but it was, and Arthur mocking him wasn't exactly helping.

"I mean it, though. Lord Wesley and the others, they expect me to be informed. I need to know where you want certain lords to sit at the banquet, or whether you want to hire a singer or, you know, what you prefer for dessert."

He chanced a side-way glance at Arthur, who, Merlin was gratified to see, was actually listening patiently for a change.

"I don't know these things because you don't tell me things. All you do is yell at me if I get it wrong, and ignore me if I happen to get it right. We need to come up with a system so I know what you want, or what you want me to say, so I can, in turn, tell the likes of Lord Wesley what you want, or what you told me to say." He paused, running that sentence through his head again. "If that makes sense," he added awkwardly.

Arthur snorted. "Very little. But I'm used to your rambling." He emptied his mulled wine in one, long swig, then looked down at the empty mug as he seemed to think that over. "You're right. I have, perhaps, been a bit neglectful of my own duties. As your master, I should have seen you were struggling and in need of my help." He paused and his voice softened. "To be honest, Merlin, I'm just so used to you taking everything I throw at you in stride, I didn't think these changes would be much of a problem for you."

"Yes, throwing things at me is your specialty," Merlin said drily.

Arthur promptly made a threatening motion with his empty mug that had Merlin automatically duck his head. Arthur grinned and Merlin rolled his eyes. They both chuckled.

More soberly, the King said, "I'm listening now. What do you need from me?"

Merlin hesitated. He should have probably thought of this in advance, but luckily, an idea sprung to mind before the silence could get awkward. "Quarter of an hour, every day, to go over your diary. Let me ask questions and actually answer them. And please, no yelling. Just tell me what you want done and what I can decide on my own. We can do it over breakfast, if you like, so you're not wasting any time. I do know how busy you are these days, you know? I stand next to you most of the time."

Arthur bobbed his head from side to side as he considered that. "Fair enough," he conceded. "Have your fifteen minutes." He held up a finger in warning. "Keep it to the point, though. I want to be able to enjoy my sausage and eggs, and I can't do that over your incessant talking."

"Yes, we couldn't possibly want you to eat less, sire," Merlin quipped and grinned when Arthur lightly punched his shoulder before shooing him away.

For the next couple of mornings, Merlin stood by Arthur's side as he ate and went over the King's schedule item by item, jotting down notes as they spoke. In addition, he started paying special attention to things he usually dismissed or only half-listened to – Arthur's conversations with other lords in the hallway, his small talk with the ladies of the court and the likes – in the hopes of catching a detail or two that might be important.

Sure enough, by the time the next household convention was held the following Wednesday, Merlin felt at a lot less underprepared. Lord Wesley, however, was a force to be reckoned with.

"As Lord Ashe leaves tomorrow, I would like to go over some details regarding the farewell feast and the logistics of his departure," the steward said. "Cook?"

"We got plenty of game left over from the hunt two days ago, my lord," Audrey reported. "The preparations are happening as we speak."

Lord Wesley turned to the provisions master. "Master Mave? You mentioned trouble regarding the wine?"

"All solved, my lord," said the man. "The merchant arrived just this morning."

The steward nodded. "Did he say why he was so late?"

"Heavy storms," the master informed him. "No ships coming in for weeks at the port in Gedref."

"They're starting early this year, then. We should prepare ourselves for more shortages." He noted something down, then looked up and pinned Merlin with a haughty look. Merlin tried not to fidget. "You wouldn't happen to know whether the King has an opinion regarding the send-off of Lord Ashe's party tomorrow, boy?"

Merlin aimed for a neutral face rather than a triumphant smirk when he realised he did know. Arthur and he had discussed it just this morning. "Quick and casual," he said. "Just a couple of knights, ten guards and a handful of servants on the main staircase to see them off."

Lord Wesley raised a sceptical eyebrow. "No ladies of the court?"

"He'd prefer not."

The steward pursed his lips. "The royal treasurer's wife, the Lady Osma, is Lady Ashe's cousin. Surely the King would not deny her a final farewell?"

Merlin hadn't known that. But Arthur had specifically requested no ladies, this much he was certain of, so he steadily met the steward's gaze. "Like I said – he'd prefer not."

Lord Wesley huffed. "That doesn't sound right to me. I shall check with His Majesty myself."

His words were just shy of a direct insult, but Merlin willed down an indignant reaction and plastered on a pleasant smile instead. "Of course, my lord," he said, then couldn't help but add, "if you deem it wise to approach the King with such a matter."

The table went completely quiet as the steward's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I wouldn't have to do it if you did your job properly, boy."

Merlin curled a painful hand into his thigh to keep himself from snapping. "Like I said," he repeated, voice tighter than he would have liked, "if you deem it wise." For a moment, they stared at each other. Then Merlin remembered his place – and the fact he didn't actually want to make the steward more of an enemy than he already was – and inclined his head. "My lord."

Lord Wesley harrumphed and took down another, quick note. Merlin wondered if it was a reminder to complain to Arthur again.

"If you believe yourself to be so well-informed," Lord Wesley spoke up when he was done writing, "I'm sure you can tell me the King's opinion on the entertainment tonight?"

Fortunately, Merlin knew that, too. He felt his heart speed up with excitement when he realised he might actually be holding his own this time. "A lute player only, to make enough room for conversation. Apparently, Lord Agravaine found fault with the singing last week and mentioned it to the King."

The steward shook his head as if Merlin had said something stupid, though he did take another note. "I see. Seating arrangements?"

"The King wishes to have Sir Bors removed from the head table to make space for Sir Ector, my lord. He'd like the news to be broken gently, if possible."

"And the issue of Sir Galahad?" Lord Wesley asked.

"I—" Merlin drew a blank. Shite. He had no idea what the steward was referring to. "I wasn't aware there was an issue."

Lord Wesley's smug smile was enough to make Merlin's cheek flush. "Of course not," he drawled. "Just another item I will ask the King about myself, then."

The steward didn't call on Merlin again for the rest of the meeting, undoubtedly enjoying his little victory. Still, when everyone made to leave, Master Mave winked at Merlin and the kennel master slapped an encouraging hand on Merlin's back when the steward wasn't looking, so he must have not made a complete fool of himself this time around.

From then on, the household convention became a slightly less dreaded necessity of Merlin's new position at court, though they did still add a considerable level of stress to his already busy schedule.

Sure enough, after seven weeks of being the King's manservant, Merlin was beginning to run himself more than ragged.

It was simply too much: the servants flagging him down every chance they could get, the ongoing power play with the steward (who, infuriatingly enough, kept calling Merlin boy), his regular duties with Arthur, all the while helping out an aging Gaius. Fortunately for Merlin, the evil sorcerers of the land seemed to be giving Camelot a much-needed break. Merlin was fairly sure he would not be able to keep this pace up if he had to spent his nights investigating a curse or hunting down a magic beast in the Darkling Woods.

The continuing stress made Merlin uncharacteristically irritable. Gwen was too kind to comment on it, though Merlin had already apologised to her thrice this week alone for being testy with her.

What was worse, Arthur was under pressure as well. In spite of his training run as Prince Regent, the freshly anointed King wasn't having an easy time since ascending to the throne. Camelot's allies needed to be assured Arthur would stand by his father's treaties. At home, the lords of the land were questioning his decisions and scheming behind his back left and right. The latest problem was a group of mutinous vassals who didn't like the new King's revised taxation plan and were heavily opposing his proposed change in legislation, which resulted in Arthur being just a minute or two away from snapping at Merlin any given moment.

Merlin knew it was only a matter of time until there would be another argument between them. Little flare-ups had been happening all throughout the week. Merlin had only hoped their inevitable clash would happen in the privacy of Arthur's chambers so the fallout would be less severe.

Merlin wasn't that lucky.

Like so many times in his life, Merlin was running late. He had got better at being punctual out of sheer necessity since becoming King Arthur's manservant, and even more diligent since he knew he had to be on top of his many new duties, but the workload was taking its toll. Which was why he was late returning to Arthur's chambers to put the King into armour. When he entered, Arthur had already slipped into his chainmail and was fumbling with the vambraces.

"Where have you been, you idiot?" Arthur snapped as soon as he laid eyes on Merlin.

"Sorry, sorry," Merlin said and hurriedly took the vambrace from Arthur before the King could decide to whack it on Merlin's head as punishment. "I was settling a dispute between a scullery maid and a serving boy about—"

"I don't care, Merlin!" Arthur growled. "I should have been on the training grounds ten minutes ago. Your tardiness makes me look unreliable. Hurry up already!"

Merlin glared at the breastplate in his hands and swallowed down an angry retort. Quickly, he strapped on the rest of the armour, all the while trying to ignore Arthur's comments about Merlin being the laziest excuse for a royal manservant in all of Albion. He ended up pinching Arthur's skin once or twice in the process, which earned him a slap around the back of his head and another impressive rant about how Merlin was lacking in every way possible.

Needless to say, by the time they had made it to the training fields, Arthur was still seething and Merlin didn't envy Gwaine, who ended up pairing with the King and got so mercilessly pummelled into the ground, it wiped the trademark cheer right off his face.

Usually, a good fight or two was enough to mellow Arthur, but this time, making both Gwaine and his involuntary successor Elyan hobble off the field cursing didn't seem to satisfy his inner rage monster.

"Merlin!" he yelled and Merlin cringed where he was sitting at the side lines sharpening swords. "You! Shield! Now!"

Merlin really didn't want to face Arthur when he was like this. But Arthur was the King and Merlin was his servant, so what choice did he have here? He walked over to grab himself some chainmail.

"I said: now!" Arthur shouted.

Merlin stared at him. Arthur stared back. With a huff, Merlin picked up a shield and obediently dragged himself onto the training field, though he couldn't quite suppress the scowl.

"Could you show any less enthusiasm?" Arthur growled and lifted his sword.

A few minutes later, Merlin was cowering in the dirt, desperately holding onto the shield with burning arms, wondering if he shouldn't have humbly begged his liege to be allowed to quit after all. Eventually, after a particularly forceful hit, his muscles simply gave up. The shield slipped from his hands. With a frantic yelp, he curled in on himself, only just keeping his magic from lashing out.

Above him, Arthur cursed and then, a sharp, bright pain erupted in Merlin's shoulder. Merlin toppled backwards and shouted, his hand automatically coming up to assess the damage. No blood, just piercing, throbbing pain. Luckily, Arthur had managed to swivel and turn the sword just enough to have it hit Merlin with the blunt side. But sans armour, the impact was incredibly painful and his shoulder would undoubtedly bruise spectacularly.

Momentarily stunned by what had happened and clutching at his shoulder, Merlin stared up in Arthur's wide-eyed face. He was flushed from exercise but quickly paling about the nose.

Silence descended on the training fields.

Here was the thing: Merlin knew that, deep down, Arthur cared for him. Arthur would never want to see him seriously hurt and was probably horrified by the fact that he had very nearly split Merlin's head in two. Theoretically, he knew that.

In reality, though, when Arthur spoke, he didn't say Lords above, Merlin, did I hurt you badly? or I'm so sorry, Merlin, I didn't mean to hit you. or even Come on, don't start crying, you big girl's blouse, we'll get you to the infirmary right away. No, what Arthur did was throw his sword onto the ground and yell, "Gods, Merlin, could you be any more incompetent? You nearly got yourself killed!"

That was the moment Merlin had had it. After weeks of slaving away at an impossible list of duties, enduring Lord Wesley's constant nagging and Arthur's terrible moods, all the while not receiving even a single word of praise or acknowledgment in return, he had had enough.

Of course, Merlin had been living in a constant state of stress and anxiety for years, an experience which had undoubtedly made him more resilient than most. Still, there was only so much a man could take. Merlin was exhausted; he was angry; he was fed-up.

"Got myself killed?" he snapped and scrambled to his feet, hissing when his shoulder protested. "Got myself killed?"

"You should have said you needed a break!" Arthur snapped right back.

All around them, the other knights were gathering in a half-circle. They had an audience. Merlin was aware of that fact and faintly, he could hear Clive's voice saying You wouldn't want to put the King into an impossible position.

But the idea that he was the King's manservant now, that everything he said or did was closely scrutinized and that the other servants expected him to set an example or some such thing only served to make him more angry.

He couldn't help it – he started crossing the line.

"A break?" Merlin shouted. "When have you ever given me a bloody break, you inconsiderate, self-centred ass?"

Somewhere somebody gasped. It wasn't Arthur, who was simply staring at Merlin, mouth just a bit agape as Merlin went right on venting, the words just tearing out of him.

"In case it escaped your notice, I haven't had a break for weeks! I've been working my fingers to the bone ever since they put that crown on your grossly inflated head. I work three jobs at once, trying my very best to please everybody and you have the audacity to call me lazy every hour of the day and now, yell at me for something that was your mistake, telling me I'm incompetent!" Someone's hand settled on his arm. Merlin slapped it away, not even checking who it was. "I've been running around the castle doing ten tasks at once to cover your back, to get things done the way you want them done. And do I get a word of thanks? Do I get a well done, Merlin? No. I get chastised and slapped around and now, nearly killed for my troubles!"

"Merlin." The hand on his arm had returned. It was Elyan. "Calm down."

"I'm not calming down!" Merlin hissed. "I have nothing to be calm about! He's gone bloody mad! Everyone has gone bloody well mad!"

Finally, Arthur seemed to have overcome his shock of Merlin yelling at him in front of half of Camelot's nobility. He took a menacing step forward and pinned Merlin to the spot with blazing eyes. In contrast, when he spoke, his voice had a chill to it, "Merlin."

The sound of his name, spoken in that tone, was enough to immediately make Merlin snap his mouth shut. He would have averted his gaze, too, but Arthur's glare was unforgiving and allowed not for hiding.

"Are you quite done?" he asked. He sounded deceptively calm, but Merlin knew when Arthur spoke like this, he was far too close to tearing somebody apart. Merlin, in this case.

Merlin gave a jerky nod, the remains of his hot anger warring with a sudden rise of cold dread.

"Got it all out?" Arthur added.

Again, Merlin nodded and his stomach lurched.

"Nothing else to add?"

Merlin shook his head. Oh, he was in for it now.

"Good." Finally, his gaze shifted, though it did nothing to alleviate the tension in Merlin's frame. "Elyan, you seem willing enough to take charge of him. Take Merlin to the dungeons."

"Yes, sire," Elyan said from behind, sounding subdued as he took a gentle hold of Merlin's good shoulder.

Arthur's attention shifted back to Merlin. "Will you go quietly or do I need to ask Percival to accompany you as well?"

Merlin couldn't answer that with a gesture, so instead he finally lowered his eyes to stare at the ground. It seemed to send the right message. "Get him out of my sight, Elyan!"

As Elyan led Merlin past the knights and towards the citadel, Merlin could hear Gwaine mumble an encouraging, "Good for you, Merlin, he deserved it!" but when he glanced over, he ended up looking right into Leon's disapproving face and hurriedly turned away again.

"That was quite the speech," Elyan said as they made their way down the staircase and towards the cells.

Merlin made a non-committal humming sound. His anger had almost fully evaporated now, making space for a strange mix of lingering self-righteousness over nearly having been killed and dread over the possible consequences of his lapse of control. It didn't help that his shoulder was throbbing like mad.

"Not entirely unwarranted, though," Elyan continued. "Between you and I, he's been insufferable these past weeks and we both know how hard you've been working."

Merlin sighed. "Thanks." He gave Elyan a sideway look. "Still, a servant yelling at the King? Out in the open, where everyone can hear?"

Elyan grimaced. "Yes, there's that, I suppose." They arrived at the cells and Elyan nodded at a familiar guard who promptly retrieved a key ring from his belt.

The guard threw Merlin a pitying look before unlocking one of the cells. It was one of the nicer ones with a small window and a bench attached to the wall, and Merlin gave the man a wonky smile. "Thanks, Ralph. Appreciate it."

The guard returned his smile, but thankfully didn't ask what Merlin had done to warrant a trip downstairs. The gossip mongers would take care of that in no time.

Elyan followed him inside and watched him settle down on the bench. "How's your shoulder?"

"Smarts. I'll live, though."

Elyan nodded. "I'll tell Gaius what happened. I'm sure he'll bring you something for the pain." He smiled crookedly. "And I'm sure Gwen will volunteer to bring you your rations as soon as she hears about this."

With an encouraging pat for the arm, the knight left and Ralph locked the door to the cell, throwing Merlin another compassionate smile. Merlin felt too miserable to appreciate it. He sighed once more, all the while massaging his shoulder. The pain had numbed a little, but he would dearly love some willow bark to take the edge off. Or a sleeping draught, so he could ignore what had just happened.

Over the course of the past years, Merlin had got away with a lot of things, including yelling at and insulting Arthur. But he was usually smart enough to restrain himself until they were in Arthur's chambers, or out in the forest with Arthur's more trusted knights. Merlin actually couldn't remember a time when he had disrespected Arthur quite this openly, and most importantly, he hadn't been the King then.

Merlin's anger had been more than justified. He had meant every word he had said, and Arthur had nearly sliced him up, for the gods' sake! But still, he should have known better than to snap quite so drastically where everyone could hear – all the squires, all the knights, anyone passing by or watching the training.

Appearances were important. Merlin was the King's manservant now.

He had no idea what that would mean for his punishment.