Greetings Readers! Here's the next oneshot! It's humor (for once) and I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, or any of its characters.

"Where is he?" the king bellowed in a not very regal way as he burst into the tavern, the two doors crashing into the walls from the force of his stride.

The occupants of the tavern all jumped at the sudden crash, even the more burly, tough patrons. If anything, they might have been wincing more than the less manly customers, because many of them had heard the anger of that voice before. Because, although the Rising Sun was one of the more reputable taverns in Camelot, it attracted its fair share of degenerates, criminals, and ne'er do wells. Some of whom had not, technically, stayed around long enough after their sentencing to fulfill their punishment…

So several of the patrons had begun shuffling around frantically for ways to shield their faces, and more than a few were eying the exit just beyond the king longingly, but Arthur was too distracted to notice. It was a little odd how eyes that had been trained to seek down opponents and game like a hawk could miss things that were right in front of him, but Arthur had perfected that skill over the years that Merlin had worked for him.

The king stormed towards the bar, his steps quick and harsh, and thunderclouds brewing just behind his eyes. The bartender, who bore more than a few scars from brawls he'd been forced to break up behind the bar and the brawls he'd gotten into the other side as a young man, flinched and had to fight the urge to duck behind the bar. He was pretty certain that he'd been keeping up to date with his monthly tax of the building…but even if he hadn't surely the king himself wouldn't come to collect. Would he?

"Where is he?"

The bartender looked up into the king's eyes and had to restrain himself from swallowing noticeably. Arthur's tone had calmed down considerably, but there was still a fiery storm brewing in his eyes that made enemies cringe and the bartender step back. Whoever the king was looking for, he had all of the bartender's sympathy.

"Who, sire?"

"Who…" Arthur looked bemused for a moment, but did not allow himself to become distracted, "Who do you think? That halfwit, lazy, drunkard servant of mine."

The bartender stared at him. He wondered if the king knew how little that helped. Most of the servants that would come into the tavern would act like lazy halfwit drunkards because they needed a break from the backbreaking monotony of palace work. Either that, or they were lazy halfwit drunkards. Teetotalers rarely darkened his doors. "I'm sorry, sire, could you be more specific?"

Arthur blinked several times, and the fire was replaced by confusion. The bartender stopped fearing for his livelihood enough to smile at his perplexed statement and resumed polishing the glass he was holding.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten…and then to twenty. This was not working out to be one of his better days. All he'd wanted was to find out where his ceremonial sword was for a knighting he had later in the day, and all the blacksmith had to say about it was that Merlin had retrieved it several hours before. He'd hunted his lazy servant all over the castle, finally ending up in Gaius' chambers. Gaius had said that Merlin was in the tavern.

Again.

Arthur was a king. Arthur had many things that he had to do. Arthur had lots of servants who could run menial tasks for him while he did those things that needed to be done. But Arthur was also incredibly irritated with a certain servant, so irritated that he left all but the most important tasks with his council members and stormed out into the town. He had fully intended to find Merlin and drag him back ignominiously back into the castle before throwing him into the stocks for as long as it took to keep him from going out drinking when there was work to be done. But he had no success, and this was the third tavern he'd tried.

How could Merlin go out drinking all the time and still function? How much money did he waste on drinks there, not counting the times he'd had to bail Gwaine out? Arthur stopped the process of rubbing his nose and his mind wandered over the last few years of Merlin's employment. When wasthe last time he'd paid Merlin? How much did he even get?

With all the drinking he'd done, Merlin had surely run up a tab. Arthur felt tentatively at the pouch jangling with gold at his waist and met the bartender's eyes. He would ask the bartender what Merlin's tab was – a person's memory was often more acute when money was involved – and then pay it. That way he could both get Merlin out of any trouble he was in, and have a certain slip of paper to hold over a certain servant/best friend's head.

"Come now, you must know who I mean," Arthur began in a poor imitation of patience, "Merlin? The tall, skinny man with the black hair and scruffy neckerchief? The one who drinks like a fish?"

The bartender frowned. "That sounds familiar, I've seen him before I think with one of our regulars…but it couldn't be the same man. He claims he could get drunk off a barmaid's apron, and I've seen the very like happen. He's a complete lightweight."

"So…" Arthur frowned, "you have no tab for Merlin here?"

"No," the bartender shook his head, "as much as I'd love for you to cover some of my longer standing tabs, none of them are for a Merlin."

Arthur's frown grew, his eyebrows knitting. "That's strange."

"I'm sorry, sire."

Arthur nodded his thanks before turning and leaving the tavern much more quietly than he had entered it. As the tavern doors swung behind him, there was an audible sound of relief from the patrons.

Arthur stood beside his horse, his brow furrowed in thought. Gaius said that Merlin went to the tavern…but yet no one recognized him…and there was no tab anywhere to be paid. It just didn't add up.

Then suddenly, everything came together and he could see the truth with glaring clarity. It all made sense!

He'd never had thought Merlin clever enough to actually don a disguise and fake name when entering a tavern – but it was genius. He still could not approve laziness and drunkenness whilst on duty, but at least Merlin's presence wasn't spreading rumors about the competency of the castle or the royal family.

When Merlin came back from whichever tavern he'd been in, holding the ceremonial sword in one hand and covered in something that looked remarkably like the ash of a chimera, Arthur had clapped the man on the back. And then coughed.

"You really should stop the drinking, Merlin," he said, heartily, "but at least you have more sense than I thought."

Merlin had just stared – his throat was still sore from bellowing spells for a solid thirty minutes while trying to slay a beast that could have been killed with Excalibur in two seconds. Why had he grabbed the wrong sword?

He just shook his head and sighed. Sometimes he wondered if Arthur was ever going to get it.

A/N: Why do I like writing Arthur so oblivious? WHY? ...Probably because I think it's funny.

Thanks for reading and please review! They make me happy!