Leon's word proved true. Sir Kite-still-pit-or-whatever followed Arthur and inadvertently Merlin with steely eyes for most of the remaining week. He challenged Arthur to a duel twice more, each time losing more spectacularly than the last despite his increased ferocity. Or (as Arthur so intuitively pointed out) perhaps because of his increased ferocity.
Most of it was pretty amusing to watch, including the hilarious way the knight couldn't stop spittle from flying out of his mouth when he grew angry. Like at the second banquet and celebration in honor of Lord Sundre, whose people supplied a fair share of the crops to Camelot, when the knight approached Arthur clearly drunk.
"You're just a pretty pile of gold, that's what you are," he said, raising a goblet to the prince. Who stood leaning against a pillar, arms crossed and unimpressed.
"Am I?" he asked shortly. Merlin, a little ways away, could tell just by the set of his shoulders the prince was holding back amusement.
"Golden. Fancy and arrogant, looks and nothing else." The comparison, however strange, seemed to make sense to the knight and he sneered proudly. "I've been going easy on you—don't want to mar that pretty face." Merlin, who'd drawn nearer, hid his laugh with a snort (Arthur? A pretty face?), but the knight noticed. "Something funny, servant?"
Merlin shook his head quickly, but Arthur clapped a hand on his manservant's shoulder, grinning. "I wouldn't say Merlin is laughing at something, Sir Kytstulbet. Perhaps even his memory is well enough to recall our last fight, when you fell flat on your arse."
"How dare you—"
"Defeat you? Something that can't be helped, I'm afraid." Arthur tapped his chin. "Of course, I wouldn't have to time and time again, if you were competent enough to realize when you've been defeated."
Sir Quite-stew-something turned beet red, eyes beady and dark. "Just you wait. I'll figure it out. No one's unbeatable, not even you, Prince," he spat. (Literally.) Merlin wiped a bit of it off his cheek as the knight stalked away the best a drunken man can.
"You'd better watch out," Merlin raised an eyebrow at Arthur, who nodded somberly till they both burst into a fit of barely-contained laughter.
The next day Merlin was doing honestly one of his most favorite jobs (mucking out a certain prattish prince's stable) when Sir Merlin-really-should-remember-his-name-by-now walked in, leading his horse by the reigns. His face, which really held no identifiable feature from any other piggish, un-noble knight, betrayed a gloomy sort of anger. The kind about ready (finally!) to accept defeat.
Probably because Arthur had completely wiped him out within the first ten minutes of their match that morning. It was as if the prince fed off the knight's anger, easily deflecting it or redirecting his frustration as a force against him. Merlin, even if he'd never say so to Arthur, was thoroughly impressed. And, despite himself, a little sorry for Sir Quite-stew-ped.
(Hey, Quite-stupid. Fitting.)
But that tiny amount of sorry-ness had been long in coming and was quick in leaving. Sir Quite-stupid was taking off his saddle when suddenly he noticed Merlin across the stables (who realized he really should have taken some initiative and ducked out of sight) and barked out, "YOU! SERVANT. Come here!"
"Oh, sure, just a moment," Merlin called with his best smile, ducking to rake that last bit of manure in the corner and roll his eyes –
"NOW, SERVANT!"
That was how Merlin ended up with double the usual chores, since Sir Quite-stupid felt no reservation in ordering him to muck, brush and polish, specifically in that order. "I want to see my face in this," were his last words, shoving his saddle so hard into Merlin's middle he just about keeled over.
So Merlin set about it, grumbling through his extra work and silently cursing Sir Quite-stupid's name through the mucking of the stall and the brushing down of his horse (his magic brushing down the other side). And when that wasn't enough (as the saddle refused to shine back at Merlin), versing his frustrations to an old tune as he polished: "Sally hey, olde lady have you heard of the song? Of a knight with a snoutish, burlish face, gone wrong? His breath was of rot, his odor of goat, known as Sir Quite-stupid 'fore his name was too long –!"
"How DARE YOU."
Merlin's jolly voice cut off so quickly he choked on it, all the vexed anger of the past hour now boiling down quickly to surprised fear as he took in the sight before him: Sir Quite-stupid's face, so beet-red a vein visibly pulsed from his temple, his gloved hands stretched tightly into fists at his side, eyes so dark and beady they really should have belonged on some magical beast for Arthur (aka Merlin) to slay. Not on a knight.
Time for a hasty apology, then an even hastier retreat – except, well, Merlin had never been good at either of those.
"Sir Quite-stupid! I'm so – OH SHITE, no erm, I mean Sir– "
"AAAAHHHHHH!"
It was just as well. Merlin had never actually remembered the pathetic excuse of a knight's name, so if the latter hadn't come charging, screaming, and effectively cutting off his words in that moment, Merlin would have probably ended up saying something intelligent like, "Sir Uhhh . . . "
As it was, however, he still didn't very much feel like getting the sense knocked out of him by this bear of a man (what little of it there was in him, anyways, very debatable at this point) so Merlin employed the very useful strategy of ducking, escaping under one of the man's swinging arms and sprinting for the nearest exit as fast as his legs could carry him.
He'd just grazed the door handle with his fingertips when suddenly a huge weight slammed him to the ground from above. Groaning, Merlin dimly registered the man on top of him and the frightening lack of air in his lungs (also, a distinctly goat-ly smell) before the weight suddenly disappeared and he could take in a large, grateful breath.
A sharp pain in his side, however – a kick, Merlin realized, apparently this man was going to start kicking him – made that relief short-lived. He tried getting up but was met with a large foot on his back, jabbing down on his spine. Merlin gasped as another solid kick landed against the soft of his stomach and immediately his body curled in, trying to reduce the collateral damage as the tempo only increased, Sir Quite-stupid shouting things like "Peasant – Simpleton – Insolent little nothing – !" with each blow, getting more creative as he went.
Magic was a no-go, unfortunately. Unless he wanted to kill this man - which was an intriguing thought at the moment, but still - there was no way to successfully oppose Sir Quite-Stupid (and Quite-rude) by magic without getting a death sentence for it.
(He really should find a spell that incurs memory loss. Now that would be useful at a time like this.)
A very unattached part of Merlin's head listened with bemused interest as things progressed into "Son of a filthy, mud-blooded whore – Scruffy, ill-dressed, disrespectful RODENT!" Meanwhile the rest of him was quite seriously considering the pros and cons of passing out right then and there, when all at once the blows ceased.
Well, they sounded like they were still happening, so perhaps Merlin was getting close to unconsciousness if he couldn't still feel them. But then an annoyingly familiar voice started shouting, shattering his dark, hazy bubble.
"You will HANG FOR THIS, you will – Leon, let go of me – You will never get away with it, don't believe for one moment – !"
Merlin peeked a cautionary eyelid open and took in the skirmish: Arthur, sporting a bloody nose and being held back by three knights, yelling at Sir Quite-stupid, who had one of his fellow knights at his arm but mostly was just staring at Arthur in shock. Merlin didn't blame him (and yet he very much, wholeheartedly still did).
Because Arthur looked on the verge of beating his way through an entire Mercian army (Single-handedly, unless you counted Merlin), fists out, and eyes livid. The way Sir Quite-stupid had one hand to the side of his face told Merlin there'd been blows landed on both sides. The prince still wasn't listening to reason, it seemed; he twisted against his knights' hold, desperate for another chance at the man's face.
"Arthur?" Merlin heard himself croak out, and wondered when his voice had ever decided to sound so pathetic. But the prince's shouting ceased quite suddenly. He blinked down at his manservant in dazed shock, and Merlin had only a second to wonder at the expression on Arthur's face before staying conscious turned out to be a no go, after all.
A/N: Surprise surprise, the author has whumped Merlin. What's new. Lol, hope you guys are enjoying!
