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Merlin experimentally stretched his arm, wincing as he did so. His arm ached constantly. Moving intensified that pain. Sometimes he didn't even need to move for that to happen. It was torture. No, that was an exaggeration. Well, maybe just a slight one... This really wouldn't be so bad if Merlin didn't have chores all day long.

Gaius had told Merlin not to overuse his arm today. Was that even possible with Arthur's list of chores? If Gaius really wanted to protect Merlin's arm, then he himself would have informed the prince. Merlin wondered if not asking Arthur to give a reprieve was Gaius's way of punishing Merlin for "not telling me something."

Merlin had given every detail about the event. He was scrubbing the floor. He reached out to wet his rag. Then it felt as though someone yanked his muscle clear out of his arm. There was nothing else to explain.

But, no matter what Merlin said, Gaius was skeptical. Gaius kept reiterating that such a small stretch shouldn't have pulled Merlin's muscle this badly. He shouldn't have a nasty bruise. Therefore, Merlin must be holding back information.

Merlin sighed. His eyes flashed, and the bed made itself. Gaius wouldn't approve of this. Normally—though this wasn't true when the warlock first came to Camelot—Merlin would agree with Gaius's sentiments. Merlin avoided resorting to magic for chores. He preferred to be competent at his work whether watched or not. The only way to do that was to work mundanely at least most of the time.

But today, he justified magically completing chores behind Arthur's back because, frankly, his arm hurt. And after all, Gaius didn't want Merlin's muscle to get overworked.

Arthur entered the room once again. Merlin swore mentally. Despite Merlin's rebelliousness, he really wasn't getting much work done today. When watched, since the lazy way out involved no pain, Merlin worked even slower than his arm forced him to.

Time for an even longer list of chores and more—this time well-earned—reprimands on laziness.

Arthur contemplated a taxing dilemma as he stared at his empty plate. His stomach was sending two contradicting messages. He had no more room in his stomach. He was even feeling a little overfull. Yet, the sensation of being famished remained.

He had had a similar experience yesterday. The feeling did go away eventually, but Arthur wasn't going to wait for that today. He was determined to eat until the hunger went away.

"Merlin," the prince called, "get me another plate of food."

Merlin's jaw dropped. He stared with round saucer-like eyes. "I've already had to get seconds for you. I don't think the kitchen maids will believe me if I tell them you want thirds."

Normally, Merlin's point would be valid. Arthur had already eaten significantly more than usual. However, normally, Arthur wouldn't still be hungry. Well, he was full, but he was still hungry!

"Merlin," Arthur threatened.

Looking exasperated and still a bit shocked, "Alright," Merlin conceded. With that, he left.

If he comes back without any food, Arthur thought, I will march him down to the kitchens myself and demand another plate of food.

Merlin hurried to the kitchens. He was particularly hungry today. But was he getting food for himself? No, he was catering to someone who must be already stuffed beyond measure. Merlin was used to waiting long periods of time to eat. But today was just one of those days where hunger pains are more acute. Honestly, Merlin was seriously considering swiping some of Arthur's food. That is, if by some miracle the kitchen maids even believed him. If they didn't, he'd snag food elsewhere.

He was pleasantly surprised when the kitchen staff didn't call him a liar. Not directly at least. Cook did, however, bluntly accuse him of clumsiness. She told him that if he "lost another plate of food, the prince himself will have to come down and order another platter."

Merlin returned to Arthur's chambers. When he set the plate (now short of a roll and a drumstick) in front of Arthur, Merlin thought the prince didn't look all that happy at the sight of more food. In fact, the prat almost looked positively forlorn about it.

Well, that debunked the theory that Arthur wanted the food for some sort of mischief toward Merlin.

As Arthur ate, Merlin began feeling increasingly nauseated. Merlin had seen his master eat inordinate amounts of food before. Feasts were a prime example. But it had never made him feel sick before. As hungry as he was, Merlin wanted nothing more than to avoid food until further notice. Food was bad.

"Merlin," Arthur grunted when he finally finished his exorbitantly large lunch.

"Yes?" Merlin replied. He wondered if his face reflected how he felt.

"I need you to polish my armor, sharpen my sword..." Apparently he didn't look to sick since Arthur kept prattling off his list of chores. "Clean my room..." Without meaning to, the warlock began to zone out. Somewhere around "check the archery targets" Merlin realized that he wasn't paying attention. Somehow, he had a feeling that that command had been pointless. "Then, I want you to muck out my horses," Arthur finished.

Before Merlin could reply, Arthur opened his mouth again.

"What is the matter with you?"

"Huh? Oh. Nothing," Merlin responded hastily. Arthur glared at him. "I'm just not feeling well." And for once in who knows how long, that statement was completely true.

As Arthur reached the tip of the corridor, he recognized that he had just ordered a few already completed chores. He shrugged it off. Merlin would figure it out. If he didn't, then it served him right. The manservant had been especially lazy today. Besides, he didn't even seem to be listening when Arthur listed off the chores.

The prince continued walking to his duties. He held his face neutral. Which was difficult. He was painfully aware that each step was making his stomach slosh horribly.

He almost wished that he left himself in the strange famished state.

Within minutes of Arthur leaving, Merlin locked the door. He cast some spells to finish the bedroom work, and lay down in the middle of the floor. He tried not to moan.

When the spells had done their work, Merlin still didn't want to move. He had a roll and a drumstick hidden somewhere in his jacket. He couldn't bear the idea of eating though. He wanted to barf. However, he knew there wasn't anything in his stomach to dispose of. Watching Arthur eat shouldn't have have made him sick. Merlin had every right to sit there and be jealous. No, instead, some strange part of him was pitying Arthur. What was the world coming to?

Sighing, he grasped a nearby chair and pulled himself to his feet.

He made his way to the armory. (Why he was putting himself through this, he didn't know.)

Half way through checking the second target, Merlin noticed something. He had done this job yesterday. Partly annoyed and partly relieved, Merlin smiled at his master's... whether it was thoughtlessness or attempted mischief, Merlin couldn't tell right now.

Now that he knew the targets were fine, Merlin needed to take care of the stables. At least his stomach had settled a little, even if is arm still hurt like mad. He had finished his other chores fairly quickly. (No one needed to know that he had cheated.) And if Merlin finished the stables fast enough, he could probably find a spare moment to rest.

If only it were safe to magically muck out the stables... Merlin didn't know how many times that thought had crossed his mind in the past. He probably mentally bemoaned the openness of the stables every time he touched the pitchfork. However, he was sure he had never wished to use magic for the stables more than he did now.

Wincing, Merlin stretched his right arm a bit. His pulled muscle burned even though he was trying to avoid using his injured arm. He had even tried one-handedly scooping the horse dung. That didn't work very well.

Again, he shifted the position he held the pitchfork in, and continued to work. The idea of rest was the only thing keeping him going.

Somebody entered the stables. The sound was so quiet that Merlin almost didn't notice it. He kept working. He wanted to finish this chore as fast as possible. Whoever it is will say something if he needs me.

Merlin heard the newcomer approach. The footfalls sounded like they were attempting to be stealthy without knowing how to be. Odd. Merlin guessed this person wasn't a messenger then. It probably wasn't Arthur either. Arthur didn't have a reason to approach in that manner. At least, that's what Merlin thought.

No, it's probably Arthur, Merlin decided.

Merlin turned around. He had moved just in time to see the flash of a knife.

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