Excuses
It was a strange time to be King of Camelot and, Arthur thought, an even stranger time to be the King's manservant.
Merlin was still a manservant, although the wheels were in motion for Uther's ban on magic to be lifted. Unfortunately passing such amendments took time, and so it was only in the privacy of Arthur's chambers or the occasional Round Table meeting that Merlin could completely relax.
He didn't relax though. Not really. Yes, they were past the hard part now - the hashing out of lies and betrayals and hurt feelings on both sides - but both Arthur and Merlin were still adjusting to the state of things. Arthur couldn't help but stare whenever his friend's eyes flashed gold, and Merlin couldn't help but default to secrecy when anything magical occurred. After all, old habits were hard to break - and Merlin had been keeping secrets for a lifetime.
Take, for instance, one rainy morning when the servant skidded into his master's room over half an hour late and covered nearly head to toe in mud.
"What on earth happened to you?!"
Merlin launched into a story about his search for an especially rare fern which Gaius needed, but which grew only in the deepest, darkest bog of the Darkling Woods. Then he stopped short with a look of dawning awe.
"I don't have to do this any more, do I?"
"Look for ferns in bogs? That's really between you and Gaius..."
"No, you prat! I mean I don't have to make up some ridiculous lie to cover up what I was actually doing."
Arthur winced. It still stung to think just how many times he had been lied to over the years.
"I was chasing down a Grindylow," Merlin went on, oblivious to the King's discomfort. "I cast a spell to expel it from the kingdom, but just before I finished the incantation it managed to pull me into a bog." He breathed a contented sigh. "Is this how it feels all the time without a great big secret weighing you down? I could get used to this."
"You will get used to it." Arthur jabbed a threatening finger at Merlin to emphasise, "No. More. Secrets. Now what the hell is a Grindylow?"
Despite Arthur's instructions to the contrary, Merlin continued to relapse into old ways. When asked why he was late or bruised or, one occasion, so tired that he couldn't stop yawning for more than ten seconds at a time, the servant would start to craft a ridiculous excuse, get halfway, then stop as he realised there was actually no reason at all not to just tell Arthur the truth.
"Merlin," Arthur cut across him impatiently one evening when said-excuse just got bigger and more ludicrous. "The truth, remember?"
"I think Lord Anselm is trying to kill you," Merlin blurted in an apologetic rush. "I don't have evidence yet, but I-"
"Alright. I'll call the guards."
Merlin stared. "But I thought a servant's word was worthless against a noble's?"
"Your word is worth more than any noble's."
"Who are you and what have you done with Arthur Pendragon?"
"Oh, get to bed," Arthur waved him away. "I'll deal with Lord Anselm. And from now on, just tell me when something like this comes up?"
Merlin nodded but didn't speak. He was blinking rapidly.
"Good Gods, you're not going to cry are you?"
"No!" he squeaked and beat a hasty retreat.
Perhaps, Arthur thought, watching him go, this might help get into his thick skull that things really are changing for the better.
And if it didn't, Arthur was keeping a secret of his own that might help. He had been informed by his council that now the ban was almost repealed, his next step was to appoint a Court Sorcerer. The role came complete with a place on the King's council, a new set of chambers in the castle and - just thinking of it brought a wicked smirk to Arthur's face - a rather ridiculous looking hat...