Chapter Text
Arthur didn’t ask for any of this.
He didn’t ask to be the prince, he didn’t ask to become the strongest knight in the kingdom, and he certainly didn’t ask to have a young, obnoxious, ridiculously hot new manservant. When he swung his mace at the pretty stranger, he thought it was a better alternative to shoving him up against a wall and making out with him. That probably wouldn’t have gone over well.
Then, of course, after Arthur had humbled him a second time—nearly getting the boy arrested again—it was Prince Arthur’s turn to be abased as the whiny minx saved his life from being murdered by an opera singer. Admittedly, Arthur could think of few deaths more embarrassing than that one, so he was grateful for the cute fool, even if a little perturbed to be the damsel in distress. Not that he had anytime to relish such a victory, as his father immediately appointed the man to attend his every need.
Of course, Arthur would learn that this was the best thing that had ever happened to him, even if he struggled to admit it out loud. Merlin, the stranger was called, turned out to be more than just a pretty view. Merlin was strangely wise, and comforting. He put Arthur in his place, and subsequently taught the prince that being put in his place was useful and right. Arthur felt himself growing more patient, more compassionate, more generous.
Arthur knew something with much clarity, by the end of the first couple of months with his new manservant. Merlin was different, very different, from anyone he’d ever met. So Arthur was quickly prepared to do anything for this man—well, anything except being outwardly nice to him. Baby steps.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Camelot has a bandit problem, and it seemingly can’t be helped.
Having grown to like his manservant in those first couple of months, Arthur was almost embarrassed at how often they were set upon while out in the woods. He didn’t want to scare Merlin off, giving him the impression that Camelot was a dangerous place.
Yet, Merlin seemed unfazed. Arthur wanted to ask if he was used to all this drama and violence, but he knew the man was from a small village. Did this prompt questions about the quality of life in Ealdor? Naturally, but inquiring about such things would imply that Arthur cared.
He did. Care, that is. But Merlin couldn’t know that! Princes weren’t supposed to care about servants!
Yet, after what seemed like the millionth bandit attack, Arthur noticed Merlin was acting more forlorn and distracted. Sir Galahad had been injured, a rough slash to his sword arm, so Arthur used him as an excuse to keep Merlin away from his father. Merlin seemed nervous around him, which Arthur couldn’t fault. But that night, when Merlin put Arthur to bed, the man seemed to have his head in the clouds—moreso than usual, if that were possible.
Since they were not friends, Arthur did not care. And he definitely did not ask Sir Galahad to keep an eye on Merlin and report back if the manservant seemed shaken or upset.
Galahad was his father's age, but he'd always seemed to Arthur like a knight on his own. He didn't share the loyal fervor held by Uther's best men, nor the youthful brashness of those most loyal to Arthur. He respected Galahad for this very reason, so he trusted him with the delicate matter of his manservant.
Later that afternoon, Sir Galahad returned to his prince with the news that he was to spend the next week resting, and with an update on Merlin.
“He's perfectly well, Your Highness,” Galahad confessed. “He only wants to be more useful; he's not easily frightened away.”
Arthur nodded sagely, relief settling in his gut. “That's . . . good. Yes, good.”
Galahad's eyes sparkled with the kind of mischief Arthur was getting to know from his servant. “If I may, sire . . .”
“Go ahead.”
“Perhaps it would be wise to train him with a weapon. I was thinking perhaps a crossbow–”
“No!” Arthur protested, too quickly. Why did the idea bother him so much? He wasn't sure, but he was definitely bothered. The idea of clumsy, sweet Merlin tripping over his feet and impaling himself with a sword came to him then, and Arthur shuddered. “No, Merlin should not be trusted with anything sharp, Sir Galahad.”
Galahad murmured assent, but Arthur wasn't sure the knight agreed with his decision. Not that it mattered—Arthur was the prince, and his word would certainly be obeyed.