23. Small Talk

To hear, one must be silent.

Ursula K. Le Guin

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(Follows directly after the beginning scene of the last chapter.)

Arthur paced. Back and forth between the window and his fireplace, over to the circular study in the corner of his tower cell, back to the other side to stare at the strange tapestry attached to his wall, then over to his bed where he finally flopped down on his back with a groan.

He had to court a princess.

In just a few short hours.

A princess he didn't love.

And he had no idea what to do.

In hopeless frustration, he ran both hands through his hair while staring up at the ceiling.

Give him a battle against a deadly opponent with horrible odds and he'd be just fine.

Tournaments, games of strategy and court, even roughhousing with the knights – he knew his role in all of those situations.

But matters of the heart? Wooing a woman?

He would never admit it out loud, to anyone, but he knew nothing of that. His father had him raised to be a prince and a warrior – the heir to his kingdom. An heir who would marry the girl the king one day chose, so there was no need to be educated in the ways of courtship and love. All he'd learned of the topic had been gathered from tales overheard from the knights – mostly Leon if he was being honest with himself – and a few embarrassing conversations with Gaius.

There was a reason he made Merlin write the notes and pick the flowers to send to a lovely blacksmith's daughter who made his heart flutter in indescribable ways whenever she looked at him.

With a growl, Arthur jumped to his feet. Thinking about Gwen was not helpful in the least right now. This was not a romance – this was war, cloaked in courtship, so he would approach it as such.

The first thing to do in a war was gather intel.

Well, he'd done that, as best he could over the last few days with his wandering.

Next, devise a battle plan.

That was trickier. He had no Merlin to write a note for him, nor paper and quill to write with anyway. Any flowers were buried under three feet of snow. That left him Leon's advice, or Gaius's.

Well, considering Gaius was older than anyone he knew and still not married, he settled on Leon's.

And finally, once plans were in place, dress the part.

He walked to his wardrobe and threw open the doors, but once again he was reminded that the only half-decent clothes he'd been supplied with were in Tharennor's colors.

Anger flared through him again and he slammed the cupboard's doors shut. He wouldn't wear them, not any more than he had to. He would court this princess dressed as he was, in clothes no better than what a common peasant wore, and she could think whatever she desired.

Resolve hardened, he marched from his room.

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"I need a chicken," Arthur announced loudly, voice ringing with all the authority of a crown prince who'd been giving orders since he could talk.

All motion in the crowded, smokey kitchen ceased as every eye turned to stare at him, too shocked to yet show insolence or disdain.

The prince squared his shoulders in the face of his enemies and pressed the advantage of their surprise. "I need a chicken – roasted – in two hours, plus bread, sides, and wine for two. And several of you will come with me now and bring linens, candles, dishes and cutlery. When the meal is prepared, it will be brought to the same location as the rest."

He finished his announcement and waited, entirely unsure what would happen next. In all likelihood those in the room would laugh soundly at him – poor little Camelot Prince, thinking he could give orders – and send him away. He had no idea what he would do then; he had no backup plan for this awkward endeavor and there was nothing to do in this gods' forsaken castle.

Seconds ticked by, but then years of being what Merlin liked to term a prat finally paid off and one of the women bowed just slightly. "Of course, sire," she simpered, thinly-veiled disgust clinging to the way she said his title. Arthur glared back at her, already disliking her mean face with pinched lips and the way she brandished the ladle in her hands like a weapon. "Midge! Hana!" she screamed as she turned. Two filthy servants who were nothing but starving children dropped what they'd been doing and scurried forward. "Git the prince what he wants an' follow him. Hurry up! NOW!" As she screeched the last word, she took a vicious swipe at the girl with her ladle.

It took everything Arthur had to bite his tongue, but ten minutes later when the three turned a corner and left the kitchens behind, the prince himself stepped up and took most of the load from the staggering children.

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Arthur had to admit to some satisfaction as he surveyed his work.

He'd found the strange sort of half room during his wandering over the last week, in the older part of the castle where hardly anyone went. In a former life it must have been an office or study. There was a fireplace at the far end, a few forgotten chairs and crates stacked in the corner, and one tapestry still clinging to the wall though it was so faded the design was now unrecognizable. But the strangest thing was that it was no longer a true room. During some past renovation of the castle it had lost half of its walls, becoming a sort of extra-large alcove off the passageway.

It wasn't close to a proper hall or banquet room, but he had no doubt he was forbidden to use the real ones, even to court the princess, and he could hardly invite her to dine with him in his tower room/prison. So alternate place it had to be, and it was the fireplace that had caught his eye here – at least they would be warm during this farce.

All that morning he'd worked to transform the small space. He'd righted the chairs and turned several of the crates into a passable table. With the help of the young servants who'd been sent with him, they managed to clean and dust, and now a dinner for two was ready in the makeshift dining hall, the fire crackling somewhat merrily.

It was perfect.

If he was a peasant wooing a farmer's daughter in the back room of her father's house…

Gwen would have loved it, he thought, a pain like a sharp knife shooting through his insides. For just a moment, he imaged leading her to it. She'd laugh with delight, that gentle sound he loved so much, and then turn to him with so much pride in her eyes.

"Oh, Arthur, it's perfect! You did all this – for me?"

And he'd smile back, then take her hand and lead her over. Before he helped her into her seat, he'd reach up to brush a hair from her cheek, and she'd gaze at him with those lovely, brown eyes, and then he'd –

Arthur shook his head, forcefully pushing the images away as he felt a traitorous burn in his eyes. He quickly swiped a hand across his face.

Gwen was not there.

The prince heaved a sigh but then squared his shoulders and headed toward the Princess Bodil's chambers. There was nothing else he could do.

A young serving girl opened the door when he knocked, bowing slightly before silently ushering him into the outer room. The girl – barely in her teens – couldn't hide her disdain as her eyes gave him a quick once-over before she turned to alert her mistress.

Sudden nervousness rose up in Arthur and he shifted on his feet, reaching up to try and flatten his disheveled hair and brush some of the dust from his dull-brown tunic. Maybe he should have worn those finer clothes after all, hang his pride.

Bodil entered the room, dressed in a green, wool gown that accentuated her figure in all the right places, her hair done up around her head again in a mess of braids that would have put Morgana herself to shame. She glanced at Arthur and for just a moment he caught the flicker of slight confusion and disapproval that crossed her face, but it was only there for a breath before royal upbringing replaced it with a measured calm.

Yes, he very much should have worn the other clothes, he thought grimly. This was why he needed Merlin.

"Prince Arthur?" Bodil spoke pointedly, and Arthur realized that he'd just been standing there lost in thought.

"Oh…erm, yes. Princess. Princess Bodil. I'm…um…here." He mentally slapped himself. Curse his tongue and its inability to work properly! How could a woman be more unsettling than a battle?

"So you are," the Princess replied coolly. "Is there a reason behind your visit, perhaps?"

"Yes," he muttered, then cleared his throat and tried to bolster his nerves. "Yes, of course. Princess, if you would care to follow me."

He led her through the winding corridors and hallways back to his personally crafted lunch nook. He only had to backtrack once when he went left and should have gone right, and he was grateful she was gracious enough not to mention it.

They turned the last corner and he gestured grandly to his humble set-up. "I know it's not a formal banquet, but at least I got the chicken."

For a long moment, Bodil just stood there, her beautiful face unreadable, as usual. Arthur was beginning to suspect that no emotion was the standard for the princess of Tharennor. Maybe she was as cold as her frozen kingdom.

"Chicken?" she finally repeated, glancing at him with the first glimmer of real personality the prince had seen.

"Yes, of course," he replied, ushering her forward and helping her into a chair. "So we can begin the courtship properly." He circled around the crates-turned-table and took his own seat.

"What does a chicken have to do with us courting?" she returned, and she seemed so genuinely puzzled Arthur felt his insides start to squirm with the whispers of doubt even as he gestured the two young workers forward to begin serving the meal.

"Because you're always supposed to gift a chicke…well, that's what he told me…said it was what was done…"

Both her eyebrows climbed toward her hair.

The boy – Midge - poured a generous measure of wine into the single goblet they were to share and Arthur grabbed it, downing it as his ears began to burn. "I was informed by one of my…erm…knights, my lady," he finally tried again, "that no courtship could begin without the gift of a…a chicken."

The girl stared at him, her blue eyes not betraying anything. It was uncanny, the way she could do that, as though there was a constantly drawn, impenetrable veil between her real thoughts and the world. Finally, she blinked and looked away. Delicately, she picked up a fork and speared a small piece of meat. She chewed, carefully and thoroughly – swallowed – and then set the fork back down.

"So, this knight," she said after several long minutes. "Was he also the one that taught you to begin your first conversation with a girl by asking about the weather?"

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"I'm gonna kill him, Merlin. No question about it, we ever get out of here, Leon is dead. Single combat, to the death. Or forget that, maybe I'll just lop off his head."

Merlin grinned at Arthur's dramatics as he laid out the prince's supper. On the bed, said prince flopped over onto his back and pulled a pillow over his face. "I can't believe I actually thought what Leon told me when I was twelve was true! That you had to give a woman a chicken to start a courtship! I should have taken Gaius's advice instead."

Merlin set the goblet on the table with a clang to draw Arthur's eyes back out from under the pillow, then vigorously shook his head no. He'd sat through Gaius's courtship lecture himself, complete with detailed texts and diagrams.

"No, you're right. That would have been far worse, trying to charm her with the various properties of obscure flowers." Arthur groaned and flung his hands out to his sides closing his eyes.

Carefully, slowly, Merlin walked to the side of the bed. Thus far, Arthur had been so distracted by his disastrous first attempt at wooing the princess, he'd failed to notice the extreme pain his servant was trying to hide, something the boy intended to keep up. He tugged on his friend's sleeve to get his attention, then pointed at his clothes and wrinkled his nose skeptically.

"Yes, Merlin, as I have already told you, I really did wear these clothes to dine with the princess!"

Merlin shrugged, ignoring the pain the motion sent ripping through his back, and held up his hands. There's your problem.

The Crown Prince of Camelot chucked the pillow at his head.

Come on, prat, Merlin thought with a silent laugh, tugging a little harder at his friend's arm. Dinner.

Arthur rose and wandered to the table. While he ate and continued to rant about Leon, the Ice Princess Bodil, Leon, the stupid cold and snow and whole kingdom of Tharennor – plus Leon – Merlin closed the shutters and turned the bedding down for the night. Then he went to the wardrobe and extracted a new outfit, as shabby as the one Arthur was already wearing, just in case he couldn't get away to help his prince in the morning.

"Those are new."

Merlin started out of his thoughts and glanced up. Arthur was looking pointedly at the bandages wrapped around his feet. Self-consciously, Merlin shrugged and turned away, adding more wood to the fire for the night.

"Does it help?" his master asked, all teasing and jokes gone from his voice now, a resigned sadness in their place. Merlin looked up, caught Arthur's eyes that were so full of failure, and quickly nodded.

"Are you okay, Merlin?"

Merlin gave another vigorous nod, employing all his skills at hiding the truth, but still Arthur appeared skeptical.

"Where've you been these last two days? What have you been doing?"

Merlin stacked the last of the wood beside the fireplace, hoping it was enough to keep his friend warm through the night, brushed his hands on his trousers, then stood carefully, trying his best to make it look pain-free. Arthur held out his hand without prompting this time as Merlin stepped up to his side.

Tavern, Merlin wrote on his palm, flashing a grin.

"Ha!" Arthur barked, eyes lighting up as a real smile split his face for the first time in ages. "I knew it! I knew that's where you always go!" The prince reached up and ruffled his free hand through Merlin's grimy hair before shoving him playfully to the side. "Now, tell me the real truth. Where've you been?"

Chores, the boy answered quickly, knowing his friend wouldn't be sidetracked again, then pointed at the prince, turning the questions back to him.

"I've been wandering, exploring this castle, looking for a way out."

Merlin couldn't help the hopeful rise in his eyebrows, but Arthur shook his head. "No, nothing. I haven't found anything yet," he said and the boy's shoulder's slumped. "But I will. I'll never stop looking, and you should look, too, when you can. You probably have access to places they will never let me in," Arthur stood, stepping into the middle of the floor to pace, a nervous habit that somehow made Merlin feel just a little at home. "There has to be another way out of this castle and kingdom. No one has only exit – that's suicidal!"

I'll look, too! Merlin promised with his eyes, pointing at himself and nodding in the hopes that Arthur would understand. His mind was already busy thinking of the different places in the castle he'd been sent on chores but hadn't been given the time to fully explore. Because Arthur was right, there had to be a way out, and if there was one thing he'd learned in the last two years as a servant it was that contrary to popular royal belief, the servants usually knew more about the castle than their masters ever did.

"Thank you, Merlin. Just…don't get in trouble."

He shrugged absently as he started to gather up the remnants of Arthur's supper. He certainly didn't want to get caught, but he also really wanted to go home, so he wasn't going to make any promises that would curtail his efforts to help with that.

Arthur had hardly touched his food, and the heavenly scent of the pork and vegetables, boiled eggs and applesauce… It was making him lightheaded.

"I mean it, Merlin," Arthur pressed, continuing the conversation. The prince was suddenly back at Merlin's side, a hand on his aching shoulder that made the servant clench his teeth as Arthur spun the boy to face him. "You are to stay safe! This is not the time for your casual interpretation of orders!"

Merlin glared at his master. The starved-for-any-kind-of-human-goodness part of himself clung to the implied care, while his stubborn side had a small rush of annoyance, but mostly what Merlin felt was exhaustion, overwhelming hunger, and a growing nausea of pain as Arthur squeezed the lash marks on his shoulder without realizing it. He was trying to figure a graceful way out of the situation without making a promise he knew he couldn't keep, when his stomach let out a loud moan.

Arthur's eyes jerked down, then over to the leftovers, then up to Merlin's flushing face. An almost stricken look flashed through the prince's eyes before his posture went ridged and he glanced away.

And then the young man was shoving Merlin gently into the chair he'd recently left, sliding the barely-touched meal in front of him, and half-heartedly pushing his head down toward the food with a splayed hand.

"Eat, idiot," he ordered quietly, then stepped away to pace again, his actions suddenly much more silent and withdrawn.

Merlin didn't need to be told twice, pride long gone, but that didn't keep his ears from burning with shame.

Eventually, Arthur sighed and stopped his pacing, dropping into the other chair at the table and gazing off over Merlin's shoulder with troubled blue eyes. It was the look he got when he was thinking hard, making connections, having some kind of unwelcome epiphany, and Merlin did not need that right now. The prince had to be focused on the deadly political dance he'd been forced into, not worrying about a serv – no a slave, so the boy reached out and flipped his hand over.

Princess? he wrote, trying to distract his friend. What like?

It worked.

"I dunno. She was…blank," Arthur answered, his face scrunched up in confusion as though he couldn't quite find the word he wanted. "There was this one time, right at the beginning of the…whatever that thing was today…when I almost thought she was making a joke, but then it was gone."

As he listened, Merlin dug into the prince's untouched applesauce – Arthur hated applesauce – with gusto.

"She's…cold, aloof…"

Merlin reached out and captured one of Arthur's gesturing hands.

Trapped?

His friend paused, thinking. "Maybe. But it's more like she's…just holding everything back."

Merlin had only seen the princess once, on a night that ranked as one of the most stressful and humiliating of his life, but he had to agree with Arthur's assessment.

Evil? he asked next, cutting to the most important question. A threat?

Arthur thought for a moment before answering. "I don't know. I don't think so, but…I just don't know." He shook his head then pointedly pushed the bread Merlin hadn't gotten to yet a bit closer. "At any rate, she's about as warm as her frozen kingdom."

A log broke in the fireplace and Merlin's head snapped up, realizing just how long he'd been in Arthur's chambers. Alarmed, he stuffed the last of the bread into his mouth and then leapt to his feet, haphazardly stacking dishes back on the tray.

"I ran into Einar," Arthur suddenly said from behind him and Merlin nearly choked. He forced himself to chew and swallow as he reluctantly turned back around.

Did Arthur know what had happened? All this time? Had the knight told him about Merlin's punishment?

"He invited me to train with Tharennor's knights."

Merlin's aching shoulders sagged with relief and he turned back to his chores.

"On the one hand, I'm going to go spare without something else to do! And I do need to keep up my skills…"

The servant balanced the tray full of dishes on his unbranded arm before miming a rather rotund belly with the other hand, shooting Arthur a significant look.

"I am not fat, Merlin!" the man growled as Merlin laughed silently. Then he sighed. "But, you're not wrong. I won't be fighting fit for long if I'm not training. Still, I don't know if I should…."

Merlin had served Arthur and watched him training his knights for long enough to know what he wasn't saying. It wasn't just the physical danger of training with enemy soldiers Arthur had to worry about – it was the danger of giving away tactics and secrets that might be needed later in battle, the lost element of surprise and the unfamiliar.

But that also went both ways. For everything Arthur would be giving up, he would be learning their captors' weaknesses in turn.

And the other truth was irrefutable – Arthur would plunge deep into the depths of irritability and basically being a Not Nice Person to Be Around if he was forced to go for too long without some sort of prolonged, harmful-to-life-and-limb physical activity. Merlin set the tray with dishes down on the bed and came back over to Arthur, who stuck out his hand.

Train. Need to.

Be careful. Smart. Spy.

The more words he wrote, the slower he had to go to make sure that Arthur understood them all, but when he was finished, the prince caught his eye and nodded. Then, on impulse, Merlin traced out a few more words before he could stop himself.

Smack Basil and Gerard with swords, please.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Are they the ones…did they – ?"

Got to go, Merlin interrupted quickly and then dropped his friend's hand. He dumped the whole loaded tray into the basket he'd used to bring up firewood and then picked up the lot, slipping from the room and onto the stairs before Arthur could react.

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Merlin breathed a huge sigh once he shut Arthur's door and the prince was out of sight. For someone who currently couldn't speak, he'd sure said and given away far too much in there. The instant he was out of the room, however, the agony he'd been denying seemed to return tenfold. Shaking, he tripped down a few more steps, the pain he'd worked so hard to hide in his master's presence taking his breath away, but he barely made it to the room beneath Arthur's before he knew he was going to collapse. He stumbled inside, dropped his basket with a jumbled clank, and dropped to his knees before a dusty bench, where he let his head fall to the wood.

For a long time he just stayed there, arms clutching the wooden seat and chest heaving – willing the pain-induced nausea back under control and the food Arthur had given him to stay in his stomach.

Eventually, the pain receded slightly allowing the stomach-turning nausea to settle and he felt it was safe to carefully raise his head.

He was in some sort of old study. It had obviously been used as just another storeroom in the not-so-distant past, but one corner had a rickety desk shoved into it, and the walls were lined with shelves that still held ancient looking tombs and a lot of other curious and rather dodgy looking items.

Merlin untangled himself from the bench he'd been grasping like a life-line and haltingly climbed to his feet, his curiosity piqued despite his anguish. He stepped up to the closest shelf and pulled off a random book, skimming its contents. His eyes widened in shock.

It was a book of magic!

Quickly, he yanked another one off, paging to the middle. More words of magical knowledge met his eyes.

With a gasp, Merlin turned and really looked around, using both his eyes and his other senses. And then he felt it, in the back of his mind, the warm tingle and buzz, just like in Arthur's chambers.

This was a sorcerer's study! Or at least it had been, many years before.

The fact he could feel the magic, tickling at his mind and soul, made him pause, and he shuffled back to the bench and sank onto it, the books forgotten in his hands.

He felt better in this room – stronger somehow. His hurts pained him just a little less.

It was the same in Arthur's room, he realized now. It hasn't been quite as hard to hide his injuries there as it was elsewhere in the castle. He'd chalked it up to necessity – he had to keep his punishment from his master – but now he thought there might be more. The bits of leftover magic recognized his own and offered help.

Just because the collar cut him off from using his magic, didn't mean it wasn't still there inside of him.

Of course it was.

He'd suffered more hunger, brutality, and exhaustion in the last weeks than he'd thought was humanly possibly…

Was his magic helping him, even though it was trapped. Healing a bit, sending out trickles of strength, sustaining when there was absolutely nothing else left? Was it his magic making it possible for him to keep clinging to life, keep slaving away when he should by rights roll over and die?

Was he grateful?

He honestly couldn't answer that last question.

Merlin glanced back down at the books he was unconsciously clinging to.

They'd shut off his magic, but not his brain. Just because he couldn't actively use the power that flowed through his veins, didn't mean he stopped understanding it. And not everything in sorcery required actual power to be useful.

With renewed determination, Merlin labored back to his feet. He dumped the books in his hands into the basket, hiding them beneath Arthur's dirty dishes, then picked up his load with a silent groan.

Both Gaius and his mother had always assured him that knowledge was power. Well maybe the key to their escape and survival could be found in the musty pages of these forgotten books of magic. At the very least, it couldn't hurt to look.

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For a long time after Merlin had left, Arthur stood there staring at the door, his thoughts in turmoil.

Merlin was hungry – starving was more like it – and in great pain. Arthur had been a warrior his whole life, he knew the look of a man hiding his agony behind pride and determination.

And the way his servant had looked at Arthur's leftovers…and how long it had actually taken the prince to notice.

Arthur slumped over to his bed and sank down on the edge of it, his head falling forward into his hands.

That wasn't the worst bit, though. It was the sudden moment of clarity Arthur had been given when he'd finally noticed and insisted the boy eat.

That aura – of hunger and hidden agony and quiet suffering…

It wasn't new! It had shrouded his servant many times in the past, long before they were ever dragged to this nightmare. Never to this extreme, but still. This was not the first time Merlin had been in pain and hid that fact from him! Not the first time he'd been hungry! And that knowledge – that sudden understanding – it was like an actual blow to Arthur.

The prince reluctantly thought back to the fiasco that had set this whole mess in motion – the missing cloak pin and his rash accusations. He'd instantly assumed Merlin had stolen the pin because he needed it, because he was hungry and cold and unable to make ends meet.

But what did that actually say about Arthur; who was responsible for paying said servant a living wage?

The younger man was skinny as a stick, everyone knew that, but was there an actual reason Merlin was a lightweight? Was Merlin often hungry, stomach growling as he stoically served Arthur at feasts and grand parties?

Did he shiver in the cold not because he had the constitution of a maiden but because he honestly had no warm clothes?

Could he and Gaius always afford wood for a fire at night?

Was he always exhausted and falling asleep because his own master worked him too hard?

Shame flooded Arthur, pouring in on top of the guilt and deep worry he was already nursing.

Had he been turning a blind eye to the needs of his friend because it was just easier that way, it was just how things were? A part of him must have noticed for the idea to jump so quickly to his mind when the pin had gone missing, and yet he'd never had a follow-up thought of his part in it all until just that moment, when his friend who'd been made a slave, had gazed longingly at his half-eaten left overs.

He'd spent days cursing Alfhild and Tharennor for what they'd done to Merlin, the agony and misery they continued to inflict on the boy – but what of Arthur's own guilt?

Because he understood something now.

Arthur believed that Camelot was the best place on earth, the grandest kingdom and he did honestly try to be a just and worthy prince, live up to his role. He loved his home and his people.

But even in Camelot, Merlin had suffered and been hurt, and been afraid to tell his master.

Even in Camelot, Merlin had been cold and alone.

Even in Camelot, the heart of Arthur's beloved kingdom, Merlin had been hungry and exhausted.

And Arthur had never even noticed.

Why had Merlin never told him?

"You shouldn't need to be told to think of someone other than yourself; you're not a child."

Gwen's rebuke from many months ago suddenly rang in his ears again, stinging harshly. She'd told him, bravely spoken some hard truths he hadn't wanted but needed to hear.

And he'd listened – for all of two days – and then gone blithely back to his comfortable and privileged ways.

It had taken seeing Merlin reduced to slavery for him to remember.

For many hours, long into the night, Arthur just sat there, the failure burning deep into his soul. If he could so quickly forget the honest advice of the woman he loved, miss how much the man he considered to be his best friend was suffering in his own home, what kind of prince and leader was he? How many of his people were in need while the royals sat happily in their white citadel and ate their feasts?

Author's Note: "Destiny and chicken" is probably one of the best loved lines in the Merlin fandom, but as I was trying to write Arthur starting this fake courtship, it occurred to me that Arthur is really very terrible at wooing ALL the time. And he seems to have a strange fixation on chicken, because he tries the same chicken trick on Gwen as well. Anytime he tries to do anything romantic without Merlin's help, there's chicken. So, what if that's because he thought it was needed? And then bang, this happened.

I should also probably apologize to Sir Leon, who I threw under the bus. Sorry, Leon.