"Change your clothes," Arthur says, which is, in his opinion at least, a very logical and reasonable and rational thing to say, especially since Merlin looks like he just got run over by every warhorse in the royal stables, then sent to the bottom of a mucky lake to retrieve a sewing needle, then magically dueled a few dozen sorcerers at once—which, all right, actually, you know what, Arthur could kind of believe Merlin really did do all that, when he stops to think about it, but that's not the point, because the point is, today's the day he lifts the ban on magic, and everyone finally finds out what Merlin's done for the kingdom, and if Merlin's going to be standing there in front of the entire court, he can't stand there looking like—like that.

Merlin blinks, and looks down at himself, like he thinks he turned invisible in the last five minutes, or maybe just forgot he had a physical body at all. "What? What's wrong with my clothes?" He reaches up and pats out the small, smoldering fire on his jacket sleeve.

Arthur plucks a strand of hay from Merlin's dark, tangled hair. And then a leaf. And then another leaf. And then a twig. "Nothing, if you're planning on spending the rest of the day mucking out the stables."

Merlin swats lightly at Arthur's hand with the back of his own. "Mm. No. Can't say I was." A spark sizzles loudly on his jacket, and he pats at his sleeve again. "I did promise Gaius I'd see to the leech tank today, though," he wrinkles up his nose, "so I may be a little late with your lunch, and also, we're running low on willow and comfrey and chamomile, so I might as well—"

"Merlin," Arthur says, and he hopes to God the idiot's just joking with him, just playing one of his stupid tricks, because absolutely anything will be better than the alternative, "you do remember what today is, right?"

"Tuesday," Merlin says promptly.

"No," Arthur says. There's a definite sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach now. Oh, God, this isn't a joke. Merlin forgot. Merlin actually forgot.

"Wednesday," Merlin says.

"No," Arthur says.

Merlin wrinkles his brow.

"Merlin," Arthur says, seriously, "today is the day I lift the ban on magic."

"Oh!" Merlin's eyes go round as the plates in the palace kitchens. "Oh, God!"

"You forgot!"

"Oh, I am—" Merlin actually wrings his hands. "—I am so sorry—"

"You actually forgot!"

"I said I was sorry!"

"Yes," Arthur says, acidly, "of course, because that makes it all better, that you forgot—"

The door opens, and Guinevere steps inside, long silk dress sweeping along the scrubbed stone floor with a soft, whispering swish, her curly dark hair falling in elegant wisps around her small, delicate face. "Arthur?" She peers, a bit hesitantly, into the spacious, sunlit room. "Everyone's waiting on you and Merlin, what on earth's keeping—?"

Guinevere sees Merlin. She closes her eyes. "Oh, Merlin," she sighs, "can't you at least change your clothes?"

Merlin picks a leech off his trousers. "Why?" he says. "There's nothing wrong with my clothes."

Notes: Merlin is a Disaster and Arthur and Gwen are just trying to save him from himself dfgbhgfgbhgfvb