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Previously

Just bring it on, he thought rebelliously, try and do something, anything; I will expose you as the monster you are, have you thrown in the dungeons and be recognized as a hero. And meanwhile…There he smiled. Meanwhile, he would enjoy being served by the boy.

Chapter 4: The Tournament

He took it back – there was certainly nothing enjoyable in being served by a half-witted incompetent. Merlin had been his manservant for exactly three days and already he had managed to be late seven times (and even to make Arthur late once, for a meeting with his father no less), the quick mind of a stable boy was the only reason his favourite mare hadn't escaped from the stables where Merlin had let her with her door slightly open "so she wouldn't feel so uncomfortable" and Arthur had troubles remembering it was actually possible, and even expected, to eat food in the middle of the day that was more than half-heartedly tepid.

Had the situation been any different, he'd have insisted long ago on getting the boy another reward for saving his life and hiring an actual servant, rather than this pathetic excuse for one; as it was, Arthur had already had to restrain himself from doing precisely this several times, in spite of the fact he should have considered the circumstances allowing him to monitor the boy closely as a godsend rather than the curse they felt like.

He really wasn't looking forward to being "assisted" by Merlin on the tournament tomorrow…

The sorcerer – and how strange it was to think of the dullard this way, but Arthur supposed it was the whole point, magic wasn't supposed to be obvious, it was nothing but trickeries and cowardice – was indeed as inefficient in this as in anything else, and Arthur winced as Merlin tried to readjust his armour, pinching his skin between two slates of metal for the third time since the beginning of the fiasco. Was he doing this on purpose? Made furious by the thought, he pushed the boy away and violently told him off, ordering him to go and ask for anyone else to come and replace him, assuring him the first come kitchen boy would manage better than him – savagely glad when the insolent flinched a little at the unexpected ferocity of his words.

Facing his first opponent with a scowl on his features, he had no trouble at all getting in the proper mindset to start thrusting his sword out with killer intent; it made for an easy victory. The boy was of some use in this then, at the very least.

The next day he half-expected Merlin not to show up or at least to scamper off when came the time to be buckled in his armour, but the boy surprised him both times. The fitting actually went rather smoothly, and Arthur was immediately suspicious, keeping his eyes set on the boy's whenever he could to check for the slightest hint of golden. The only thing his scrutiny revealed, however, was a furious concentration that might have been considered…endearing by someone who didn't know what he knew. Annoyed by his own thoughts, Arthur brusquely addressed his manservant:

"Who taught you this?"

Merlin had the cheek to raise his eyebrows at him, and Arthur had the inane thought that he'd perhaps have rather enjoyed the boy's confident attitude if he hadn't known it was born from possessing magic. It was certainly different than the usual subservient obedience he got from most servants.

"Gwen showed me yesterday." At Arthur's incredulous look, Merlin developed a bit more. "Morgana's maid?"

"I know who she is. Doesn't explain why a girl had to show you how it's done."

"Well she was the only person I felt I could ask, apart from Gaius who said he hadn't the faintest idea. Got very lucky though, she turned out to be the blacksmith's daughter – at first I thought all girls knew how to do this kind of stuff in Camelot."

The daughter of the blacksmith, right, he remembered now. Arthur concentrated on his relief at hearing Guinevere hadn't been taught how to attach an armour perfectly by a Morgana intent on continuing her sword training far beyond what was expected of a King's Ward, firmly ignoring the voice telling him he was actually the one supposed to show Merlin how it was done, or the slight uncomfortable feeling hearing the boy had had no one else to turn to had provoked in him – it was only normal, after all. Perhaps there was something intangible in his magic that made people regard him with unconscious suspicion. Arthur had certainly felt instinctual aversion for him.

The tournament had gone well, but then things had taken a turn for the worse, of at least for the decidedly bizarre. He had won, of course, unwillingly smiling – no, smirking – when he heard Merlin's distinctive voice cheering as he daringly felled his opponent. Sir Oswald had won as well, and so had two strangers to Camelot, an enigmatic warrior carrying two curved swords of the likes Arthur had never seen before and the much-talked about Knight Valiant.

And therein lied the problem. Because a few hours after the end of the day's fights, his warlock of a manservant had burst into his room, holding a strange snake's head in his hand and claiming Sir Owain had been poisoned in his fight against Valiant, yet starting to stutter as soon as Arthur asked him just how he had acquired this startling trophy.

Arthur had rebuked him, of course. He didn't know what the sorcerer had in mind, but this was obviously part of the nefarious plan Arthur had been waiting for. He considered going to the King immediately with the snake's head Merlin had left him with, but he still wasn't sure of what exactly had transpired. Had Merlin awoken the snakes on Valiant's shield? If so, why would he do so against Owain? Was he looking to accuse one knight and to kill another? Had the men done anything the boy's mind, twisted with magic, would consider a reason to attack them?

He resolved to put all of this out of his mind for the time being and to simply be on his guard the next day, but still went to bed troubled, the picture of his manservant's eyes as he begged Arthur to just trust him flashing intermittently in his mind.

For a little while, Arthur felt absolutely triumphant. He had seen everything, seen the boy's eyes as they flashed golden just before the snakes awoke on his opponent's shield, seen Valiant's genuine look of surprise, an unnecessary confirmation that the knight had nothing to do with this. He had cut off the snakes' heads with the sword Morgana had thrown at him and already started to prepare his speech on how he had unmasked Merlin's treachery.

And then he had turned to face Valiant and the knight had raised his sword once more, shattering all his certitudes in a few rapid words. Clearly ready to fight, he had nonetheless tried to bribe Arthur and Uther to let him survive, offering to let them know where the small community of sorcerers he had bought the shield to could be found.

Everything went by too quickly afterwards; Sir Owain awoke, apparently cured by the antidote Gaius had managed to brew using the venom of the head his apprentice had severed, and readily testified about Valiant ordering one of the snakes to strike him. Naively hoping to escape with his life intact, Valiant confessed to everything, though he insisted he couldn't explain why the snakes had come alive so early against Arthur.

Merlin was in the court room, on the far right as was proper, in Arthur's direct line of sight – but he wouldn't meet Arthur's eyes.

Arthur regained his chambers as soon as he could, relieved to hear the banquet thrown in his honour would be delayed to the morrow, because he knew perfectly well why the snakes had come alive when they had. And perhaps it made him squirm just the tiniest bit to think about what-might-have-beens – if he had listened to Merlin, if they had accused Valiant of sorcery together, if they had waited for Owain to wake so he could corroborate their story…

Those thoughts were nonsense. For all he knew the boy had planned everything, trying to ingratiate himself further with Arthur. He should be glad he had managed to foil the sorcerer's plans so completely – after all, no one knew Merlin had done anything to help him, and no one ever would; Merlin couldn't claim he had had a part in this without being condemned to death for it.

As he thought, he decided to forgo his evening meal and prepared for bed alone, even half-heartedly folding his dirty clothes before putting them on a chair rather than dropping them in a corner like he usually did. Merlin hadn't come by, and Arthur couldn't even pretend he was relieved.

To Arthur's surprise, Merlin still hadn't quit; he was there the next morning, not even late, unusually silent. Arthur kept even his mildest remarks for himself because the boy still wouldn't look at him in the face, but the abnormal tension between them soon became intolerable, and he found himself reacting to it the only way he knew how: aggressively.

"We're going to practice sword-fighting. Go and find our equipment."

Merlin visibly gulped, and yes, alright, maybe he had been slightly too harsh the last time he had trained with him. Certainly the sheer number of blows his manservant's head had received would have kept it ringing for the rest of the day. He resolved to at least pretend to teach him the basics this time; after all, what he had then told Merlin was true, most servants crumpled after the first blow, so perhaps he wasn't totally useless with a sword after all.

Never mind that; Merlin couldn'twield a sword to save his life. Which he actually didn't need to do, considering he had his magic to fall back on. For the first time, Arthur felt more curiosity than disgust at this thought; what exactly could his apparently-helpless adversary do to him? How had he learnt magic? More importantly, why?

He was brutally shaken out of his thoughts by a third sword clashing with his own. He automatically stepped back and assumed a defensive position, surprised and yet not to find Sir Kay smiling at him.

"Just trying to make sure the fight was slightly more equitable, my lord!" The knight exclaimed with his customary good humour and lightness of spirit. Merlin let a small laugh of surprise escape as Arthur silently regrouped and started fighting against both men instead of protesting, and the Prince had to firmly repress a smile of his own even as he parried a daring blow from the knight fighting him.

In the end, Arthur acknowledged, it had been a good exercise all-around. Merlin's stance still looked pretty pathetic, but fighting alongside Kay, with the knight always ready to let him find his equilibrium again or to block a blow meant for him, had allowed him to try hitting without the hesitation that was most beginners' curse when training against someone with a higher level. Kay was learning to fight while protecting someone weaker than he was, an essential skill for any knight, and Arthur was facing two adversaries, one highly-skilled and the other highly-unpredictable.

He also acknowledged that the exercise had served its original purpose: the air between his manservant and him, as they both breathlessly took off their hauberks and let their eyes meet for the first time in two days, was definitively clearer.

What he refused to admit was that it also was the most fun he'd had in ages.

Life after that was almost simple; Merlin remained pretty incompetent, but he also was always good for a laugh. It still boggled his mind to think he was actually being served by a sorcerer, so he tried not to think too much about it, and it was in fact remarkably easy; Merlin hadn't done anything suspicious since the tournament and Arthur had been tempted more than once to convince himself he had imagined the whole thing.

It lasted about a week.

Then the plague came to Camelot.