I am so, so, so sorry. There is no excuse. Half of this has been sitting on my computer for months, and the other half I just wrote today. I hope this somewhat makes up for it?

Day 183

Exactly half a dizzying year after becoming Arthur Pendragon's manservant—or as close to exact as a year could be split in half—Camelot had a feast. Not for his benefit, obviously. It just so happened that this anniversary coincided with Yuletide.

This was the first major feast since the one where Nimueh had poisoned him, and Merlin was more than a little wary. Sure, the cunning sorceress had been quiet for months, but she wasn't the only one who could cause trouble.

Even Arthur seemed to pick up on his anxious mood. "Just for the record," he said while Merlin clumsily laced up the back of one of his nicer, lesser-used tunics, "if you see anyone spiking anything, do what you do best and knock into me while I'm holding it. It's easier to make you clean my shirt that to hire a manservant because my old one's not clever enough to spot a poison without drinking it himself."

"Good job I'm not," said Merlin, pulling the laces extra tight, "or you'd be dead."

The one perk to the Yuletide feast was that Merlin, while still at Arthur's beck and call, was technically a guest as well. This was the one night of the year when every citizen of Camelot was welcomed into the castle walls for fine dining. This of course meant that there had been absolute chaos in the kitchens for the past week—Arthur had even let slide some of the more ridiculous chores so Merlin could help the cooks—but Gwen swore up and down that it was worth it. She'd gone starry-eyed at the prospect of spending the night however she liked. Merlin wondered a bit jealously if she hoped Lancelot might make an appearance.

It all started off fairly boringly. Uther gave an obligatory welcoming speech, there was an obligatory round of applause, and everyone sat and ate and talked, except for the personal servants, who still had a bit of work to do before they were free.

The castle would have been freezing if not for the abundance of body heat, Merlin thought, scanning the unusually large crowd. As it was, it was almost warm.

"Would you watch what you're doing?" Arthur snapped, drawing Merlin's attention back to the goblet of wine he was pouring. The goblet in question had begun to brim over without him noticing.

"Just making sure I don't have to fill it anytime soon," he said cheekily. "I know how you like your drink."

Arthur batted him away. Merlin abandoned him gratefully, noticing with a roll of his eyes that Arthur had shooed him away in favor of chatting up a pretty lady who'd wandered to his table. Completely by chance, Merlin was sure.

"Morgana's given me permission to leave her," piped Gwen's bright voice in his ear. He turned to catch her grinning at him, her hair for once loose at her shoulders. He smiled back involuntarily. "I'm surprise Arthur let you off so early."

Merlin waved a hand to where the lady was leaning none too subtly over the table in front of the prince, tossing her blonde hair and giggling profusely. Her high-pitched laugh was probably audible halfway to Northumbria.

"I'm not sure what's wrong with her," he said. "Nothing Arthur says is that funny."

Gwen giggled. At least when she did it, it was genuine.

It turned out there was a fun time to be had at big events where Merlin wasn't required to stand behind Arthur in ridiculous outfits. Gwen introduced him to some of her friends from the lower town and the villages, who in turn introduced him to the luxury of drinking non-fatal alcohol at royal feasts. The drinks made him feel warm and bubbly inside, and he found himself laughing more freely, speaking louder, brushing his arm against Gwen's on purpose just to see her blush prettily and pretend not to notice.

"Look at us, mate!" one of the boys they were sitting with, Thomas, laughed, nudging his friend Doran next to him. "Drinking with the two most privileged servants in Camelot! Personal attendants of the prince and the royal ward themselves. What I'd give to be Lady Morgana's servant..." His face took on a dreamy look.

"A man can't serve a lady!" Gwen laughed. "It isn't done! Not that my lady usually minds what is and isn't done, but the king would have your head for even suggesting it."

Doran snorted. "The king would have anyone's head just 'cause he didn't like the way it looked attached to their shoulders. He's horrid, him. Him and that prick he calls his son."

Merlin frowned. "Arthur's not that bad." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop and consider if he really meant them. After all, Arthur did shout at him a lot, and occasionally he threw things, and when he was feeling particularly bitter he knew how to give the cold shoulder so profoundly that Merlin could almost feel himself withering away under the sheer contempt.

On the other hand, Arthur had faced a sorceress and his father's wrath to bring Merlin a magical flower, and he smiled sometimes, so maybe he deserved a little defending.

"Are you joking?" Doran spluttered disbelievingly, waving his hands so enthusiastically he nearly knocked over his mead. "Have you seen them, standin' on that balcony over beheadings and burnings and hangings like it's fun for them? Raising taxes when no one can afford 'em in the first place? The prince is almost worse, strutting round in the market like he's better than everyone else, just because he's got people to lick his boots clean for him—"

"I definitely don't 'lick his boots clean,'" Merlin cut across him hotly, suddenly angrier than he probably had a right to be, considering he'd thought the exact same things about the prince when they'd first met. Doran looked startled, like he'd forgotten that he was in fact talking to Arthur's personal manservant. "You know what? I should probably be checking up on His Royal Highness anyway."

He stood up quickly. Gwen's eyes were wide and she made a grab for his wrist, but he hurried away before she could try to make him stay. He heard a pleading, "Oh, Merlin, don't mind—" before he was too far away to catch the rest.

Thankfully the giggly lady from earlier had vanished, and instead Arthur had his head in his hand, listening to two aging lords with obvious boredom. The glaze in his eyes disappeared when he caught sight of Merlin. "Ah, there you are!" he exclaimed, sitting up straight. "Merlin, these men were just saying how displeased they are with their quarters! My lords, please allow my personal manservant to escort you to new accommodations. Somewhere in the east wing would do, I think."

"But it's Yuletide!" Merlin protested. "I thought I was—"

"Now, Merlin," Arthur said warningly, and Merlin glared at the prince for pawning the two men off on him when he was supposed to be allowed a night to himself. But the lords were looking at him expectantly, and what else could he really do? He didn't think Arthur would ever have him beaten—unless of course he found out about his magic—but these men might. There was no telling with nobles.

"Yes, Your Highness," Merlin said with feigned politeness. It wouldn't fool Arthur, but it might go over the heads of the two lords. "Right this way, My Lords." He glanced back at Gwen's table and caught her looking at him. He shrugged in what he hoped she would interpret as an apologetic manner before he led the two nobles from the hall.

It was eerily quiet in the corridors once the doors closed behind them, cutting off the all-consuming roar of hundreds of people dining, talking, and laughing all at once. Merlin hadn't realized just how loud it was until he had left it. The dull thrumming in his body from the mead felt less pleasant now that he was out of the celebratory atmosphere.

"This way," he told the nobles, gesturing to the right. "Follow me."

"A servant's proper place is behind his superiors," the older of the lords sniffed.

"Yes," Merlin said, "but you don't know where you're going. Follow me." He turned his back on both of them so he wouldn't have to be irritated by the looks on their faces, which were no doubt appalled that a servant was speaking to them like that. He probably should learn to hold his tongue, but that was something he could work on at a time when he wasn't slightly inebriated.

He walked at a brisk pace, trying to distance himself from the lords as much as possible. He heard them talking behind him and tried to tune out their endless complaints about the feast and the castle in general, but their voices carried, as they apparently did not think it mattered if a simple servant heard them insulting every inch of his home.

"...And the arrangement, simply awful. There was hardly room to breathe in that hall, though of course no arrangement in the world could have rectified that, there were simply too many peasants. What a dreadful tradition, allowing street filth to intrude on the privileges of nobility—though this so-called palace is hardly adequate for true nobility—"

"Too right, and the food! Ghastly! One could almost taste the lack of effort, though of course not literally, since one would be hard put to find any sort of flavor in that sorry portion. My horse could prepare a finer meal."

Merlin clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides. The last time he had been this angry with someone's behavior, he had tried to punch that someone in the face. While these men probably did not have Arthur's reflexes, Merlin knew the consequences for trying to hit a noble included jail and rotten fruit; he did not want to know the consequences for succeeding. It wasn't far to the room, he could keep his cool, he could—

"...And the prince, God above, have you ever met anyone so empty-headed?"

Merlin stopped dead, which was just as well, because they had arrived at the guest rooms that he was fairly sure were still unoccupied, which meant his job was done. He put his hand on the door handle and stared hard at it, trying to calm himself down before he did anything rash. Just open the door, Merlin, just say something vaguely polite and leave—

"I've met the boy before at a tournament some years ago. I had hoped the years would have improved his intelligence, but it seems there is little room in his head for anything beyond swords and pretty women. I was frankly appalled by how he drooled over Lady Jessamine at the feast—I fear her virtue may be in danger if she ventures too close to him again, since the only brain that man has seems to be in his—"

"ENOUGH!" Merlin bellowed, spinning around to face them. He heard something shatter nearby, but he ignored it. "You really don't know the meaning of the word 'empty-headed,' do you, you mindless, ungrateful, privileged, pampered boars. You are in a palace being waited on hand and foot by people who have about a thousand and one better things to do than cook you two breakfasts because the first wasn't suitable enough and relocate you to a different but basically identical room because the feather-down pillows in yours aren't quite thick enough to prop up your over-large heads just the way you like it! I'm sorry that the week the entire population of Camelot's servants spent preparing a meal for hundreds of its citizens, including those who don't have fancy titles and pretentious names, was not good enough for your particular palates! But while I apologize thoroughly for these terrible inconveniences, I will have you know that Arthur Pendragon is not some dumb animal panting after the most obnoxious women in your kingdom. He is a brave warrior, he cares about every one of his subjects, including the 'streeth filth' who are only different from you because their ancestors didn't manipulate, kill, or bribe enough people to become nobility, and he is one hundred times the man either of you could ever dream to be!"

The jail door swung open, and the loud creaking of the hinges made Merlin wince. He sat up slowly, his whole body stiff from the hard stone floor, his head pounding even harder than it had the morning after Lancelot's knighting ceremony. A stone-faced Arthur walked in, and Merlin winced again.

"Do you have any idea," Arthur said, "how difficult it was to convince my father to let you go?"

"I—"

"Lord Montague wanted you hanged for your insolence," Arthur continued, speaking right over him. "Lord Walter disagreed. He thought you ought to be stoned, though I did explain we do not do that here."

"Well—"

"Lady Jessamine," Arthur said, raising his voice, "was somehow made aware of your ramblings, and she has made it clear that she is going to be telling her father—who, by the way, is richer than the entire kingdom of Camelot combined—all about the inhospitality of Camelot. She too thought a good stoning was not out of the question."

Merlin swallowed. This was it. No one had even found out about his magic, and still he was going to be fired, possibly banished, and at least three nobles were baying for his execution. His mother was probably going to strangle him when she found out, or the dragon would fry him for screwing up his destiny this badly—

Suddenly Merlin became aware of something. Arthur was... laughing.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

Arthur shook his head, clearly amused. "Truly, Merlin, I have never been happier to see someone get their due that way. I would have given the throne to Morgana to be there myself when it happened, but just to hear them rave about it—I suppose I should thank you, since half your argument seemed to be about how much better I was than they are. I never knew you cared."

"Starting to regret that comparison," Merlin said, though despite the fact that he would probably never live this down, it was a huge relief that Arthur was the opposite of mad.

As if reading his mind, Arthur said, "Oh, I'm still furious with you. You've caused diplomatic hell. Father practically had to sell my hand in marriage to Lady Jessamine to apologize. Fortunately, she had already made enough of a show of being insulted that she had to act like it would be demeaning. As it is, I don't think we'll be seeing those three or any of their lot around here soon—which is fine with me, but Father is not pleased. I told him you were more useful if you weren't in jail, though, and I swore I would give you the most unpleasant chores I could come up with. I believe my exact words were 'he'll wish I'd left him in jail.'"

"And you were lying to appease him?" Merlin said hopefully.

"He's the king, Merlin. It's treason to lie to the king. Up you get, you're going to be mucking out every horse stall in the kingdom."

Merlin groaned and lay back down on the floor. "I take back everything I said," he mumbled against the stone. "I was drunk and it doesn't count. You are the absolute worst person in the world. And I never denied it when Lord Stuffy said you were unintelligent."

"Careful, hanging is still an option," Arthur said cheerfully. "Now go on and get out of here before I change my mind and leave you to rot. Oh, and while you're working, be sure to compile a list of other qualities you admire in me. I expect an ode before bed tonight." He left, and Merlin wished with all his might that he ran into Walter, Montague, or Jessamine. Merlin didn't know what had come over him, defending Arthur like that, but when he talked about Arthur to the horses later, the words he used were definitely not going to be kind.

Next: Arthur's bad mood sends Merlin reeling.