Arthur tensed when the door opened.
He was waiting. Waiting for the cold sword of his manservant's revenge to fall upon his neck.
He didn't think it was quite fair to have to wait, to be honest. He had just been playing around, being a bit rough, picking on his friend, letting off steam. He hadn't meant for Merlin to fall, for the armor to slice his lip. Blood hadn't been meant to flow.
It had been as near an apology as Arthur had ever given, too. But it was too late; he had seen the cold look in Merlin's eyes. He knew payback was coming; his recently overwrought manservant had been in just the right mood for it.
George walked in, to Arthur's immediate confusion.
"Where is Merlin?" Arthur asked.
George bowed. "I regret to inform you, Sire, that Merlin has taken ill today. Nothing serious, the physician says, but he will be unable to properly serve you today."
Arthur was confused. Getting sick? He had been expecting revenge. How was getting sick Merlin's revenge?
Then George said, "Merlin has asked me, as a personal favor, to serve you today… I shall do my best, Sire."
Arthur's eyes went wide.
That son of a…