Four

* ͡ ͼ ͜ ٭ϿϾ٭ ͜ ͽ ͡ *

With a slow exhale through his nose, Arthur propped his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands over his mouth. He took up a great interest in the wood grain, though as much as he stared at it, he did not really see it.

His investigations were getting him nowhere. The two prime suspects could be discounted, which was incredibly inconvenient as he had been so absolutely certain that it was one/both of them. As lucky as he had been thus far in Merlin's frequent sojourns to the tavern being solo affairs, he quietly admitted to himself (and only himself) that he lived in fear of the day Gwaine finally managed to lure Merlin off on one of his own torrid benders.

With Merlin as his accomplice, the Royal smalls drawer would never be secure from Gwaine's eager interference again. Taking Merlin's keys away, or hiding them had proved fruitless in the past. He had a knack for getting into the locked. One had to wonder what the point was in giving him keys in the first place*. One day, Arthur determined, he would find out how Merlin did it.

"Arthur?" Gaius' cool, reasonable voice cut through the King's internal ranting, reminding him that the man was in actual fact there. "If I may?"

The ever psychic Court Physician had stopped by to offer a calming draught, aware that the King was probably embarking on a rampage of some kind, angry, murderous or both, and felt the need to stay and see if it had the desired effect. Strangely, Arthur felt more like he was being kept an eye on than anything else. Why, he couldn't fathom. Still, Gaius was sitting opposite him, watching him closely. So he gave one of his 'proceed' nods.

Gaius obeyed. "Perhaps you ought to try and forget about the painting for the time being and relax? It has been defaced. Nothing can change that."

"It looks ridiculous, Gaius."

"Yes." Gaius fell silent a moment, tilting his head in careful consideration of his next words. "But it is still a marvellous painting. Very skilfully done."

"So I should hang it on the wall and use it as a talking point during feasts? I would be a laughing stock!" Arthur slapped his hands down on the table and set his jaw, delivering a vicious glare across the room at the offending painting where it sat leaning against the wall. Facing the wall. So he didn't have to look at its unashamed and continued mockery. "The only thing I am going to do with it is have it cut up for kindling. Then burn it. Slowly. Nobody is going to see it, or pass comment on it ever again."

"Yes, Sire." There was a slight note of amusement in Gaius' tone that set the King's teeth on edge.

Arthur's nostrils flared. "Do not laugh, Gaius."

Contrary to the reactions of most men to an order from their King, Gaius allowed his smirk to become visible. "It is perhaps a little amusing, Arthur. Someone went to a lot of effort. You have to admire their dedication."

If one believed that the Royal chambers were infested with woodworm as Merlin seemed determined they were whenever he felt the sudden desire to go through Arthur's private things, then one could also believe that the steady grinding sound filling the air was the industrious burrowing of the little creatures, rather than the King's teeth. Gaius was normally quite careful not to be self-delusional, however.

He was also a rather brave individual in some respects, and it was really quite difficult to be intimidated by the King of Camelot when your first memory of him involved holding him upside down naked while he wailed. So Gaius went on.

"As for becoming a laughingstock, I have it on good authority that the painting is the talk of the citadel-"

The grinding increased in pace and volume.

"- Your sense of humour is the toast of the nobility."

Arthur started, his jaw stilling. "You what?"

"They have been toasting your joke all morning. Apparently the ability to laugh at oneself among friends is a desirable quality in a King. After all, how can one rule fairly, when one cannot recognise their own flaws?"

Was he serious? Arthur hardly dared to believe it. "And the Guilds?"

"Found the workmanship of the piece to be of the highest quality. Nobody has ever seen anything of its kind before."

Everyone had taken it as a joke? Arthur blinked, stunned. A joke that he had orchestrated himself? And they were impressed? That beggared belief. He scanned Gaius' face, looking for any hint that the man was himself joking, but found none. He was deadly serious.

What's more, it was a well-received joke?

That was... both ridiculous, and more than he could have ever hoped for. How could anyone think that he planned this himself?

"I believe that the Knights have been propagating the story." Gaius explained, "And Merlin's dedication to keeping the painting secret gave the impression that you had set him on the task. Everyone knows how loyal he is to you."

That actually made sense.

Without his realising, Arthur began to relax. The tension dropped out of his shoulders and he raised one hand to worry at his lip with thoughtless fingertips. Not for the first time he found himself appreciating the wisdom of his choice in Knights, and Merlin's almost absurd levels of loyalty. He really hadn't expected everyone to start bailing out his sinking ship, especially not without being told to do so. He was lucky to have them all. Even Gwaine.

In fact, this was excellent news! He had to convene his men and find out exactly what story they were putting about. Then all he had to do was go to the evening's feast and continue putting it about. His approach to Kingship was far removed from his father's, as everyone knew. Who was to say that pointing out his own flaws to the people was not a part of it? After all, there was nothing in the painting that indicated any weakness that could be taken advantage of by his enemies, was there?

His spirits lifted further. Maybe this whole thing could be salvaged after all?

Across the desk from him, Gaius appeared thoroughly relieved.

Preparations in the hall lasted long into the evening. People came and went on various errands and assignments until eventually only three maids remained. They appeared to be having problems hanging one of the freshly beaten curtains, and were taking an inordinate amount of time in solving it.

Merlin watched them intently from his seat on Arthur's throne. He ground the knuckles of one hand into his cheek, his elbow propped on the throne's armrest. It wasn't as though he hadn't offered to help them, but they had merely giggled at him and assured him that they were fine. That had been some time ago. Now he felt antsy and uncomfortable waiting for them to leave.

Everyone had to be away from the hall before his plan could be put into motion. Watching the slow and mistaken movements of the maids was agonising. They were probably as tired as he was, judging by the difficulty they were having. He would say that they should call it a night, and he would sort the curtain out himself. That would look suspicious, of course. The seldom used Great Hall curtains were at least a two man job to hang. They were enormous double-lined monstrosities of linen, velvet and silk and weighed pretty heavy. To do it by himself he would have to use magic, so at a loss, all he could do was wait.

Irritated, he ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath. Watching the girls over his fingertips, he found himself staring, willing them to just leave the damn curtain as it was and call it a night. Arthur wouldn't be particularly concerned with the state of the curtains anyway. It was highly unlikely that he would notice them at all, let alone make it his first order of business on entering the hall to march over and inspect them. Flowery garlands and colour-coordination was Gwen's territorial division, and she wasn't going to reprimand anyone for slightly imperfect curtain hanging. Why couldn't they just leave? All he wanted was privacy to abduct the painting. Was that too much to ask?

Throughout the course of the day, between assisting with the preparations, finally giving in and fielding questions from the trio of death and guarding the painting, he had fine-tuned his plan. Once everyone had gone, and he could act in secret, he would leave the hall himself, bidding the guards stationed outside goodnight as he did. Then he would fetch the wheelbarrow from the grain store and return to the hall via the side entrance. Then it was just a case of sneaking the painting through the halls and into the lower levels of the citadel where it would be stashed in the siege tunnels to be permanently disposed of at a later date. The painting would be presumed stolen, Arthur's dignity would remain intact, and sorrows could be drowned at the evening feast which would still take place if Arthur was quietly nudged towards it. Perfect.

If only those maids would scram.

"Merlin?"

His head snapped up, eyes wide in surprise to find Sefa looking back at him from the foot of the steps, a platter in her hand.

She would have looked uncertain, if not for the quirk of amusement on her face at finding him seated in the King's throne glaring 'evils' at three maids through his spread fingers. He felt a rash of heat creep slowly up the back of his neck. He must look a twit. He usually did when she was around.

When he did not answer, Sefa ascended the steps to offer him the platter.

"You must be hungry. I haven't seen you eat all day."

Oh yeah. Eating. He'd forgotten about that.

Merlin dropped his hands and straightened in his seat. "A bit."

Sefa managed a shy smile, and passed him the plate. "It's not much. Just what I could scrape together. And what the Queen could spare, of course."

Ah. Good old Gwen.

Stomach growling, Merlin took it eagerly. "Thanks.

Sefa watched him tuck in, observing him thoughtfully as his nimble fingers assassinated a chicken thigh. After a moment she gathered her skirts and took a seat on the floor, looking up at him with interest.

Merlin did not notice her regard, wrapped up in destroying his dinner. He really was starving. Amid all the rushing about and plan formulation he had forgotten to feed himself. Gaius would issue a stern lecture if he found out.

"Are... you going to sit here all night?"

He looked up, finding Sefa to be watching him curiously from the floor. "Mm?"

She gestured to the covered painting. "You've been keeping an eye on it all day. Aren't you going to get some sleep?"

He nodded, and returned to picking through his food. "When everyone's gone. Arthur wants it kept secret until the unveiling. If it's not then it'll be my fault. Somehow."

Sefa smiled, and fixed her eyes squarely on her lap. Her cheeks coloured as Merlin gave her one of those lovely bright grins of his and a chuckle.

"What?"

She shook her head lightly, and swallowed. "I hope they go away soon."

"Me too."

They shared a smile. Merlin offered her an apple from his plate.

Sefa remained for some time, the two of them chatting about various aspects of serving and Arthur's propensity towards flinging his clothes into any clear space, and Gwen's towards taking scrubbing brushes from Sefa and joining her maid in cleaning the chamber floors. By the time she left to take the platter back to the kitchens, Merlin felt perhaps a little bereft. It had been nice to have some company, other than the curtain obsessed maids.

He sunk down in the throne and threaded his fingers over his belly to resume staring. Why wouldn't they get the hint and just go to bed? Didn't they realise how late it was?

The very thought made him yawn.

Why did they have to be so dedicated to their job...?

His eyelids felt like lead. Sleepily, he blinked, and gave a wide yawn.

There was a figure in front of him, silhouetted by an aura of golden light. A figure with their hands on their hips, radiating a slightly hostile presence.

Merlin blinked harder, forcing his eyes open in alarm to find himself looking directly into Arthur's face.

His very unamused face which doubled as his explanation demanding face.

Oh dear.

"Good morning, Merlin. Sleep well?"

"Yes very comfortably." Came the automatic reply, out of Merlin's mouth before his brain could regulate it.

To his credit, Arthur merely nodded his be-crowned head. "Yes, I have always found my throne to be particularly comfortable."

Merlin tensed, his fingers tightening around the mahogany armrests. "Your throne?"

Arthur nodded.

Merlin paled. "Ah."

"Yes. I would quite like to sit in it, if that's alright with you?"

"Ah, yes, Sire." Merlin leapt to his feet, his vision swimming with white dots at the unwise move.

Twisting his lip, Arthur shoved him aside and took a seat. "How generous. Thank you."

With the return of his equilibrium, reality seemed to snap back into place around Merlin. Warm shafts of golden morning light poured in through the tall windows. Servants bustled about finalising the last little details and rolling out the red carpet down the centre of the hall.

His stomach knotting, Merlin looked to the King.

"You're back."

Arthur inclined his head. "Very observant. Well done."

Merlin looked him up and down. "You're dressed."

"No thanks to you."

"How?"

"Well-" Arthur shifted on his throne that he may lean on the armrest, apparently uncomfortable "-while you were making yourself comfortable, George was very busy. Running around doing the little things you were supposed to have done. Pressing my cloak. Polishing my maille. Fetching my crown. The things a manservant is responsible for."

Merlin nodded stiffly.

"It's a good thing he had the forethought to see those things done, or else I would have been late."

"Yes. A good thing."

Arthur shifted again, a frown steadily furrowing his brow. He reached underneath himself to his seat, and withdrew an apple. He examined it briefly, before fixing a pointed stare on his manservant.

Merlin plucked it from his fingers. "That's mine."

With a huff, Arthur waved him away. "Go and do something useful. Get my speech. I assume you've written me a speech?"

"Yes."

"Then go get it."

Merlin nodded mechanically and turned on his heel. His feet took him across the hall of their own volition, the apple still clutched in his hand.

His head spun. This was a mess. The painting was still there, standing innocently on the dais under its cover. Though the sheet had gone and it was now obscured by a thick velvet drape in Pendragon red. That meant somebody else had seen it. Clearly Arthur had not, or else he would have been nowhere near so calm.

Someone had been up and redressed the painting while he was sat sleeping right next to it. How on Earth did he manage to sleep through THAT?

By the time he returned to the hall, people had begun to arrive. Arthur had not moved from his throne, and had taken to watching his guests quietly. He still had not touched the painting. One had to be grateful for small blessings. Hurriedly, Merlin made his way down the red carpet to his King.

Arthur sat up and held out his hand eagerly, taking the rolled up parchment his servant pressed into it. He looked pleased, proceeding to unroll his speech and scan the words within. "Is this it?"

He certainly didn't sound pleased. Merlin nodded. "Yeah."

"How long did it take you to write? It's only about ten lines long and almost illegible!"

About as long as it took to inhale a bowl of cold porridge, Merlin did not say. Not that he had to. The ink was only just dry.

Arthur read over the short address a few times, before rolling it up and stuffing it under his throne. "Alright. It'll have to do."

"Do you need anything else?"

"No. Go find yourself a spot and try and look somewhat tidy."

Merlin inclined his head (they were in company, after all) and descended the steps to join up with Gaius in the steadily growing crowd.

The physician looked pensive, waiting until Merlin was soundly installed beside him to lean a little closer and ask in a hushed tone, "is it done?"

Merlin shook his head.

Gaius looked to the dais, his pensive expression evolving to worried. "It's still there?"

"I fell asleep."

"Oh."

They were both silent.

It wasn't long before the hall was filled. An excited sea of Knights, nobles, guild members, servants and selected townspeople murmured among themselves in anticipation of their King's grand commission.

The Queen was last to enter the hall. Her entrance was met with approving stares and quiet words appreciating how lovely she looked.

Sefa trailed behind her, uncomfortable with all the attention. She did not follow Gwen to her throne, but slotted into the crowd a few people down from Merlin and folded her hands neatly in front of herself to spectate alongside everyone else.

Arthur rose to his feet to take his wife's hands and see her seated. Once she was, the King turned to address his people.

"People of Camelot, friends. I bid you welcome-"

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, and took a deep breath. His fingers fiddled nervously behind his back. Half of what Arthur said passed him by completely. Right then, the greatest thing that could ever happen short of the painting going up in flames on its mount – which he took as a stroke of genius and surreptitiously attempted to make happen, to no avail – would be for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow him. If that were to actually happen, then it would be equally as disruptive as spontaneous combustion or simply unveiling the painting was going to be anyway. The image of himself disappearing into the ground accompanied by an eye roll and irritated bellow of 'Merlin!' from Arthur almost made him giggle. It would have, had Arthur not been moving towards the painting.

"So it is with great pleasure that I present this masterpiece to the people of our fair Kingdom."

Merlin held his breath. Dedicated as he was to saving Arthur from all manner of horrible things, this was going to be one time that he couldn't save him from out and out folly.*

The drape was torn away, falling to the ground in a soft and gentle heap.

The hall was silent.

Slowly, Merlin cracked one eye, then the other.

Arthur stood looking up at the painting, nothing indicative in his stance beyond a slight tightening of his shoulders.

Above him, on display for all to see, was the Kingdom's new masterpiece. The grand memorial to its King.

Merlin swallowed, and let his eyes meet it.

There stood King Arthur, tall and proud, a crown of gleaming gold upon his brow, wielding his enchanted blade over his head, caught by a shimmer of glowing sunlight along its length from a single shaft sliced through the stormy sky above. Every inch of his noble bearing was picked out in the finest, vivid colours, as true as though it were the living King himself, not just an image. Courageous, strong, regal. He wore no armour, the back of his tunic partially rolled up under his belt to leave his lower back bare. His big toe poking out of a hole in his dirty sock. Boots were for other people, apparently.

This semblance of Kingly grace did not face the Great Dragon, but a monstrous beast that cowered subdued before him, presumably dead, playing so, or asleep. It was difficult to tell. Its eyes were closed at any rate.

The monster truly was hideous. The body of a lion. The wings of an eagle. Merlin cringed. And the face of a bear.

Utterly hideous, but also, in its own way, adorable. The most ridiculous creation one could possibly conceive of. It lay in a heap of fluff, its huge tongue lolling out one side of its mouth.

The whole thing was totally farcical. The ferocious, inordinately serious expression of determination on painted Arthur's face made it all the worse.

For a moment, it seemed as though the silence was never going to end. Not a soul in the hall knew what to do with themselves.

Merlin stared at the back of Arthur's head, silently pleading for the King to do something, to react in some way.

Move, speak, yell, anything!

Even Gwen stared at the painting in wide-eyed, surprised silence, her hand over her mouth.

At last, Arthur turned his head that he may look at his guests, his lips pressed into a thin line somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

"Ah." His eyes swept the dumbstruck crowd. "Well." At a loss, he gave a flourishing gesture to the painting with one hand.

Among the Knights, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, Sir Leon managed to get a hold of himself. Uncertain, but aware that he must do something, he raised his hands and hesitantly began to clap. By degrees the other Knights joined him, Gwaine unable to hold it in any longer and giving a loud bark of laughter. The others in the hall followed Leon's example until the rafters rung with enthusiastic applause.

Arthur looked around in disbelief, until his eyes fell on the cringing form of his manservant. His expression hardened, his eyes took on that murderous glint and his hand twitched at his side, barely suppressed from raising his threatening finger.

Merlin really wished that hole would appear now. Tumbling into the depths of the earth was much preferable to facing Arthur. Judge, jury and executioner, clearly Arthur was certain that he had found his culprit.

All Merlin could do was wince.

The investigation had hit a dead end. All leads lead nowhere. Arthur acknowledge that he would have to give up the chase.

As much as the painting had proved to be a hit among the people of Camelot, Arthur insisted that he never wanted to see it ever again. He commandeered Merlin from his usual chores, stole the painting from the Great hall under cover of darkness and set out to destroy it.

Nothing they did could harm it. Burning it did not damage it. Trying to chop it up didn't even mark it. Merlin suggested that they throw it down the stairs. It bounced. In the end there was no choice but to banish it to the vaults, to be locked away and covered up where nobody would ever see it again.

It's resilience lead Arthur to one conclusion.

"It must be magic."

Halfway through sweeping the ashes from the grate. Merlin froze. "Magic?"

"The painting." Arthur sat at his desk, staring into space. He snapped out of it with a gentle shake of his head. "It's the only explanation."

He ought not. He knew that he ought to just let it go, but Merlin found himself curious. "Why do you say that?"

"It's quality for one. It was too good to have been done by the hand of any simple artist. I'd venture to say that it was the most impressive work I had ever seen."

"Really?" Merlin turned his head away to hide the pleased smile breaking over his lips.

"Also," the King dropped his hands from his mouth to rest clasped on the table, "there's the fact that it is apparently totally indestructible."

Despite himself, Merlin nodded. He had noticed that.

Arthur shoved back his chair and got to his feet. "Which leaves just one conclusion."

Merlin's hand still on his brush, the gathered ashes sinking a little in their pile. "What's that?" He asked, a slight tremble to his voice.

"Harold was a sorcerer." Folding his arms, Arthur crossed to take up a lean in the window.

Stunned, Merlin shook the feeling and his relief and worry away to look at his friend in disbelief. "A sorcerer? Harold?"

"Of course. It is the only explanation."

Merlin couldn't help himself. He started laughing.

"That doddery old man?"

"The perfect disguise."

There was no helping himself. Merlin collapsed into hysterics at the notion, oh so close to home.

Being laughed at left Arthur incensed. "It makes sense!"

"How does that make sense?"

"He must have put a spell on the painting. Enchanted it to humiliate me."

"Right. And what does he gain from that?"

"It undermines me. Makes me look weak."

That did make some sense, Merlin conceded. Although there were plenty of more effective ways of undermining Arthur than painting a humiliating picture of him.

The very real and serious danger behind Arthur's conclusion made itself known to Merlin in a small, niggling worry at the back of his mind. "So, what are you going to do?" He ventured cautiously.

"There's not much I can do." Arthur gave a shrug. "Harold will be well into Mercian territory by now. He's a Mercian citizen, and a freeman. He falls under Bayard's protection. I very much doubt that Bayard would appreciate me trying to throw his favourite painter in the dungeons. It wouldn't be very good for relations between our two Kingdoms."

"So you're not going to do anything?"

Arthur rubbed a hand over his face and huffed. "He didn't try to kill me. That's... new. It makes a nice change if I'm honest." He rolled his shoulders, letting the tension drain away. "His plan backfired. The people loved the painting. In the grand scheme of things, there's no harm done-"

"Only to your ego."

"- I'll banish Harold from Camelot in his absence and say no more about it."

Merlin breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and continued sweeping out the grate. Being banished wouldn't hurt Harold. The poor man may wonder why, but it wouldn't really effect him. Bayard likely knew that the man wasn't a sorcerer, so it was unlikely that his reputation in Mercia would be affected. Seeing as Bayard was his patron, there would be no harm done on either side. Arthur didn't need to know that his own manservant was responsible for ruining his painting. All in all, it was an alright outcome.

… And down in the vaults, deep below Camelot, the painting of the bear-faced monster continued to be absolutely ridiculous...

* ͡ ͼ ͜ ٭ϿϾ٭ ͜ ͽ ͡ *

* Logically, Merlin should have keys to Arthur's chambers and less important private drawers and cupboards, things that don't matter if he can get into them.

* Because Arthur never listens to Merlin, which leads to inevitable injury by terminal folly.

Note: Aaaaand complete. I hope everyone enjoyed this thoroughly silly tale! Thank you for reading! xxx