Hey all! I, um, don't really have an excuse for this one. It just needed to be written, and I figured I might as well publish it… so. Here it is.

Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC, and therefore Merlin sadly does not belong to me. If it did, Mergana would definitely have been a thing.

Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot, was many things. A fair king. A good soldier. A loving husband. The man who nearly single-handedly united the disparate kingdoms of Albion and was even now working to repeal the ban on magic (due largely to the influence of his manservant, Merlin, who had revealed himself as a magic-user when he saved Arthur's life after the Battle of Camlann, and whose ten-year-long service and friendship to Arthur had forced the king to realize that not all magic was evil, and in fact most of it wasn't).

However, there was one thing Arthur most decidedly was not- a morning person.

"So where's the speech, then?" he curtly asked Merlin, who was walking alongside him as they made their way to the balcony that overlooked the castle courtyard. He was not happy. It was the first day of a gathering that Merlin had helped him organize, comprised of both magical and non-magical people who were going to work together to create new laws and regulations to make sure the land didn't fall apart once the magic ban was officially lifted. That was fine. What wasn't fine was that someone- he still blamed Merlin- had decided that Arthur should commence the gathering with a speech… at 9 in the morning. I can barely think at this hour, grouched Arthur to himself, shooting Merlin a dark look that was cheerfully ignored, and somehow I'm supposed to give a properly motivational and inspiring speech. He'd better have written something good.

Merlin had in fact been writing Arthur's speeches for years. Arthur was fairly good at delivering off-the-cuff speeches, especially in dire situations, but he was pants at planning them out in advance, so he just delegated it to Merlin. It was a system that had worked well so far, with the single exception of what the two of them referred to only as "the Turnip Incident". Arthur shuddered and shot another look at Merlin. He blamed his manservant's terrible penmanship entirely for that disaster, though Merlin had suggested it stemmed from Arthur's inability to read.

Arthur blinked to find Merlin waving a sheet of paper in front of his face with raised eyebrows. Hurriedly he snatched it away, rolled it up, and stuck it into his sleeve, as if he'd meant to do that the whole time. No need to let Merlin know how far away he'd been just then.

"I worked hard on that, you know," complained Merlin, sounding aggrieved. "I even quoted poetry!" he informed Arthur with a pout. "Well, plaigiarized poetry, actually," he amended sheepishly. "Basically the whole speech is you reading a poem. But it's a really applicable poem!" He insisted. "It's a work of art! Anyway, you could show a little respect for that paper, as it's what's going to keep you from making a fool of yourself in about 5 minutes. Or, you know, there is this phrase, it goes 'thank you', it's really becoming all the rage and I think if you-"

"Shut up, Merlin," interrupted Arthur. "You're such a girl's petticoat. Poetry, honestly…" he muttered.

"Whatever you say, Your Pratness," Merlin rolled his eyes.

The pair finally reached the balcony in question. Arthur stepped slightly ahead of Merlin, surveying those who had gathered to help him accomplish what had become his one and only goal in the last year or so. They were all there, waiting for him. Arthur took a deep breath and stepped forward. As Merlin stepped back into the shadows, Arthur unrolled the speech. The people below quieted, waiting for him to speak. He cast his eyes over them and smiled. Despite the ungodly hour, he was ready.

"People of Camelot," he began, "magic-users and non-magic users alike, welcome. Before you begin the important work you're here to do, I would like to say a few words, excerpted from one of the works of the poet John Farnham-" John Farnham? he thought briefly. I don't think I've heard of him… huh. "-whose message, I believe, is appropriate to our purpose here." He took a breath and glanced down at the next words. "We have," he read, "a chance to turn the pages over." He glanced out confidently. "We can write what we want to write," he exclaimed, "we've got to make… ends… meet? before we get much older." He knew he'd hesitated there, but honestly! What did "make ends meet" even mean? Where was this Farnham person from? He glanced back at Merlin, who blinked at him innocently. Arthur shook his head slightly and turned back to his speech. "Ahem. We're all someone's daughter," he said more strongly. "We're all someone's son! How long can we look at each other," he asked them, "down the… barrel… of a gun?" His voice petered out again. "Merlin!" he hissed.

"What?" asked the manservant. "Keep reading!"

"I can't believe you," whisper-yelled Arthur. "Ur-hum," he cleared his throat again, more loudly. Come on, you can do this, he told himself. Make it make sense, because it's all you've got. "You're the voice, try and understand it!" he said passionately. "Make a noise and make it clear!" He cringed- that part didn't make sense either- but kept going. "We're not going to sit in silence," he proclaimed, "we're not going to live with fear!" He took a deep breath. "This time, we know we all can stand together," he continued, "with the power to be powerful-" what?- "believing we can make it better!" He tried to finish strong. He was almost afraid to look at the people gathered below. What must they be thinking? His speech was making no sense! He shook his head, and continued. "We're all someone's- wait. Merlin," he whisper-yelled, "I've done this bit! What were you thinking? This is a terrible poem!"

"It's for dramatic effect!" pouted Merlin. "Just read it!"

"I hate you," sighed Arthur. "We're… we're all someone's daughter," he said in a somewhat lackluster fashion, "we're all someone's son. How long can we look at each other," he tried to say passionately, knowing that was the only way he would get through it, "down the barrel of a gun?" And what on earth is a gun? Why does it have a barrel? He thought resignedly. "You're the voice, try and understand it!" he said loudly. "Make a noise and make it clear!" He glared daggers at Merlin again. "We're not going to sit in silence, and we're not going to live in fear," he finished the paragraph.

As he took a breath to start the next, last paragraph- which looked like it was exactly the same as the one he'd just read, had Merlin been drunk when he wrote this?-there was a sudden thunderous cacaphony. After his initial shock, Arthur looked down into the crowd and realized that a man with a set of bagpipes had suddenly appeared from somewhere and was lustily blowing them, creating possibly the loudest noise Arthur had ever heard in his life. The bystanders seemed just as confused as he was, and some were covering their ears. They were much closer to the danger zone than he was, though.

Arthur took this opportunity to confront Merlin. "What the hell, Merlin?" he yelled. No one below would hear them; the bagpipes were too loud.

"It's a bagpipe solo!" Merlin shouted with a grin. "The poem is supposed to be set to music, and I thought the bagpipes would be a great way to wake everyone up! Plus," he said slyly, "look at him! I'd let him take me to Glasgow, if you know what I mean," he said, waggling his eyebrows for effect.

Arthur was speechless.

At that moment, the din- err, music- petered out, and the bagpipe player somehow contrived to disappear. "We're not done here," he said lowly to Merlin, who had the audacity to look amused. He returned to the balcony railing and held up the paper once more.

"You're the voice, try and understand it," he said into the ringing silence. "Make a noise, and make it clear." They were all looking at him- he couldn't read their faces. "We're not going to sit in silence- we're not going to live in fear." He paused. It was still eerily silent. "Ahem. Please keep these words in mind as you work together toward a brighter, more tolerant future for us all," he said finally, reading the last words on the page. "Albion is counting on you."

Silence.

Then, someone started clapping.

Another person.

And suddenly, it seemed that every single person in that crowd was furiously applauding what was possibly the worst speech of Arthur's life.

Merlin beamed.

People started to disperse, off to begin their tasks for the day. Arthur stepped back, stunned.

"Not bad, eh?" said Merlin at his side.

Arthur looked at him sharply. "Did you know they were going to react like that?" he demanded. "How?"

Merlin smirked. "I guess you just don't have my power ballad knowledge," he shrugged. "Plus," he added casually, "John Farnham was a druid." Arthur's eyebrows flew up. "If any poem was going to get them excited," explained Merlin, "it was going to be You're the Voice. It's a popular Druid campfire song, actually," he said. "There's a tune and everything." He started to stroll away, then looked back in surprise when Arthur didn't catch up. "What?" he asked.

"I still hate you," grumbled Arthur. "That wasn't fair, springing a poem that made no sense on me. No wonder it didn't make sense, written by a druid, most cryptic people I know… John Farmer…"

"Farnham," corrected Merlin.

"I'm the king, Merlin," said Arthur. "If I say it's Farmer, it's Farmer."

"Don't be such a clotpole, sire," said Merlin.

"Don't write me rubbish speeches with strange poems, then, idiot," said Arthur.

And the two continued down the hallway, bantering all the way. Emrys and the Once and Future King, united by a love of- or at least tolerance for- John Farnham. All was as it should be.

Fin

Okay, so… that happened. I'm sorry! I've had You're the Voice on repeat the past couple days, and obviously I love that video of the two of them lip-syncing to it, so I just had to find a way to write a story around it. Let me know if you think it's funny… or if you think it's just dumb. Haha.

-Raven