A/N: This is post season 5 but Arthur, Lancelot, Gwaine, and everyone else is alive. Except for Mordred and Morgana. They be dead as fish.

Disclaimer: Violating copyrights with magic is probably legal until someone manages to actually do it.

Why you never get Merlin drunk

Gauis had admitted that he had lied about Merlin's frequent trips to the tavern in the past, which made Arthur realise he had never really seen Merlin drunk. Now that he'd finally gotten his useless court sorcerer to down some drinks with him, he was starting to regret it. His bad leg had started hurting again and as he tried moving it in a more comfortable position he couldn't stop the wince escaping his lips.

"Leg?" Merlin asked.

Arthur grunted his affirmative.

"Wuss," Merlin said into his tankard but Arthur still managed to hear it.

"I beg your pardon? Your first battle wound was a tiny scratch on your arm."

"Actually," Merlin lifted his shirt to where a big gnarled burn was at the center of his chest. "Got it in my first magical duel to the death."

Arthur visibly paled.

Merlin only chuckled. "If you think that's bad you should have seen my opponent. Took me and Gauis six hours to wash the Nimueh-chunks out of the stonework." Merlin then proceeded to show Arthur more scars than he, or any of the knights of the round table had. Put together.

Arthur barely got the words out of his now dry mouth, "Why didn't you say anything? And why are you only now telling me?"

Merlin shrugged casually, "Never seemed like the right time. I just wanted to settle it once and for all. I am better than you, Arthur Pendragon. At everything."

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin."

"Let's see. I'm a warlock. I can ride horses and dragons both, and I can cook, clean and do every household chore needed to keep someone alive and happy. And I STILL write all of your speeches for you."

He had a point, Arthur conceded. But there was one thing he knew he was best at and no one could take that away from him. "I'm the best swordsman in all of Albion," he said smugly.

"I. Am. Magic. Incarnate. One spell and my skill is unrivaled."

No. This couldn't be happening... Merlin... was better than him? "What do you want?" Arthur whispered brokenly.

"Bragging rights," Merlin said as he staggered towards the door.

The next day Leon found Arthur sitting on the floor rocking manically back and forth.

"Is everything alright, Sire?"

"He can't be better than me at everything. He's - he's Merlin!"

Leon looked at the empty flagons around him. Seemed like Arthur had had the bad idea of getting Merlin drunk. He certainly wasn't the first to have an existential crisis afterwards. Not that Leon would ever admit it, of course. "And what have we learned, Sire?"

Arthur hugged his knees and rocked even faster. "That Merlin is mean when he is drunk."

Leon joined Arthur on the floor as his own recent experience threatened to overwhelm him. "That he is," he said shakily as he too began rocking with the king. "That he is."

And that is why you never get Merlin drunk.

A/N: Review? Pretty please with a cherry on top? Apologies for any spelling mistakes in advance. This was written late at night with a barely functioning brain.