Arthur marched down a hallway, reciting under his breath the lecture he'd prepared as he'd stomped through the castle, working himself into a breathless, frustrated outrage by the time he reached Gaius' door. He flung it open to behold Gaius just sitting up in his bed.

"Sire? What's happened?"

"My servant is late. Again."

Gaius yawned and looked at Merlin's closed door. "You didn't return until nightfall, sire."

"Yes," Arthur growled. "And my father expected me at his side this morning and I wasn't on time because my manservant's decided to sleep the day away!"

"The boy does work quite hard."

"What do you think I do?" Arthur snapped back.

"I only meant he was exhausted."

"So was I, and even I managed to drag myself hardly dressed to my father to cover for the layabout. Father would have his head. He's fed up with Merlin's antics."

"Yes, sire," Gaius yielded, yawning again. He called out as Arthur passed him to clatter up the stairs to Merlin's bedroom. "I can wake him."

"This is one task I intend to handle myself," Arthur declared. He paused with his palm pressed against the door, smirking. He'd meant to enter and start yelling immediately, but it would be so much more satisfying to sneak in and knock the sluggard out of bed right onto his ass. He slowly lifted the latch and pushed the door open, stepping over the threshold and letting out a surprised "oof" as he found himself crashing down onto his own backside.

Arthur shook his head and sought out what had tangled his feet, causing him to pitch over. He scowled as he lifted up one half of a pair of boots, Merlin's boots, of course, lazily tossed about where anyone could trip over them and break their neck! Arthur crushed the leather wrathfully in his hand and then scrunched up his brow. The material was almost like parchment in his grasp, too thin for proper boots.

He relaxed his grip to give the boot a closer inspection. It was caked with mud from yesterday's excursion, a dismal attempt at hunting, which Merlin hated, though he hadn't scared everything off this time. Its buckles seemed almost fashionable, though Merlin must have been given these boots long ago as faded as the leather was.

Arthur turned the boot upside down and raised his eyebrows at the sole. It had been patched more than once, multiple mendings evident in the stitching and mismatched color of the leather. He ran a finger over the sole. The current version wouldn't be long for this world. He stopped at a tear, pushing his finger through it. It was rather lengthy and…

Wait. Yesterday, Merlin had been limping on the way home. Arthur had mocked his lack of fitness for longer jaunts and swore to limber him up by making him the target at the next knights' training. Merlin had jibed back something ridiculous about overbearing, pretentious royals.

Arthur pushed himself up from the floor, the boot still in his hand. His fall hadn't disturbed Merlin one bit. His servant's head was covered by his blanket, only a few tufts of dark hair sticking out above his pillow. Soft, deep breaths issued forth as a portion of the blanket rose and fell. Merlin's feet were uncovered at the end of the bed, his right resting on his left. Arthur narrowed his eyes and bent over to look.

There, on the arch of Merlin's left foot, a gash, not deep, but enough to be uncomfortable. Some kind of salve had been swiped over it and had dried into a grainy yellow. But that wasn't all Arthur noticed. Several blisters, new ones from their outing, had formed and burst, and previous ones caught his attention as well, crusted over scabs and callouses.

Arthur straightened, glancing down at the boot once more and seeking out its companion in a corner. He hadn't ever thought much about Merlin's boots but recognized them as the same he'd worn when he first became his manservant. All this time Merlin had been following him around in these, over rough terrain, through muck, up rocky hills, down into damp valleys. He hadn't once complained about his feet, though in Arthur's opinion he would have had every right to.

Arthur looked back at the bed as the blanket shifted and loosened, falling down to settle right below Merlin's eyebrows. A long sigh filled the room, and then the steady breaths started once more. Arthur pinched his lips together and crossed the room to retrieve the other boot. He held them in one hand, quietly closing the door behind him and retreating back down the stairs.

"Gaius, tell Merlin he has the day off," Arthur ordered as he passed back through the physician's chambers.

The next morning, the door to Arthur's chamber opened slowly. He had already risen and looked up from his desk as Merlin slipped inside. "Ah. Merlin. About time you showed."

Merlin set his breakfast plate down, and then moved repentantly toward him. "Gaius said you came yesterday morning. I'm sorry, sire. I meant to wake you. You didn't have to give me the day off."

Arthur couldn't disguise his startled expression. "It wasn't a punishment, Merlin. You were tired." Before Merlin could look too pleased that Arthur had done something benevolent, he spoke on. "What good would you have been stumbling about my chambers half-awake?" He pushed his chair back and stood.

Merlin swallowed visibly. "Then…I was wondering…"

"What?"

"Did you think of another punishment?"

"What do you mean?"

Merlin narrowed his eyes. "Are you mocking me again?"

"Spit it out, Merlin. What are you talking about?"

Merlin backed up and jabbed a finger at his stockinged feet. "I can't find my boots."

"Oh?"

"I thought…you might have…taken them."

"What would I want with a peasant's boots?"

"But you were the only one in my room yesterday," Merlin protested, and Arthur could tell he was starting to lose patience.

"Maybe Gaius has them."

"He said he hadn't seen them."

"Are you sure you didn't misplace them?"

Merlin flicked an agitated hand. "I'm not that much of an idiot. I don't go around leaving my boots in random corridors."

"Hm." Arthur walked around his desk and opened his wardrobe. He leaned down to pick something up and turned on his heel. "Then you'll have to make do with these, I suppose. Can't have my servant disgracing the name of Camelot for his lack of footwear." He held out a pair of boots formed from shiny, thick leather sporting similar buckles to Merlin's old ones and rising a little higher to protect more of the calves. Fashionable enough, but not overly so.

Merlin stared, flummoxed. "You're giving me some of yours?"

Arthur shoved the boots into his hands and headed to the table. "I have enough."

"I haven't seen these before. They're new."

"I don't like them. Ugly things. But someone might as well get use out of them." Arthur had sat down and began digging into his meal. "Try them."

Merlin glanced at him, then at the boots, and wandered over to pull out a seat next to him at the table. He slid each boot over a foot and tugged them on. His brow furrowed. "They fit as good as my own."

"It's settled then. You keep them." Arthur concentrated on cutting a slice of ham with his knife.

"Arthur?"

He stuffed some meat into his mouth and continued to cut the rest of the slice.

"We're not the same size."

Arthur looked up into Merlin's suspicious cerulean eyes. "Yes. Forgot that. The cordwainer didn't get the size right. Fortunate for you." His meal drew his attention again.

Merlin didn't move. Arthur glanced quickly at him and decided for once not to chastise his servant for his heartfelt emotions. The look on Merlin's face expressed a mixture of shock, gratitude, and pride. That last made Arthur wonder, but he cleared his throat and spoke sharply. "Get moving. Laundry doesn't wash itself."

"Yes, sire," his manservant replied obediently, hopping up and tapping across the room in his new boots.

Arthur covered his mouth with a hand to indulge a private smile.

Author's Note: I'd noticed that Merlin's boots change from the first series to the second, and my curiosity and imagination found its way into this little one shot.