Chapter Six - Arthur Thinks and Morgana Laughs

Earlier that evening…

Arthur was worried. Very worried. He'd been so convinced of his servant's impassion towards his vile (but unfortunately beautiful) sister that he'd had no qualms in betting against her that night. Merlin was Merlin and as far as he, Arthur, knew, still totally impervious to the allurements of women. But Morgana had seemed so damned confident over dinner! He wanted so much to be able to call it a bluff and throw it back in her face, but he couldn't be sure that it wasn't the truth. Morgana had enchanted so many men over the years it suddenly seemed unlikely that one rather unremarkable manservant would be able to resist her.

Morgana's words rang in his head… "your manservant is going to be madly in love with me: the most desirable woman in Camelot, the woman who is so untouchable to those of his class that she's practically a ghost. And he won't be allowed anywhere near me. And when that breaks his little heart into a million pieces, you will know that it was all—your—fault."

He felt vaguely nauseous. Like someone was clenching their hand around his stomach and spinning it around like a child's top.

Merlin was currently bumbling around his room in some semblance of servitude, but looked more like a one-man troop of players performing a comedy of errors, and the continuous movement, seeing him trip from place to place, around and around, wasn't helping Arthur's stomach stay in place.

"Merlin! For the love of Camelot, stop humming," Arthur growled. Merlin shot him a hurt look, and then huffed as only he could, and stalked off to the other side of the room to begin shoving Arthur's clothes into their drawers with more than the usual amount of force. Arthur shifted regretfully, and wondered briefly if he should apologize – then the sound of Merlin humming loudly (and deliberately out of tune) reached him and he decided he wouldn't bother.

Arthur couldn't help but picture Merlin in a month's time if Morgana's prediction came true. Would he be slow and quiet, never speaking unless ordered to? Or like some of the younger boys, fidgety and jittery and liable to start sobbing at any moment? Arthur shuddered at the thought. Heartbreak on Merlin would just look wrong; a direct contradiction to his seemingly unflappable optimism.

Arthur felt guilty already and Morgana hadn't even won yet. Not that she would win, Arthur would be sure of that. He refused point blank to allow his manservant to be the one to get hurt in this. It just wouldn't be fair. Knights were supposed to fight their own battles, and although this one was against his step-sister and the code also implied that knights shouldn't fight women, the point still stood, damn it.

But he couldn't really fight this battle alone. Not properly. He would just have to ensure that Merlin won. The Gods would just have to forgive him for this breach of betting etiquette because he wasn't doing it for himself; he was doing it to save another person from hurt. And Arthur liked saving people. So it had to be done.

Although… he might have been lying about the 'not doing it for himself' part. While wanting to protect the younger, weaker, less important, more pathetic man was a great part of his newfound ambition, there was also the rather loud voice reminding him that if he didn't do something, it would be him, Arthur, who would have to put up with the emotional wreck that Merlin would be. And that was possibly the most unappealing thought he could think of.

You know, except for having to deal with Morgana strutting around as though she owned the castle. He shuddered in horror. Anything, anything but that… He was going to have to think really, really hard about this…

…Later.

The next day…

"Mor-ning!" sang the ironically energetic Merlin as he threw open the curtains of Arthur's bedroom. Arthur shot him a ferocious glare – the effect of which was tragically lost owing to the fact that Merlin was facing the other way – and shoved his face underneath one of his many pillows.

"Go. Away," Arthur groaned, his charitable thoughts towards his servant totally gone.

"What's got your trousers in a twist?" asked Merlin with all of the blatant disrespect that Arthur had come to expect from his obscenely tall manservant.

"Shut up, Merlin."

Arthur was most certainly not a morning person, as was aptly demonstrated by the torrent of swear words that escaped him when he emerged from underneath his pillow to greet the blinding light of a new day. Merlin stared at him in some surprise.

"What?" asked Arthur, suddenly self-conscious.

"It's just… well… that was rather creative of you," he said, apparently quite amazed. Now here it must be noted that while some people's vanity demands a new comeback for everything, Arthur was not one of those people. He was, in fact, a true believer in the classics.

"Shut up, Merlin."

"Okay."

"Now, Merlin."

"I am shut up! I'm totally silent! Quiet as a grave; reticent as a mute; soft as a-"

"Merlin!"

"Shutting up…"

At this point words failed the prince and he was reduced to the subtle and exact art of pillow-throwing while growling unintelligibly – which he was rather good at, all things considered. In spite of his painfully proper upbringing, he'd gotten in a lot of practice over the time Merlin had been around, bless his girly heart.

Around half an hour later, Arthur had been successfully wrangled into his trademark, open-collar red shirt and training pants. Strapping on Arthur's sword belt, Merlin chanced a question,

"Are you meeting your father after training?"

Arthur grunted as Merlin pulled the belt tighter and clipped it on.

"We're going over the guard distribution – Father thinks we're wasting them on one of the borders."

"What do you think?" Merlin asked.

"I think he's not thinking straight. Gorett is in Cendred's kingdom and they're his men through and through. I don't trust them."

"Cendred's men aren't all bad – I'm from around there, you know," Merlin objected. Arthur gave him his 'shut it – you know what I mean' look.

"You're the exception."

"Mum's good too," Merlin pointed out. Arthur sighed in exasperation.

"Yes, she is."

"And Will is- was-" Merlin said, still stumbling over the name even after so long.

"Merlin – Ealdor was fine. Your mother was great, and Will was a hero. Other than that, I've never known anyone from Cendred's land that was anywhere near half decent," Arthur said firmly. "Now stop being an idiot and carry my armour down to the field."

Merlin grinned. Merlin: 1. Arthur: 0.

Merlin was bored. He'd been watching Arthur bark at the new recruits for a full half hour now, and the monotony had begun to seriously impact his mental state. That is to say – he was going mental sitting outside in the heat with absolutely nothing to do. It was possibly his least favourite time of day, though it was lightened occasionally when one of the men made a particularly awkward mistake.

For example, only yesterday Merlin had seen a boy of about fifteen trip over his own feet while sparring, causing his sword to go skidding across the floor to get caught on his opponent's bootlace. The opponent's eyes widened incredibly as he let go of his sword and fell directly on top of the teenager.

The two swords had landed a safe distance away but the recruits had managed to become so tangled up that it had taken them almost ten minutes to get up. It turned out that the one with the undone bootlace had somehow gotten that same bootlace caught on the younger man's gauntlet, which made for some excellent comedy for Merlin.

Today though, there was no such display of incoordination to amuse him. He was just debating whether or not it was worth risking Arthur's wrath – pretend or not – when Morgana appeared, looking absurdly out of place amongst the dirt and weaponry.

He nodded at her pleasantly and she smiled.

"Good morning," she greeted.

"And to you. How are you?"

"I'm good. What about you? Has Arthur managed to run you into the ground yet?" Morgana asked teasingly.

"No, today he's going for a much more subtle method," Merlin said.

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yes; death by boredom," Merlin informed her sagely.

"The horror!" Morgana found herself laughing in spite of herself.

"And what of you? What noble and important duties have you had to attend to?" asked Merlin.

"Well," she began, "I've had to brush my hair."

Merlin grinned.

"And choose a dress… and smile. A lot. Really, it's ridiculous the amount of work I'm expected to do here," Morgana said poshly. Merlin was laughing properly by this point and Morgana couldn't help but join in. What was wrong with her? What had happened to all of her careful planning? Her pre-prepared conversations? Merlin had singlehandedly debunked the results of a whole hour's scheming.

Enjoyable though his conversation could be – that was no excuse for such insubordination. She would have to revise her tactics. She was just beginning to do so when she heard the jingle of armour approaching. She and Merlin looked up to see Arthur striding towards them, brow creased.

"Merlin!" he called, "Gavin's hurt his ankle; he needs to see Gaius."

Merlin stood quickly, nodded politely to Morgana and disappeared without another word to help the injured page.

Morgana was once again speechless at the oddity that was her brother's manservant. How could he so easily remove himself from her company? Where were the regretful glances backwards as he walked away? The total lack of admiration was beginning to grate on her nerves. Steeling her gaze and pressing her lips together in annoyance she looked up at Arthur.

"What?" she asked shortly.

"So rude," he chastised, smirking.

"I was in the middle of a conversation-"

"Oh please, you're incapable of holding a conversation," Arthur dismissed her.

"Well then what would you call that?" she challenged, gesturing vaguely in the direction Merlin had departed in.

"I would call that a rather pathetic attempt at a manipulation," Arthur said, smiling. Morgana's smirk disappeared – the frequency with which that was occurring recently was truly alarming – and she glared at Arthur frostily.

"You, Arthur, are an arrogant," she stood, "insolent," she stepped towards him, "irritating," she poked him in the chest, "useless," she dug her fingernail into the exposed skin at his collar, "toe rag."

Arthur snorted and delicately removed her finger from its resting place.

"And you, Morgana, are a vain, pretentious little girl with too much time on her hands and not enough personality to amuse herself without hurting others," he returned cheerfully. Morgana blanched.

"You-" she seethed.

"Bye now," he said, turning and marching off. Morgana narrowed her eyes, then flounced off in the direction of the castle, fuming whole-heartedly at the insufferable nerve of her step-sibling.

She decided then and there that the bet suddenly meant a lot more to her than it had. Clearly Arthur thought she couldn't do it, so it was just as clear to her that she had to.

Her pride depended on it.