Merlin Headcanons

Challenge

The room smelled like citrus, something easily explained by the bowl of fruit gleaming proudly on the table. The more traditional grapes and oranges were joined by lemons, which Merlin assumed were either a status symbol or a practical joke. Unfortunately, Arthur was sure to recognize them, so Merlin wouldn't get the pleasure of seeing him squirm over the sourness. Shame, that.

He let the trunk fall to the floor with a little more groaning than was strictly necessary. Especially considering that he'd enchanted it to be light as a feather, but Arthur didn't need to know that, did he? And if Arthur was close enough behind to hear him, it'd be suspicious if he didn't complain.

When no biting comments followed the groans, he hurried over to the fruit bowl. Arthur wasn't here yet, but he would be soon. He'd have to be fast.

He held a hand over the fruit as he checked for any magical contaminants. Nothing. He still hadn't found a better way to check for nonmagical ones, so he stole a grape and popped it in his mouth. The other fruits would be harder to poison. They should be fine.

Well, there was nothing immediately fatal at least. Just to be safe, he muttered a quick distraction spell over the grapes. If he survived the next twenty-four hours, he could take it off. Until then, Arthur could just make do with an orange.

Alright, so the guest room was suitable for . . . well, a king, which was appropriate, of course, but also meant there way too many nooks and crannies he had to search.

He sent his magic out on a broader sweep and quickly checked under the pillows. Nothing. Nothing under the covers either, unless you counted silk sheets. And under the bed . . .

Aha! He knew there'd be something!

He yanked the tiny amulet off its chain. There was always something. At least this one didn't seem too powerful. From the looks of it, someone had grabbed the first thing that came to hand and enchanted it. Considering it was a wooden spoon, that someone probably worked in the kitchens.

While he was down there, he untied his neckerchief and wrapped it around the board where the spoon had been hanging. Gaius had helped him cover it with protective spells before they left. Hopefully it would help keep the prat alive through the treaty talks.

"Merlin?"

Shoot.

He pushed his way out from under the bed and tried his best innocent grin.

Arthur wasn't buying it. "What were you doing under there?"

Do you have any idea how many life threatening, insanity inducing enchantments require being placed in, around, or under a bed? Better yet, do you have any idea how many people have attempted to use on you?

That was what he wanted to say.

Instead, he said, "Checking for dust bunnies?"

"And did you find any?"

Merlin hid the spoon behind his back. "Yes. We're friends now."

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. "Merlin, we really need the treaty we came here for."

"I know," Merlin assured him.

"So if for the next few days you could try your best not to be . . . you, it would be greatly appreciated."

Okay. That hurt. Who did Arthur want him to be, huh? Morgana? Morgause? Every other magic user on the planet?

Except the Druids, of course.

"I'll be George," he said brightly and pretended it didn't hurt. "I'll start right now. Is there anything else I can do for you, sire?"

Arthur looked almost like he was wincing.

"No? Than with your leave I'll be going, sire." He headed for the door with some careful juggling of the spoon to make sure it stayed out of sight but stopped when he saw a small, concealed spy hole.

Okay, he'd be George if George had secret awesome magic spying skills. Actually, for all Merlin knew, maybe he did. But he couldn't just leave Arthur to his own devices for three weeks in enemy territory. Arthur'd be dead in a day.

He snapped his fingers to cover his distraction. "If I'm being George, I suppose that means I don't have to finish your speech. That'll be nice at least. You'll probably want to start on one though, sire."

He risked a small glance over his shoulder. Arthur was slumped a bit with regret that was definitely about more than having to write his own speech.

"Or I could be myself, minus any diplomatic incident causing drinking-poison-at-banquet tendencies unless they're absolutely necessary," he offered.

"As long as we're agreed that under no circumstances is that absolutely necessary - "

"Really? Because I seem to remember one time when Nimueh - " He caught himself and winced a bit. He tried not to bring up Nimueh. Sooner or later, Arthur was going to think to wonder why she'd stopped causing trouble.

Thankfully, Arthur misinterpreted the wince as pain at bad memories. Which, to be fair, it would have been if Merlin had been a normal manservant. After Serket venom though, Merlin had a whole new definition of pain to work with. And then with the Dorocha, Freya dying, Will dying, Balinor dying, Lancelot dying . . . The point was, that was hardly his worst memory. It didn't even make the top ten.

Arthur was looking uncomfortable. The sort of uncomfortable that meant he was upset and didn't know how to deal with it. Which meant he would be angry in 3, 2, 1 . . .

"You didn't have to actually drink it!"

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Actually, in case you've forgotten, I really did. Your father kindly offered me the option of drinking it and dying a painful death or saying I was wrong and having Bayard give me a painful death, and I figured if I had to die, I should at least die while winning the argument."

That . . . had sounded better in his head. Arthur was going to throw things. And shout at him. And probably assign him a lot of chores which he'd have to use magic to do because he still needed to investigate that spy hole, and he'd get caught and burned at the stake, and Morgana would come and kill everyone without him there to stop her, all because he couldn't keep his stupid mouth shut.

Arthur was looking even more uncomfortable. Unfortunately, that was slowly fading into a sort of dawning of unpleasant comprehension, and Merlin wondered if it had actually taken Arthur this long to figure out that Merlin'd had several reasons to fear his father, possibly to hate him, but very, very, few to actually like him.

The fundamental difference in Arthur and Uther could really be captured by their reactions to Merlin and poison. Uther had essentially attempted to execute him for trying to save Arthur's life because he was embarrassed by the method and had considered him unimportant. Arthur had turned down Merlin's offer to drink it, shot down all his arguments to the contrary, and had been willing to die in an effort to take responsibility for his actions.

There was a reason Arthur was destined to be the greatest king of Albion. Merlin smiled brilliantly, earlier hurt forgotten, and said, "I'll get your speech written, sire." He felt a sudden pang in his stomach. "And don't eat the grapes."

. . . . .

A/N: Merlin will be fine, by the way.

This was actually a challenge from Wolfdragon, who submitted a list of random objects for me to include. These included lemons (fruit bowl, check), a wooden spoon (amulet, check), silk (sheets, check), and a creative use for a neckerchief (powerful magical artifact, check). They also requested banter (sort of a check) and an amusing story (I'll leave that for you to decide).