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Merlin did not like Arthur’s new manservant. One could even say he hated him, and Merlin didn’t hate very many people – in fact, it was a very exclusive list. But Quentin still managed to make it.
Merlin’s hatred of Quentin as actually quite unfortunate. Arthur had gone through seven – seven – manservants before finding one he liked following Merlin’s promotion to court sorcerer. They had all been too young, or too old, or too boring, or too clingy, or too- suffice to say the list went on. Finally, Arthur had settled on Quentin – a young man just a few years their junior, who seemed well kept and polite, with just enough flare to his personality that Arthur didn’t ‘have the urge to fall upon his sword just to escape his manservant’ (George hadn’t been a great fit).
Everything had seemed to fall into place. Arthur had gifted Merlin his own chambers, right next to his own. The room was large and had a magnificent view of Camelot, as it should, since it was the room usually inhabited by the Queen. Merlin had relished in the extra hours of sleep he gained since resigning from his role as a servant, and had been overjoyed at the prospect of never having to muck out stable again, but he had missed the smaller, more intimate roles he had always done for Arthur that he no longer got to do.
At first, Merlin had told himself that he would adjust to the new normal, but it had been two months since the legalisation of magic and his installation as court sorcerer, and Merlin still missed it.
He missed being the first face Arthur saw in the morning and the last he saw at night, and helping the useless prat dress for the day, briefing him on what was to come, and most of all, Merlin missed having an excuse to always be by Arthur’s side.
Instead, it was Quentin who had those roles now. Quentin who got to wake the King up each morning, Quentin who got to share Arthur’s domestic life. Quentin who was always around.
Merlin hated Quentin.
<<>>
“Rise and shine, sleepy head!” Merlin said, pulling back the curtains to bathe Arthur’s bed in the early morning sun. The King only grumbled and rolled over. Merlin grinned down at him. This is what he missed. “Let’s have you, lazy daisy.”
“Merlin?” Arthur groaned into his pillow, turning his head to squint at Merlin.
“Who else?” Merlin grabbed the edge of the duvet and flung it back, revealing Arthur’s shirtless form in his bed. Arthur sprung for the sheets, glaring at Merlin.
“Hey!” he protested, pulling the sheets back over himself. Then a crease formed between Arthur’s brows as he looked around the room, and at Merlin. “Where’s my manservant?”
“Here, sire.” Quentin stood at the table with a breakfast tray in his hands. Merlin sniffed at him.
“You’re dismissed for the morning.” Merlin said stiffly, crossing his arms. Quentin looked confused, but bowed deeply and left the room regardless, leaving the breakfast tray on the table. Arthur was incredulous.
“Merlin!” he cried. “What was that! You don’t have the right to dismiss my servant! What do you think you’re doing?!”
“Relax. I’ll take over for the morning, and you can have Quentin back later on.” Merlin tried to avoid saying the man’s name like he was spitting it, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded. Arthur was sitting up in his bed, staring at Merlin with his mouth open.
“What is the meaning of this?” Merlin busied himself with rummaging through Arthur’s wardrobe. He hadn’t thought of a way to explain his behaviour just yet.
“I just… think that Quentin deserves a break.” Merlin decided on, even if he thought quite the opposite. Quentin should be worked until he had to retire early. “I remember how much work you put on your manservant, I’m doing him a favour.” He prattled on, still searching for Arthur’s favourite red tunic. Stupid Quentin had rearranged the wardrobe so that nothing was where it was supposed to be.
“Merlin. You hate Quentin.” Arthur said slowly, and Merlin turned to look at him.
“I don’t hate Quentin. I don’t know what makes you think that I do, because I don’t. I actually quite like the man, he’s very… well, I like him fine.”
“I can see through your lies, Merlin.” Merlin stopped himself from bringing up the fact that he’d lied to Arthur about his magic for ten years without Arthur seeing through anything. “Everybody knows you hate him.” Arthur said as he got out of bed and walked over to the table, plucking some grapes from the tray.
“Why would I hate Quentin? Don’t be ridiculous.” Ah! There is was, Arthur’s red shirt. Merlin laid it on the chest at the end of Arthur’s bed along with some trousers and a belt.
“I’m not being ridiculous. You glare at him whenever he’s in the room like you’re wishing he’d drop dead, you’re always short with him, you find ridiculous jobs to give him just to make him leave-”
“You made me polish all the door handles in the palace a few times. There’s no reason Quentin shouldn’t have to.”
“Regardless. You hate him, and everyone knows it. Some of the knights have a betting pool on what the reason is.” That was news to Merlin, he’d investigate it later.
“I don’t hate him.” Merlin repeated. “Come here, you need to get dressed.” Arthur rolled his eyes but came anyway.
“Whatever you say, Merlin. Why are you really here?” he said, as he threw on his clothes. Merlin collected the chainmail from where it hang on the back of a chair.
“I was up early, and thought it would be a good idea to wake you. You know, to relieve Quentin of having to drag your royal arse out of bed.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes at him, but sighed. “Fine. If you wanted to relive your days as a servant, Merlin you can just say it.” Merlin nudged his arms, and Arthur lifted his arms for him to put on the chainmail.
“I don’t want to relive being your servant.”
Arthur huffed, but obviously had had enough of arguing with a wall. Merlin carried on with dressing him, strapping on the pauldron and running his fingers through Arthur’s hair as he neatened it. He was quite satisfied until Arthur mentioned Quentin again.
“Quentin doesn’t do that.” Arthur said.
“What? Fix your hair?”
“Yeah.”
“That explains why you look like you fought a badger when you arrive at training each morning.” Merlin said matter-of-factly, fussing over said hair one last time before turning to grab the bread roll off of Arthur’s plate.
“Shut up.”
“Uncalled for.”
“I’m trying to say that it’s nice.” Arthur’s voice was gruff, and he was staring at the floor. “And that sometimes I miss you being my manservant.” They let his words settle over them.
Merlin blinked at Arthur. “Really?”
“No.” Merlin knew that Arthur knew Merlin knew that Arthur was lying. “Are you coming to training?”
“Yeah. And sometimes I miss being your manservant, too.” Merlin said softly, before taking a mouthful of the bread roll. “Which knights took bets on me?” he said with his mouth full. Arthur rolled his eyes fondly.
“I’m not telling you that unless you tell me why you hate Quentin.”
“I don’t hate Quentin. Why won’t you tell me who?” Merlin took an affronted gasp. “Did you bet money on it?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Arthur began walking towards the door, and Merlin followed him.
Merlin scoffed. “Yes, well. You never do, do you?”
“Merlin!” Arthur said indignantly.
<<>>
When they reached the training green, Leon had already put the knights to work. The junior knights running through drills under the watchful eye of a few of the older men, and the rest of them sparring in small groups. Merlin walked beside Arthur as they crossed the field to where their inner circle trained – Percival was locked in a mace fight with Elyan, as were Leon and Gwaine while Lancelot watched on.
“Arthur, Merlin. Good morning.” Lancelot greeted, and the other knights made a few indistinct grunts in their general direction, which they chose to interpret as greetings. “What are you doing here, Merlin? You never come to training.” Lance said.
“Thought I might drop by to… assess your capabilities.” Merlin said, choosing to ignore Arthur’s snort.
“And why are you really here, Merls?” Gwaine called out. That was a mistake, because he was just distracted enough for Leon to land a solid wing to Gwaine’s shoulder, and send him to the ground.
“Sorry.” Said Leon, offering Gwaine a hand up. He took it, then trying (and failing) to wipe the mud off his chainmail.
“Which one of you started the bet on why I hate Quentin?” He asked amusedly. Percival tried and failed to contain a laugh, while Lancelot, Elyan and Leon grinned knowingly. Merlin wondered how long this betting pool had been going on for. Gwaine punched Arthur in the arm.
“Ow! Gwaine!”
“Princess! Why did you tell him!”
“I wasn’t aware it was a secret.” Arthur said.
“You lie. You were trying to get him to tell you so that you would win.”
“That’s treason, Gwaine.”
Merlin interrupted them. “It was Gwaine, wasn’t it.”
“I’m hurt, Merls. How could you think so little of me?” Gwaine dramatically put a hand over his heart. “It was Leon and Lancelot’s idea.”
“Gwaine!” They both cried, and Merlin swung around to peer at them.
“I expected more from you.” He said. They only shrugged.
“That was your first mistake.” Elyan interjected, causing them all to chuckle. Merlin carried on stoically.
“Well, I don’t hate Quentin, so you all lost the bet.” Merlin watched on as his friends looked between each other and then back at him.
“It’s obvious Merlin!” Percival exclaimed, and everyone muttered in agreement. Merlin narrowed his eyes at them. He opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur spoke first.
“We know, Merlin. ‘I don’t hate Quentin.’” Merlin scowled at Arthur’s poor imitation of his voice. “All right men, the bet goes on. Get back to work, I just have to check on the junior knights.”
Gwaine and Elyan paired up, as did Percival and Lancelot. Leon came to stand beside Merlin. “What’s the reason you think I hate Quentin for?” he asked, and Leon chuckled.
“I thought it didn’t matter since we all lost, as you don’t hate him.”
“Tell me anyway. It’s the least you can do since you started the betting pool.”
“Lancelot had just as much a hand in it. But fine. I put my money on you hating Quentin because you don’t think he’s taking proper care of Arthur. He always complains about having lukewarm baths, and you’ve seen the state of his hair. This is the first time I’ve seen him without it sticking up in eight different directions.” Leon said, staring at him intently enough that Merlin figured he was looking for a tell to prove him right.
Merlin considered what he said. Leon wasn’t completely wrong, per say, but he hadn’t won the bet. Merlin shook his head at him with a smile. “That’s just Arthur having a non-magical manservant for the first time in a decade. He had scalding baths because I heated it with a single spell.”
“And his hair?”
“Quentin doesn’t fix it.” Merlin fought to keep the smile off of his face. Secretly, he was very pleased of the fact only he fixed the King’s hair.
“So I didn’t win the bet, then?”
“Sorry Leon.”
“Just don’t let Gwaine win. It’ll go to his head.”
Merlin laughed. “Of course.”
<<>>
The rest of the day seemed to fly by, and Merlin couldn’t express how much more normal it felt to be by Arthur’s side for almost all day again, even after two months of only seeing each other once or twice a day. Merlin didn’t recall why he stopped accompanying Arthur everywhere – he supposed he’d just driven himself into his role as court sorcerer.
Arthur didn’t seem to mind either, actually touching Merlin more, and speaking to him more. This felt right. They had always belonged at each other’s sides. It was always meant to be Arthur and Merlin, not Arthur, Merlin, and Quentin, and certainly not Arthur and Quentin.
Throughout the day, in the small periods of time Merlin had been separated from Arthur, he had managed to figure out what the knights bet on, or why they thought Merlin hated Quentin. Percival guessed that Quentin wasn’t caring for Arthur’s mare Llamrei appropriately, as was a manservants duty. When Merlin had asked him why he thought that, Percival had only shrugged and said he saw Merlin spending time in the stables with the mare, and had drawn his own conclusions. Quentin, as much as Merlin hated to admit it, took fine care of Llamrei. He just loved the mare and liked to spend time with her on occasion, treating her to an extra groom and an apple. Percival had shook his head, and tried to get Merlin to tell him why he hated Quentin, if he took fine care of Llamrei. Merlin had simply told him he didn’t hate Quentin.
Elyan told Merlin that he’d placed his money of Quentin being rude to Merlin as the reason for his hatred. Merlin had frowned at him. “Gwen tells me some of the servants are jealous of your promotion. Not many servants become an advisor to the King.” Elyan had said. While Merlin didn’t think Quentin adored him, he hadn’t done anything to suggest this mindset, which he informed Elyan of, before laughing. “What?” Elyan had asked.
“That’s three of you who have lost now. I told you I didn’t hate Quentin.” Elyan had only rolled his eyes and told Merlin exactly how much he believed his words, before returning to polishing his shield.
Lancelot had been the next knight to lose the bet, claiming that Merlin hated Quentin for the same reason he had hated Mordred prior to magic’s return to Camelot. “I’ve never seen you hate anybody other than those that may have violent intentions for Arthur.” Lance had said, before leaning in and whispering seriously; “If you think Quentin is a threat, tell me, and I’ll investigate.”
Merlin had thanked him for the support and informed him he was mistaken. Lancelot had looked quite crestfallen.
That left only Gwaine and Arthur. Merlin wondered if they were all wrong, he would get the money from the pool.
When Merlin finally saw Gwaine, just before supper, he stopped him in the halls of the citadel. “What can I do for you, Merls?” Gwaine asked. Merlin got straight to the point.
“What reason did you bet money on, for why you think I hate Quentin?”
Gwaine snorted. “Easy. You’re jealous.” He said simply. Merlin moved to deny it, but Gwaine stopped him. “Don’t bother trying to deny it, mate. The lad gets to spend all of his time with the Princess, and your eyes turn green whenever he touches him. You hate that the boy gets to run his hands all over his majesty and you don’t.”
Merlin knew he must appear a startling shade of crimson. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t care that Quentin touches Arthur. It’s his job.”
Gwaine tutted. “So your fine with the thought of him scrubbing Princess clean in the bath, and his fingers brushing his ribs as he dresses him? Arthur waking up each morning to Quentin’s hands on him, shaking him awake?” he smirked.
“Of- of course I am.” Merlin stumbled over his words. Gwaine snorted. He tried to compose himself. “That brings the total to five incorrect guesses. If Arthur isn’t right, I get the money from the pool.”
“We never agreed to that. And I think you’ll find I win. Anyways, I’m off to the tavern.”
Merlin laughed. “Of course. Have fun.”
“Oh, you know me. I’ll send someone if I need backup.” Gwaine winked, before heading off down the hallway. Merlin watched him walk away whistling a tune, he had a skip in his step – one of a man who knew he’d won his friends’ money.
<<>>
When Merlin entered the chambers next door to his own, he found Arthur sitting in the bath tub, with Quentin washing the King’s back. He didn’t even attempt to hide the scowl that settled on his face. Merlin hated Quentin.
“What are you doing here, Merlin?” Arthur asks. Merlin ignored him in favour of growling at Quentin.
“I can take over from here, Quentin. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He said dismissively. Quentin looked confused.
“But, sire…”
“Please, I insist. Leave.” Merlin said, glaring at him. Quentin stood but looked over to Arthur.
“My lord, do you wish me to-”
“You’re dismissed, Quentin. Have my armour polished by tomorrow.” Arthur said, not looking anywhere but Merlin, who was feeling a mixture of things. Firstly, smug that Arthur had taken his side and dismissed his manservant, and second, a foreboding sense that Gwaine probably had won the bet.
“Of course, sire. Good night.” He bowed and left, shooting Merlin a withering stare that he barely noticed. Merlin heard the door shut behind him, and let his eyes glow gold with magic, heating Arthur’s bathwater to what he knew was his preferred temperature instantly. The only sign it worked was Arthur’s small jump.
“Again, Merlin? Really?”
Merlin shrugged and sat on the bench behind the tub, at Arthur’s back. He picked up the scrub cloth and resumed washing Arthur’s back. “You should thank me. Now your armour will be polished, you’ll have a well-rested manservant, and bath water that’s not ice cold.”
“I suppose I didn’t realise the benefits of having a magical manservant until they were gone.”
“That’s the closest thing to appreciating my efforts as a servant I’ve ever heard you say.”
“Yes, well. You were truly a horrible servant.” Merlin chuckled and put down the wash cloth as he finished cleaning Arthur’s back. He placed his hands on Arthur’s bare shoulders and started kneading the hard knots in his muscles, occasionally sending zaps of magic through his finger tips to help. Arthur sighed and relaxed. “I suppose you aren’t all that useless.”
“Your graciousness is honourable, sire.”
“Shut up.”
Merlin hummed and continued to massage Arthur’s shoulders. This is what he missed – these simple moments when it was just the two of them enjoying the company, even in the absence of speaking. They remained in this comfortable relapse through the evening, getting in a few jibes here and there but primarily allowing a warm silence to settle over them as Merlin prepared Arthur for bed. He tossed him his sleep pants, and finished turning down the bed as Arthur changed.
“I do miss doing this.” Merlin heard himself admit, Arthur looked at him.
“What, being my servant?”
“Well, not the stupid stuff, like polishing your armour and washing your gross socks.” Arthur gave a shout of protest. “But I miss this. Just, you know, being around.” He clarified.
Arthur cleared his throat. “I suppose I miss that too. I actually betted on that being why you hate Quentin.
“That I missed this?” Merlin asked, surprised.
“That you missed the time we used to spend together.”
“Arse.” Merlin said, although it came out rather fondly.
Arthur spoke nonchalantly, but he didn’t meet Merlin’s eyes. “I only said that because I miss it. For whatever reason. You’re an idiot. Thought you might feel the same.”
Merlin ignored the jibe – Arthur missed him. He let it go to his head. “I do miss you. We never have time just you and me anymore.” Merlin said, and Arthur grunted at him. Merlin realised that he’d now heard all of the bets his friends had made. “Huh.” He said.
“What?”
“Were there only the six of you that put money in the betting pool?”
“Why? Yeah.”
Merlin snorted. “There are two winners.”
Arthur climbed into his bed, quirking an eyebrow. “I thought no one would win because you didn’t hate Quentin.”
“I don’t hate Quentin.” Arthur exhaled incredulously, grinning at him like he couldn’t believe him.
“Who won then?
“I’m not telling you that.”
Arthur faked a gasp. “Did I win?” Merlin rolled his eyes, and Arthur laughed, reaching over to punch Merlin in the arm. “I can’t wait to see the look on Gwaine’s face when I take his money.”
“Actually…” Merlin said, smiling.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “What.”
“There are two winners. You’re one, and Gwaine is the other.” Merlin said. Arthur stared at him for a moment. Mentally, Merlin banged his head against a brick wall. Why was he stupid. Why couldn’t he think through his actions?
“Gwaine said you were jealous.” He said very slowly.
Merlin tried to hide how he bristled. “I’m not jealous.” Then, he sighed. Thinking through his actions and words be damned, he just wanted to say what he was thinking for once. “I just don’t like that Quentin spends more time with you than I do.”
“The only reason you’d hate him for that is if you were jealous.” Arthur was grinning now, shit-eating and smug, and it was Merlin’s turn to blush. Then Arthur looked at him again. “Gwaine said you were jealous of Quentin touching me.”
Merlin ducked his head. “No he didn’t.”
“Merlin.”
“What.”
“Why are you jealous. You know I like yo-” Merlin cut off Arthur in a way he never thought he would. With his mouth against Arthur’s. Lips against Lips. Oh gods he was kissing Arthur. Merlin pulled away, he should not have damned thinking through his actions. He’d just made a huge mistake. Merlin leapt from Arthur, but the king followed him, placing a hand at the nape of Merlin’s neck and pulling him back in, kissing him roughly.
Merlin felt light headed when they parted again, looking at Arthur with confusion painted over his face. “Is that why you were jealous?” Arthur whispered. Merlin blinked at him, but nodded his head slowly. He didn’t have words. “Idiot.” Arthur said, before leaning in and kissing him again. It was sweeter, this time, Arthur moving his lips over Merlin’s, and Merlin giving back everything he took.
It was a long time until they stopped again. They were both lying in Arthur’s bed, and Merlin let himself look at Arthur, with his kiss-swollen lips and dazed eyes. Arthur stared right back at him.
“I want to take back some of my old duties.” He said softly. “I want to be the first one you see in the morning and the last one you see at night. I want to fix your hair. I want to come to training with you.”
“So do it.” Arthur said back, softly. “Stay with me. I want to be the first thing you see in the morning as well.”
Merlin smiled. “Really?”
“No.” Arthur said, nuzzling into Merlin’s neck sweetly before lifting his head. “We can’t tell Gwaine he won the bet.”
“He didn’t. Neither did you.” Merlin said smugly.
“Merlin-”
He leant in and pressed a soft kiss to Arthur’s lips. “I don’t hate Quentin. I just love you.”