Chapter Text
Merlin was well aware of the hold he had over Arthur. It wasn’t sorcery; Merlin was just that skilled at getting Arthur to do what he wanted. Though it only worked on Arthur. And the knights. And the kitchen staff when he got hungry between meals. And even Gaius on occasion. Come to think of it, Merlin was rather good at persuading practically everyone in the castle to do anything he asked. Although why they were so easily convinced was a mystery that would forever baffle him.
But Arthur? Merlin knew precisely how he had developed such an influence over the King of Camelot. Simply put, Arthur had grown far too dependent on the manservant to function on his own. Arthur was always seeking the advice of Merlin on every issue in the kingdom, ranging from new legislation to the color of a building that needed repainting. He relied on Merlin to remind him of the daily schedule, the names of visiting nobles he had forgotten, and even when to eat lunch. And on more than one occasion, Merlin had had to point out that Arthur was wearing the crown he had spent ten minutes frantically looking for. It’s not that Arthur was incapable of running the kingdom on his own. It’s just that he…didn’t want to. Not when he had Merlin there to help him. It was as endearing as it was frustrating.
Contrary to what everyone in Camelot believed, Merlin did not abuse his powers of persuasion all that often. Only when Arthur’s ego needed to be reigned in after running rampant or Merlin wanted something and Arthur was being a dick about it for the sake of being a dick.
Like now.
“Two weeks? Why do you need two weeks of vacation? Wasn’t the half-day off three weeks ago enough?”
“That wasn’t a half-day off. It was fifteen minutes and the reason why it was cut so short is because you needed me to make a picnic for you and Gwen. A task, may I remind you, that could have easily been done by one of the kitchen maids.”
“Is Hunith sick? Is there a seasonal festival going on that I wasn’t aware of? Does Ealdor need you to, I don’t know, chop firewood for them or rebuild a barn or something?”
“Arthur, there doesn’t always have to be a reason for a vacation. I simply want to take some time off to relax and spend time with my mother.”
“But why do you need two weeks? What about three days? Surely that will be enough. And I’m being generous. I was originally considering two.”
Merlin dropped the pile of dirty socks he was gathering and tilted his head at Arthur, crossing his arms. Arthur leaned his chair against the wall and put his feet up on the table.
“Arthur, why don’t you want me to go?”
“Didn’t you just say you didn’t need a reason for a vacation? Well, I don’t need a reason for why I said no. I am the king; what I say goes. End of.”
Arthur extended his arm and made a grand sweeping gesture to close out this statement. It would have been impressive if his expression wasn’t caught between a pout and a glare. Merlin bent down to retrieve the socks he had dropped so Arthur wouldn’t see his smile. The king looked far too adorable in his petulance than he had any right to. Wait, why was he thinking that about Arthur? Merlin scowled to himself. Arthur wasn’t adorable, he was annoying. He was being completely insufferable simply because he couldn’t admit that he would miss Merlin when he was gone. It was time to bring out the coup de grace.
The young warlock continued with his usual routine around Arthur’s chambers, picking up clothes and restoring scattered items to their proper places. Then, just before he disappeared into the bedchamber for a laundry basket, Merlin threw his final cutting remark behind him, in such a careless and casual manner it would take a few seconds for the insult to start burning.
“You don’t want me to go because you can’t cope without me, isn’t that right? If I leave, you won’t be able to run your own kingdom by yourself because you’ve gotten too used to me doing it for you.”
A chair made a terrific crash as it clattered to the floor. Then silence settled throughout Arthur’s chambers that was so thick and absolute, it was like a cloud of fog had suddenly pervaded the space. Merlin buried his face into his shoulder to hide his sniggering. He let his armful of clothes fall into the basket and then picked the whole thing up so he could carry it downstairs.
When Merlin returned to the anteroom, he had to fight hard to maintain a neutral expression. Arthur was sitting on the ground with his legs entangled in the chair’s legs. The look on his face could only be accurately described as poleaxed. Merlin had only been able to render the prat speechless a grand total of twice in his life–now three–and each time was an occasion to revel in. Merlin set the laundry on the end of the table. There was no more cleaning for him to do, but he set himself to fiddling with the curtains and brushing off furniture while he waited for Arthur to regain his faculties. Another minute passed, and then the sound of indignant spluttering broke the silence.
“Fine! Go! See if I even notice that you’re gone! Honestly, Merlin, the running of my kingdom—mine, Merlin, in case you forgot who was king here—will probably end up going smoother without you here to mess things up, you bumbling idiot!”
Merlin folded his arms to keep himself from waving them around in victory. He leaned an elbow on the mantelpiece and watched with poorly disguised amusement as Arthur scrambled to his feet in a mess of wrinkled clothing and blonde hair. He made sure his voice came out steady, even injecting a little boredom into it.
“Does that mean I have your permission, sire?”
Arthur glared very, very sharp daggers at Merlin. He angrily adjusted the crown on his head and pointed an accusatory finger at his manservant.
“No, because I declare this to not be a vacation! Consider this an exile, Merlin. I hereby exile you for two weeks, do you hear? I don’t want to see you again until you come back—and you had better be repentant by then!”
Merlin bowed to Arthur as disrespectfully as possible, picked up the laundry basket, and made his way out of the room. But then he paused in the doorway and cocked his head to one side.
“But, sire, what do you want me to repent for?”
Merlin had barely shut the door behind him before something thumped against it. He gleefully skipped down the hall as Arthur shouted after him.
“For being a prat!”
“But that’s your job,” Merlin muttered under his breath, grinning.
With renewed energy in his step, Merlin delivered Arthur’s clothes to the laundresses and then headed to Gauis’s chambers. He needed to start packing for his trip.