i like words and pretty people.

He hates himself, he hates his father, he hates Merlin, and most of all, he hates Gwaine for showing up in his life in the first place.

He sends Sir Kay and Sir Dinadan to the ground without breaking a sweat, and when he turns to face Sir Leon, he’s wearing a knowing look that Arthur hates, too.

“You fought well today,” Merlin tells him later as he prepares his bath, and Arthur knows he must truly be acting a fool, because Merlin never compliments him—and especially not when he’s earned it.

Any moment now, Merlin will get that searching look on his face and ask:

“You miss Gwaine, don’t you?”

Arthur shucks his shirt in an effort to hide his own expression. “Shut up, Merlin.”

“I miss him too,” Merlin says, untangling Arthur’s arms from his sleeves. “It’s not right that he’s been exiled. He’d make a great knight.”

Something ugly twists in Arthur’s chest. He thinks of Gwaine’s arm around Merlin, Gwen laughing at his jokes, the wink he sent Arthur’s way…

“Perhaps when I am king,” Arthur says.

Merlin nods and ducks down to untie Arthur’s breeches. His face flames.

“You two were good friends,” Arthur says, embarrassment giving way to candor. “It must have been strange to have someone take a liking to you, for once.”

“Mm. It did take some getting used to.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, still on his knees, and heat rushes from Arthur’s face down, down.

“Just as you had to get used to someone other than me seeing you for the prat you are.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and tugs Merlin to his feet, away from the growing problem in his breeches. He turns his back to Merlin, takes them off, and steps into the bath, sinking up to his shoulders with a long sigh.

Merlin places his hand on the back of Arthur’s neck, and Arthur ducks under the water without hesitation.

“Gwaine kissed me before he left,” Merlin says when he surfaces.

Arthur freezes. His problem twitches.

“He’s good at it.” Merlin huffs a laugh and starts working lemon-scented soap into Arthur’s hair. “Really good. I can see why he flirts so much—he’s got the skills to back it. He told me he’d like to do it again someday.”

Merlin scrubs the hair at the nape of his neck, working up a lather.

“Would that be alright with you, sire? Me kissing Gwaine when he returns to be your knight?”

The problem is making a valiant effort to have its thoughts on the matter known. Arthur clears his throat.

“I have no interest in your romantic escapades, Merlin.”

Merlin tuts. “It certainly looks as though you’re interested, Your Highness.”

Arthur doesn’t even get to utter an indignant scoff before Merlin pushes him back under the water. When he resurfaces, spluttering furiously, Merlin’s laughing like a carefree boy.

“Your face!” He wheezes.

Arthur scowls.

“It’s alright, Arthur, I’m only joking.” Merlin snorts and holds out his hand. “Hand me that comb, your hair’s a rat’s nest.”

“You get the comb, Merlin! You’re the servant!”

Merlin sighs. “Gwaine would get me the comb.”

Arthur shoves him underwater.