Merlin really hated hunting trips. He hated the mud. He hated the cold. And he hated the smell of an animal’s blood after Arthur shot it. And he really hated the way Arthur made him hold the carcasses across his back, like he couldn’t feel their tiny bones shift beneath the skin and their smell getting progressively worse - the combo just making him nauseous.
They had been out all day and what do they have to show for it? A rather poor excuse for a hare. Grumpy and tired, Merlin stared at their catch accusingly. “My, aren’t you impressive.” He called to Arthur over his shoulder. “My lord, I don’t know how we’re going to carry this grand catch back to Camelot.”
Merlin huffed indignantly and moved to sit beside the King. He was tempted to complain about how sitting on the ground made his back hurt, but decided Arthur’s reply wasn’t worth it. Then again... sometimes he only complained because it bothered Arthur, which was hilarious.