Chapter Text
It isn’t often Arthur's father accompanies him in public; the man prefers to remain in the castle walls to keep safe from sorcerers. Arthur would never say so aloud, but he rather hates when Uther does leave the castle with him. He feels so… scrutinized. Judged, just for horsing around with his friends.
Right now he feels the scrutiny intensely, as he tussles with some random young peasant who has decided to make an enemy of him.
The boy throws a punch and Arthur catches it easily, twisting his arm. He’s brave, Arthur will give him that. Or stupid.
“I'll have you thrown in jail for that.”
The man scoffs. “What, who do you think you are? The King?”
“No,” He grins. So he doesn’t know, he must not be from around here. Oh, this is rich. “I'm his son, Arthur.”
“Arthur. The prince. Okay,” He glances around, taking in the knights, and his face goes paler and paler as he turns to Uther. “And you’re his father so that makes you… the…" he trails off weakly. Uther raises a brow. "Okay. Kill me now, get it over with," sighs the young man, sounding genuinely resigned.
Uther and Arthur exchange glances and burst out laughing.
"You're a funny lad," says Uther, wiping a tear from his eye. "There's a distinct lack of personality in my court."
Arthur's smile slips off his face. He doesn't like where this is going.
"You are now to be my court jester."
"Father-" Uther cuts him off with a hand.
The man's mouth falls open. "I- I have no training. Sire," he sputters.
"No matter. The trained ones aren't any good anyhow."
Arthur silently, begrudgingly agrees. They're all cloying suckups, so eager to make a positive impression on the nobility that they forget to be funny. At least this fool will be easy to laugh at, stupid as he seems. Easy on the eyes as well. Even if Arthur resents that he's gotten a job solely off attacking Arthur, if he has to see him again outside a dungeon cell then at least it will be this way. He can make fun of those stupid ears and gangly legs, and the jester wont be able to say anything back, for fear of punishment. It's perfect, really. The longer he thinks about it the more he comes round to the idea. Yes, a jester.
The man has already made a fool of himself, after all.
-
Arthur sips his wine. Several foreign dignitaries are in attendance, and the dinner is going as well as could be expected, besides the… atrocious entertainment.
"And the-the cow said," Merlin can barely finish through his own laughter, "I don't even work here!"
His laughter echoes in the silent room. Merlin purses his lips.
"What? I thought it was a good one," he says. "Okay, have you ever heard the one about the old man-"
"This peasant is not funny," says Arthur's friend Count Keats, loudly.
"Why don't you come down and give it a go? I saw you in the market acting quite a fool, yourself, the other day, throwing knives at innocent young men. Your horrid aim alone will give you plenty of material," Merlin snaps.
Arthur chuckles despite himself. Keats looks like he's been slapped.
"He can't say that to me." He turns to Arthur, who shrugs. He could absolutely be put in the dungeon for that. But Arthur wants to see where this goes. Keats turns back to Merlin. "You're a peasant ."
Merlin nods, walking up to his seat. "Astute observation."
"You are below me."
"I could be, handsome." He leans in and pecks him on the nose.
There is a long, tense silence, and Arthur bursts into laughter. The jester's eyes meet his and his face breaks into a wide grin, and he decides he may like this jester after all.
Then the smile slips from the jesters face as he stares at something over Arthurs shoulder, and then a chandelier is falling and the jester is knocking him to the ground so fast his head spins, and he notes that the jesters cheekbones are even sharper up close, and the rest is a blur.
-
"You were amused by the boy?"
"He's bold, I give him that. And witty."
"A sharp tongue, yes. He'll be lucky if I don't put him in the dungeons within a fortnight."
Arthur carefully bites back a smile. It is rare that he and his father agree, of late, and having something in common, even if it is only a nuisance… it feels nice. The boy would be in the dungeons already if not for his act of heroism tonight.
-
Arthur makes it a point to heckle him, after that. At any of the more lavish feasts, it is fun to watch his ears go red as he forms a response. This one is no exception.
"Your jokes are stale,” he says as Merlin passes.
"Modeled after your breath, sire," Merlin says, leaning close.
Arthurs breath hitches and his eyes flicker to Merlin's lips, wondering if perhaps Merlin would peck him like he had to Keats that first night.
Merlin whirls and addresses the audience. "A toast to the king who has once again outdone himself with this feast." Arthur furrows his brow. Merlin never sucks up this way. He waits for the clapping to die down and continues. "...To the pig who lets his people starve while he gorges himself on his own kind!"
Merlin lifts a forkful of pork into the air before throwing it at the wall above Uthers head, where it sticks. Arthur releases a breath, embarrassed for him and his antics. And, honestly, fearing for the jester's life. Merlin’s jokes always have a bite, but to throw a fork at the king's head… he’s a complete idiot, that’s for certain. A suicidal idiot. Possibly even treasonous. He will spend weeks in the stocks.
Uther has a dangerous glint in his eye. "And what would you have me do differently?" he asks, deceptively calm.
"Glad you asked." Merlin smiles, pulling a map from god knows where, and points. "Here's where the land is the most fertile, based on what farmers have told me and my own experience.”
He leans over, fully in Uthers space. Everyone sits with bated breath, waiting to see what the hell is going on.
Merlin clears his throat. “Creating trade roads here, here and here, and subsidizing land use in those areas will create a better fall harvest and stretch the produce out for more people. Also, throwing fewer lavish parties really wouldn’t hurt. Sire."
Uther blinks. He snatches the map from Merlin's hand and viciously crumples it.
"I don't tell you how to tell your jokes, fool. Do not presume to tell me how to rule my Kingdom," he booms. Merlin salutes, and bows. Uther scowls. “And Merlin-”
“Dungeons, yes, right, got it. On my way.” Merlin bows and turns, presumably to head to the dungeons. Arthur meets the eye of the Lady seated beside him and they share a look of utter incomprehension.
Uther pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. The feast continues as if it had never been interrupted.
Later that day, Arthur catches Uther in the throne room, poring over the crumpled map and taking notes on parchment.