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It all started with one of the serving girls — Eira — betting that she could get the prince to bed her within a month.
Naturally, this caught much of the gossipy serving staff's attention, and from there, it caught like forestfire. Nearly all the castle staff were talking about it, the guards too — everyone except, very carefully, Merlin. The moment he was in earshot, everyone suddenly went tight-lipped, and it was possible he may start to notice something was afoot, but they couldn't very well risk news of the bets running rampant through the castle going straight to the prince's ears, could they?
Eira's first attempt, however, yielded absolutely nothing.
"Where is Merlin?" The prince immediately demanded, when Eira knocked and was permitted to enter with a small tray of honeycakes.
"Oh— er. I'm not sure, sire. Shall I find him for you?"
Prince Arthur merely sighed exasperatedly. "No." He waved at the tray. "What is the purpose of this?"
"Ah, the cook had some extra honeycakes and she thought you might appreciate them, sire," Eira quickly fabricated.
"Right. Well…thank you, Eira. Tell her that's very kind."
The prince's words were a bit stilted, but Eira flushed. He knew her name! That was surely a good sign, right? It mustn't be too hard, then—
"Did you need something further?" Arthur asked, before she could get too excited. A clear dismissal.
Right. Okay, maybe not, then. Not yet, at least. These things took time though, did they not?
"Oh, no — thank you, sire." She dropped a quick curtsy and fled the room, trying her best to appear as though she were not fleeing.
Yes, these things took time… But, on second thought…mightn't it be easier to just spare herself the trouble and embarrassment?
— 亗 —
Orvyn listened to Eira's — obviously quite embellished, but certainly entertaining — tale of the prince's lustful prowess with rapt attention as he quickly ate his servant's portions.
When she finished, there was wide-eyed silence from many, but then a whoop of congratulations from one of the scullery maids broke the momentary quiet, which gave way to much disgruntled muttering about exchanging food, small items, and favours for the loss of bets.
Gregory, one of the stable boys, laughed loudly, though. "That's a load of dung. All of it."
Eira's cheeks pinkened. "Are you calling me a liar?"
"I'll have to, if you hold that story is anything but a featherbrained flight of fancy."
Eira crossed her arms. "And what proof have you got, then? I was the one alone in Prince Arthur's chambers."
Gregory laughed again. "The guards gossip just as much as we do — did you forget there's always two posted outside the royal chambers?"
Eira's face slackened slightly as her eyes went wide, clearly not having paid the guards much mind at the time.
"Oh yes," Gregory continued, with what could be termed not the nicest glint in his eye, though not altogether cruel either. "You see, I was curious myself how your attempt you'd talked up so much might've gone, so I went straight to the source this morning, and they both told me he merely demanded where his manservant was instead of you before you'd even shut the door, and then sent you right back out not a few moments later!"
Eira was well and truly flushed now, her face bright red and her hands balled into fists where her arms were still crossed tightly over her chest. "Well— well that's merely word against word! Why is theirs any more trustworthy than mine! Because I'm a mere serving girl?"
Gregory tilted his head. "Two against one. I rather think they're more convincing." He looked over the rest of the gathered servants, who were avidly watching the drama unfold. "And I don't know about all of you, but it does seem a little unlikely that the prince managed to go four times and then proposed a secret marriage."
If possible, Eira flushed even redder.
Most of the servants laughed, very few of them even attempting to hide it behind their hands.
"Well, it was a very entertaining story," Sigrid, one of the laundry maids, said consolingly, placing a comforting hand on Eira's arm.
Eira just gave an indignant huff. "Well, maybe none of you believe me, but that just means I'll have to do it again," she said, her chin tipped high in challenge.
"Quite." Gregory looked more amused than anything.
"No offence meant, Eira, but I believe we'd better use the guards to report back from now on," Amelia, a soft spoken chandlery maid, said. "I'd not like to lose a bet on uncertainties, I think."
"How do you know they've not just got it out for me?" Eira demanded moodily.
"Well, the guard does rotate," Sigrid pointed out kindly. "Even if one of them had a personal grudge, there would be others, and I can't see any reason for them to lie. They're just as invested in the betting as we are."
"Well— well fine," Eira finally accepted, snatching up her trencher and walking off in a huff.
"Hmm," Maurin, one of the serving boys, hummed contemplatively. "I wonder…"
Several of the other servants leaned closer in interest.
"Yes?" Orvyn was the one to prompt.
"...I bet it would be a lot more interesting if we…expanded things," Maurin eventually said.
"How do you mean?" Geneveive, one of the ewery maids, asked with quite a bit of interest.
Maurin quirked his lips briefly. "Well I, for one, am not sure how much faith I have that Eira will be the one to do it, but the prince is bound to tumble with somebody eventually, yeah? I think there's a lot more betting to be had on who it finally is."
A grin finally broke out on his face, and many of the other servants couldn't help but grin back.
Oh, he was right, Orvyn thought, this would make things so much more interesting.
— 亗 —
What followed was a month and a half of barely restrained chaos.
Many of the girls who would never have had the courage to do so before, now all but threw themselves at Arthur, urged along by the promise of winning spoils for themselves, and helping those they had allied with to victory as well. The servants and guards quickly ended up splitting into factions, each backing a different girl, and upon every failure was intense disappointment and yet further anticipation and determination. Somebody had to win eventually, and they all refused to give up on their champion.
However, the champions themselves could only take so much embarrassment and blatant dismissal. As far as any of them could tell, Arthur didn't even seem to understand that any of them were flirting, only seemed somewhat confused by the sudden change in behaviour, and nice enough but seemly as ever.
Surprisingly (or, perhaps less surprisingly, when one considered she had been trying the longest and had humiliated herself in front of the other servants with her massive fib), the first one to give was Eira.
"I give up!" She announced, sitting down and slumping against the table, resting her forehead on her arms. "At this point the winner will be Merlin — he's the only one who ever lays an actual finger on the prince, let alone gets a real smile from him!"
That got wild laughter from all the servants supping on their food around her.
"Oh, it's not as bad as all that," Sigrid tried to reassure, patting her on the back of the shoulder. "I'm sure all of this business is bound to be done with at some point soon, yeah?"
— 亗 —
Wymond yawned, and then quickly straightened up, trying to look as if he definitely had not been falling asleep bored out of his mind, as he heard Prince Arthur approaching down the corridor, with his manservant in tow.
One of the laundry maids passed them, going the other direction. "Your Highness." She gave him a deep, respectful nod — all she was capable of whilst holding a laundry basket and walking. "I—" She took a deep, bracing breath, and looked to be steeling herself. "I must say, that colour looks quite— quite fetching on you, sire," she stuttered out, blushing.
The prince merely blinked at her blankly for an awkward moment, before finally saying, "...Thank you, Olive."
He at least waited until she was out of earshot to ask his manservant, "Merlin, do you think the servants have been acting…rather strange lately?"
"Oh yes, I'd say that was rather strange," Merlin said, straight-faced, as they finally came upon the prince's chambers. "Poor girl needs her eyes checked. She called you fetching, when you clearly look like the back end of a horse."
It was difficult, but Wymond very carefully did not allow his face to so much as twitch at that. Insulting the prince was not funny. Not at all. Not even a little bit.
He was terrified to glance over at Leoric for fear they would send each other into fits the moment the prince got through the door — and he would surely hear them and not take kindly to it.
Arthur smacked his manservant on the back of the head as he opened his door, and Merlin ducked away slightly, sniggering.
Almost as soon as the door shut, there was a yelp, which nearly sent Wymond charging through the door, but then he realised it was only the manservant, and was tempered with laughter.
"Alright, alright, I take it back!"
"You'd better," the prince threatened, though he failed to sound very serious at all about it, and seemed rather amused himself, though he was trying to hide it.
"My apologies, sire," Merlin said solemnly. "You definitely look much more like the front end of a horse."
"Right, that's enough out of you, then," Arthur said, still sounding much more amused than it seemed he wanted to, as his manservant laughed unrepentantly at his expense.
It was…nice to hear moments like that. It was nice to see Arthur enjoying himself sometimes. He smiled and laughed a lot more these days — mostly thanks to Merlin — but it wasn't so terribly long ago that the thought of getting a genuine laugh out of the boy with too much on his shoulders from much too young an age seemed impossible.
"You can't actually make me—" There was a thunk against the heavy door as Merlin's words cut off, and all went quiet for a few moments.
"Yes I can," Arthur said, after that tense pause.
Wymond had gone rigid. This wasn't— Of course it was…it was in the prince's right to do whatever he wished to the servants, particularly unruly ones, but Wymond had never known the prince to get physical like this — in fact, he'd seemed rather against it when other nobles had exhibited such behaviour. This didn't seem at all like the kind-hearted prince they all loved. And he had turned so quickly, had seemed perfectly good natured about it all until—
Wymond's train of thought cut off as a new sound reached him through the door: a low moan. It didn't— It didn't sound— Injured was not exactly the way Wymond would have described it.
There was a smaller thunk against the door, and then another moan, this one less muffled. "Arthur."
Wymond felt himself flushing red. Oh. Well— Well that was…quite a different story.
"Ah!" This time the call was slightly louder. "Arth—" The manservant's voice was abruptly muffled again.
"Yes, announce everything to the whole castle, why don't you. I'm sure my father would just love to hear it," Arthur said dryly.
There was muffled laughter that quickly turned into another moan.
It was…probably true, though, that King Uther would be furious. Enough to sack Merlin, maybe even throw him in the dungeons — and it didn't escape Wymond's notice that Arthur had never been immune to Uther's wrath either. Uther was a man concerned about appearances, and tumbling with a servant and peasant was not befitting of a prince; Arthur would be expected to court and eventually marry an appropriate lady, one of his station, and produce an heir. If Wymond knew anything of the prince, though, he did not trust easily, nor did he love casually, which was why Wymond's bet had been on the prince tumbling with no one, and the servants eventually boring of waiting and failure after failure. Ergo, Wymond…highly doubted the prince would be happy to let go of his manservant when the time came.
"You're a menace," Arthur said, as his attempts only did so much to dampen his manservant's noises. "What's gotten into you today?" He gave a sigh that attempted for put-upon but fell short at affectionately amused. "Come to bed, my love."
Wymond's eyes by now were wide as saucers and his face beetroot red. In a final grasping — though, he knew, utterly futile — effort at denial, he quickly looked over to Leoric to see if he was hearing the same thing Wymond was.
Leoric was already staring back at him, eyes just as wide and startled.
Well…that settled that, then.
He quietly cleared his throat and discreetly stepped over to the other side of the corridor.
At least all the betting would finally be settled, then. And…well, he couldn't deny that Merlin had been good for the prince: humbling him, keeping him from being quite so hotheaded, and, undeniably, lightening his heart and making him happier. Wymond couldn't in good conscience say it was a bad match.
— 亗 —
Eira was still in quite a sulk, glumly eating her porridge the next morning, staring down at the table, when someone approached her and a large hand slapped something down on the table beside her bowl. Eira blinked at the coins, and then looked up at the guard who had left them — Wymond. She couldn't think of any reason on earth he'd be paying her except the bet. The guards were the only ones who had even bet with actual money, with them being a little more comfortable sparing some, but she certainly hadn't won. Her failure had been announced in front of everyone and then she'd been the first to give up entirely!
"Why…?" Her words trailed off, beyond mystified.
Wymond cleared his throat and looked away from her, crossing his arms as the other guard behind him — Leoric — reached around him to add even more coin to the small pile (what she was starting to suspect was only the first of many additions to be added, if these were, after all, somehow rightful winnings). "Well." He said, voice uncomfortable but clear, and the whole room — every servant whose eyes had immediately become riveted on the only interesting thing in the room — held their breath. "It was Merlin."
The room exploded into utter chaos, and Eira just blinked at him blankly before looking back down at the small pile of coin, then back up at him, and slowly a small smile grew on her face. Quite without meaning to, a laugh bubbled out of her. Honestly, she couldn't even find it in herself to be jealous of the manservant — after all, she thought they had both profited quite nicely from this arrangement.
And if Merlin gave her a wink when they passed each other in the busy kitchens later, despite everyone in the castle having done their very best to keep this whole thing from his ears…well, she needn't tell anybody about it.