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Sometimes Merlin hates being Prince Arthur’s servant.
He hates it when he sits in the armory, attempting to pound out the minor dents in Prince Arthur’s armor. He hates the tedium of shining each piece of armor, rubbing it mindlessly as he nearly dozes off. He hates how sore his arms often become. He hates sharpening Prince Arthur’s sword, especially when he accidentally cuts his finger making sure the sword was sharp enough.
Sometimes he considers using magic to help with the chores, but anyone could walk in the armory at any time. He does not want to end up tied to a pole in a burning pyre in the main square. He wonders if Prince Arthur would try to defend his servant. If only...
Though he would only ever admit it to himself, sometimes he loves being Prince Arthur’s servant.
He loves standing close to Arthur, dressing him in his armor while letting his hands linger slightly longer than necessary. He loves the small smile he gets when he remembers to give Arthur his sword, successfully completing his preparation. He loves the pride he feels seeing his well-equipped prince on the practice field. He loves the prince’s sneaky glances at him whenever he had done something impressive.
He loves taking Prince Arthur’s armor off when he finishes practice, seeing up close how he slowly relaxes, though only for a little while, before he must return to his duties.
So Merlin returns to his duties, watching his prince from behind the veil as his manservant.