Inspired by one of MagicByMerlin's fanfics. Thank you for giving me the idea; I hope you don't mind that I'm using it.
It had started out as a small idea, which eventually grew into a train of thought. Every time Arthur glanced at his manservant now, curiosity filled him, along with a burning desire to see the outcome.
What would happen if someone took away Merlin's neckerchief?
Merlin couldn't be that attached to it, surely. Arthur had often seen Merlin without it on, but even so it was hard to imagine his servant without the scarf (interchangeably blue or red) that seemed to be his trademark.
Finally, Arthur decided to do something about it. His chance came sooner than expected when he strolled into his room to find Merlin clearing up the prince's dishes, his back turned.
Arthur paused, grinning to himself. Slowly, carefully, he tiptoed towards his servant until he was close enough. In one fluid movement, the prince reached out, undid Merlin's neckerchief and hid it behind his back.
Merlin instantly swirled around, one hand flying to his bare neck. His eyes widened as he saw Arthur behind him, the prince putting on his best innocent expression (which wasn't really that successful).
Merlin spoke, his voice quiet with a hint of menance. "Arthur, did you take my scarf?"
Arthur continued with the innocent expression, suddenly interested in the fingernails of his right hand. "No."
Merlin's eyes narrowed. "Arthur, I can see it sticking out from behind your back."
"What, this old thing?" Arthur held the scarf out, taking note of the sudden glint in Merlin's eyes. Uneasily, the prince took a step backwards.
Merlin reached out to grab it, but Arthur quickly moved it out of his servant's reach. "Come on, Merlin," he taunted. Slowly, he took hold of both ends and gently pulled, stretching the neckerchief. "Are you honestly going to let me get away with this?"
Both Merlin and Arthur glanced down at the tiny rip that had suddenly appeared in the neckerchief. Arthur glanced up at Merlin, but his apoledgy died in his throat as his manservant glared at him fiercely.
Olwain was about to knock on Arthur's door when it swung open. Arthur's manservant waltzed out, smoothing down the scarf that had been tied expertly around his neck and muttering to himself while grinning. Olwain automatically took a step back to allow the rambling servant to pass before entering Arthur's room.
Arthur, Crown Prince of Camelot, was lying on the floor, wincing. Around him, his clothes lay in shreads, and his blond hair stuck up in untidy tufts. Like his servant, he was mumbling to himself, his eyes half-closed in shock.
"Note to self," Arthur groaned, hugging his knees to his chest. "Don't ever take Merlin's scarf from him again."