A reputation is like glass, once cracked it can never be replaced.
— Merlin, I've always known you were stupid, but not that stupid.
— No, really, I'm that stupid. And if you don't believe me, watch.
— What actually happened?
— The usual. I saved your neck.
— You saved me?
— Yes. And I can juggle. I keep telling you I have many talents.
— Merlin! This is one of the two…possibly three moments in my life where I’ve actually been glad to see you.
— That’s my thoughts exactly, Sire. How’re you feeling?
— Like death. Well, death warmed up, at least.
— I can imagine.
— Hm. Well it seems like we’ve both been through something of an ordeal.
— It wasn’t so bad, really. Once you get use to the eternal night and the rats, and the moldy pillows, living with a bucket of your own…
— Merlin. I’m sorry about what happened to you. Truly. Soon as I heard, I told them it couldn’t have been you who poisoned me.
— And theft means my pies.
— Your pies? Why on earth would anyone want to steal your godforsaken pies?
— My pies are the talk of Camelot.
— Oh. Yes, indeed they are — a crust like rusted iron, a filling like last year's horse dung, and the smell — oh, yes — just like the guard house's latrine!
— No one insults my pies and gets away with it!
— Oh, I'm sorry. Should I speak instead of your poisonous flans — like vomit, curdling in the noonday sun — or your dumplings? The king, himself, likened them to freshly lain frog spawn wrapped in pig snot!
— I am not my father.
— No.
— Then why do they judge me so?
— I'm not sure I'm the person to ask.
— I am asking you, Merlin, man to man.
— Well, perhaps they feel you're worthy enough to BE judged.
— What do you mean by that?
— Judgment is wasted on a man who won't listen.
— You think I should take them seriously.
— I think you already have.