"How exciting. An engagement party."

Arthur turned away from the blushing servant, back ramrod straight. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere and it dripped with something powerful.

"Pity I wasn't invited. As a matter of fact, there's not a single sorcerer here."

The s's curved in soft touches against Arthur's ears, spilling magic like forbidden fruit. Sparks of gold danced from dying candles. There was no one and nothing speaking in the dining hall now. Even Uther stood from his seat, hands on the table, beady black eyes glaring down the walls as if they'd betrayed him. From what Arthur could see, not even the servants were affected by the voice in quite the same way he was. A mix of excitement and apprehension boiled through his blood as the room darkened.

Everyone was watching the windows when it happened. Gold and gray smoke curled and twisted away, revealing bits and pieces of the voice. Lips thin and quirked, eyes flashing, back straight and steps sure as the new figure walked down the table. Glass cracked and goblets burst and by the time Arthur actually looked at his father, the man was pale as a sheet.

But the sorcerer wasn't headed towards Uther.

Instead, he stopped, eyebrow arched and mouth twitching into a smile as a stormy blue gaze swept over Arthur. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his drink until it fell loudly to the floor.

"Well, well, well. He is pretty, isn't he? I'd heard rumors." The man leaned until his nose was level with Arthur's. He reached out a finger and ran it over Arthur's bottom lip, "Lips as red as fresh blood, hair like spun gold. They left out all the chiseled muscle."

Arthur shivered and forced himself to keep eye contact. He could feel magic like a caress against his skin, ruffling through his shirt and hair. He caught his mouth falling open, and snapped it shut. Everything burned red when the mystery man let out a loud, sharp laugh.

Arthur shook his head and cleared his throat. He forced himself to look away from the fae face. "I'm sorry, but who are you again?"

"Come now, Arthur. Surely you've not been locked up in that tower too long," the Sorcerer's eyes flashed gold at him, but his smirk was directed at Uther. "I'm the big bad that's been building up magic in Camelot's borders. I'm Merlin."

The name rippled in a soft hiss around the room. Servants were looking nervously around. The nobility paled. Everyone had heard of Merlin.

Merlin, who turned the water to salt for a week when Alice was burned.

Merlin, who set every animal in Camelot free when the unicorn's horn was mounted to Uther's wall.

Merlin, who sent a storm that shook the foundations of the castle for weeks when he learned of Kilgarrah trapped in its dungeons.

Merlin, the name said behind hands at the market. The name people murmured when they thought of uprising and power and change. The name connected with hope far more often than either Arthur or Uther cared to admit. Though for different reasons, usually.

Arthur tilted his head and took in the young, lithe form of this supposed revolutionist. He recalled the gentle touch against his lips, fingers calloused, eyes glinting and sharp. He saw a thousand futures ahead of him and there wasn't a single one without Merlin in it.

"Well then, Merlin. Consider yourself formally invited by Prince Arthur himself. Conjure up a seat, or whatever it is you do, and we'll get on with it." Arthur extended a hand, palm up and waited to help Merlin down.

Another laugh struck Merlin, loud and cracking through the silence.

"I think I'm going to like you." Merlin turned towards Uther, who was no longer pale but was instead a blistering mix of red and purple rage. "Not to worry, Pendragon. I brought a gift, as is expected. My business can wait until after."

There was a moment of heavy magic. It spun in dark smoke and gold sparks until something glittering and heavy thudded onto the table. Uther spluttered incoherently at the head of the table, having found his voice to object just as the package landed.

Arthur couldn't tell what it was, but he wasn't really interested in it beyond the fact that it was probably magic and Arthur hadn't ever actually seen a magical gift. That he was aware of, at least.

"About that seat," Merlin said and waved his hand. This time there was no showy swirls or theatrical buzz in the air. Instead, the seat that was beside Arthur became empty. The man who had been sitting there sat blinking on the floor. "I see this one is free."

And without further ado, Merlin was beside Arthur with his boots on the table.

The man ate like he was going to die. He cleared the meat off chicken and licked his fingers with horrible, sinful sucking sounds that made Arthur shift in his seat. He bit into pies and moaned every first bite of a slice before devouring it. He drank nothing and waved magic over everything and he leaned entirely too close to Arthur for Arthur to think straight.

It didn't help that his skin was like fire and his laugh was like honey and lightning, which didn't make any sense, but Arthur thought it anyway. And Merlin laughed a lot.

"So, what part of Camelot do you live in?" Arthur asked, alcohol and cheer making his brain too slow to pick up the stupidity of his question.

"Ah yes, I live in the part where you can't get to and raid my house and hang me up in the morning." Merlin grinned and winked at him. "If your dad doesn't put me in the dungeons tonight. Not like that will matter."

"Ah, yes. Just testing." Except Arthur was blushing and Merlin was grinning and there was no point to pretending except for Arthur's pride.

"So, I thought you weren't married yet? That's a lovely ring on your finger." Merlin waved his hand over his food again, nodded once as if satisfied, and ate a fourth or fifth (sixth? seventh? where did it all go?) piece of chicken. "Bit premature aren't we?" And if he wasn't obvious enough already, Merlin sidled up to Arthur and linked their arms, blinking innocently as Uther choked a seat over.

Arthur was going to certainly be in trouble for this in the morning. He looked at his finger, where he was twirling his mother's ring absently with his thumb. "It's just marriage. She has a lover already. Mad for her. The three of us are very close."

Merlin's mouth fell open for a moment. This time it was his cheeks that flushed, and Arthur didn't miss the not-too-subtle glance downward.

"Not that close. Let's just say that we came to a mutual agreement. I marry Gwen and Morgana shuts up. They live happily ever after." Uther's coughing grew louder. Arthur didn't look in his direction. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. Somewhere. Hell if Arthur knew.

"Doesn't answer the question about the ring." Merlin's slim fingers slid down his arm, stretching over Arthur's hand like spider legs, sending chills over his skin.

"It was my mum's." His hand flexed instinctively, as if he could capture memories he'd never had if he could just grab quick enough.

Merlin's lips turned soft, his eyes narrowing into an expression Arthur was all too familiar with. Everyone knew what happened to Ygraine. Probably Merlin most of all. It was her death that had banished magic forever from the good graces of Uther's court.

"Yes, well." Merlin removed his hand from Arthur's, his gaze lowered so that he missed the way Arthur's thumb twitched at the loss of contact. Arthur watched as Merlin tugged down the laces on his shirt to pull out a glistening, white figure. "My father left me something, too."

Merlin held his palm out. The figurine was connected to leather twine and it seemed to twist and curl in the light of the room. It took a moment to make out the shape of a snout and the long neck, the sharp angles of wings and coiled tail. It was eerie the way the creature seemed to snap and gleam, as if the dragon was alive and angry.

And perhaps the silence should not have been so sweet, with a stranger. But Arthur was finding very little of that mattered. This Merlin hadn't called him Prince once, and he laughed as if he'd never heard of the term royalty, and his eyes were too soft and his voice too gentle and his everything too much. Maybe it was a spell or maybe Arthur was just doomed by whatever cruel fate his father's sins had curse upon him, but Arthur really couldn't imagine not having this man under him at the end of the night.

So he leaned over, voice low and brave, and whispered into Merlin's ear. "If you don't end up in the dungeons tonight, you should certainly stay for the rest of the celebration. Engagement parties go on for weeks." He slid his hand over soft leather, felt Merlin's thigh tense beneath his palm.

There was a flicker of something in Merlin's eyes, something like guilt. Arthur had the sudden, horrific thought that he had misread the casual flirtation for something more, but then it was gone and Merlin was back to smiling.

"The heir to my oppressor asking me to stay for a while? Wherever would I sleep?"

"I can think of a lot of things to do besides sleeping."

Apparently they weren't as quiet as Arthur had hoped. Uther stood, shoving his chair back with a horrible racket.

"You will not—" He'd thundered, face apoplectic as he glared down at the two of them. He'd caught himself just in time, as the nervous chatter that had remained at a low hum through the evening died. Every wide eye was glued to the three, gazes flicking between them. "We've entertained this criminal long enough, Arthur. He's clearly enthralled you. Guards! Take him away."

Arthur had nearly forgotten the sizzle and pop of Merlin's power from earlier. However, the transformation back into ethereal magical entity was almost instantaneous the moment the guards sprung forward. Merlin was back on the table as if it was his pedestal to own, among the bits of feast and trinkets.

When he spoke, it was with the same voice that had slithered through Arthur's ears and zipped along his nerves and rolled over his skin. "Uther Pendragon. You made a promise. Twenty one years ago, holding your infant son, you made a promise to a sorcerer."

"I will not be held to the word of criminals." Uther didn't stutter or grovel or shake, but the look he cast Arthur was one he'd not seen before. "That bargain was made long ago, and your side's part of the deal was broken."

"It was no bargain, Uther. You swore an oath and you will honor it." Merlin grinned and leaned forward. He plucked up a vine of grapes and held them significantly in front of him. They withered and shrunk until each shriveled fruit fell with to the table with the clink of stone. "To deny our request is to bear the consequences."

"I paid my price long ago. You can take nothing from me." And now Arthur was certain that the quick glance his father cast him was full of a desperation he had never seen before.

"You paid the price of life and death, Uther! That was no part of your promise. You may have rid yourself of Balinor, but you did not rid yourself of this curse."

"Curse?" Arthur crossed his arms and shook his head. "Don't be an idiot, Merlin. No one has been cursed here since your stunt with the salt. Thanks for that, by the way."

"Oh, Arthur." Merlin didn't step down from the table so much as melt into the space beside him. "You deserve so much better than all this secrecy." There was a wisp of touch against his shoulder, a light press of lips to his cheek that left the impression of something sad, something bone deep guilty. Something sorrowful. Before he could capture it, Merlin reappeared in front of Uther, eyes hard like stone, hand held in front of him. "You will pay the price of forfeit if you do not uphold your word, Pendragon. A day in court, or Camelot falls."

And then Merlin was gone. The velvet of his voice, of his presence, clung to everything, but the flesh of the man was nowhere to be found.

"So, Father… What exactly does he mean by curse?"

When Arthur slammed into his room, it was with bits and pieces of his argument with his father still swimming in his head.

Your mother would have wanted…

Magic was too great a threat.

You had to be protected.

And somehow, by the end of it, everything had become Arthur's fault. He'd been too young to protect himself. He'd been born of magic, cursed by his mother's death. He'd been a danger to Camelot, a wailing child calling trouble with his tiny lungs. His damned misfortune had nearly torn Camelot apart.

After Arthur had been born, Camelot was attacked by magic four times in as many months. The bans on magic were having no impact. He'd needed protection. A deal had to be made. The way Uther spoke of the necessary heir, the unavoidable sacrifices, Arthur almost felt as if they were talking about someone else entirely.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he'd almost missed the already familiar prickle of magic against his skin, rolling over him like a warning wave.

Even if he had, he couldn't have missed the warm chuckle into his ear or the thin body that materialized by his side. "I see Uther is just as infuriating for his children. So how did the talk go?"

Arthur was starkly aware of high cheekbones and full lips quirking at a roguish angle. "It went about as well as you'd expect it to go. Everything's my fault and my father has everything under control." Arthur rolled his eyes and his shoulders. "If you've come up here to ensnare me further, I'll have you know you're wasting your time."

Merlin frowned, and it looked ridiculously adorable for a man who'd just threatened the royal line. "You don't honestly believe that rubbish, do you? Magic doesn't work that way."

Arthur only snorted. "Like you would tell me what magic can do."

"You're right. You'd never understand my power." Merlin grinned and stepped forward, a challenge in the upward tilt of his jaw. "Nothing at all like your knightly sticks and dress up."

Arthur growled, hands on his hips. "A sword is honorable. No spells or incantations, just skill and hard work."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Only His Highness Prat of Camelot would think magic didn't require skill or hard work." Merlin flicked up his thin wrist, pointing at Arthur's already untucked tunic.

Arthur tried really hard not to think of the brush of magic up his torso and chest. He focused instead on the absolute ruination of his red shirt as it split and fell. "Oi. That was my favorite."

His irritation might have been more believable if he hadn't stalked forward, crowding Merlin until his back hit the wall. Even he was surprised when his fingers curled into dark hair, thumbs brushing against a pink lipped smirk.

"You've definitely put a spell on me," Arthur said between kisses to the long stretch of Merlin's neck. His head spun heavily when he felt hands, slim but strong, grip his hips. Nails bit into his lower back when he nipped at the tender junction of jaw and neck.

"Magic really doesn't work that way." But Merlin's voice was breathless and his hands were running over Arthur's back in streaks of hot lightning. Whatever protests he may have had disappeared when Arthur forced his fingers under Merlin's vest to pull him forward, closer and warmer and more.

There was a distinct possibility that Merlin's magic was just pulling off clothes now, because one minute Arthur was struggling to wiggle touches under Merlin's vest and the next he was ripping the loose shirt underneath it to kiss below, to run his tongue over Merlin's chest and bite along his collar bone and touch all the new skin. He barely heard himself mumbling "wanted this all night" and "all that damned gold smoke like you were some kind of spirit" when Merlin's laugh rumbled against his lips and he realized he wanted to kiss that laugh right out of the ridiculous Sorcerer's mouth.

He pulled back to take in his work. Messy black hair moved wildly to the right, a line of red where Arthur had kissed and bit and licked Merlin's neck lead all the way his narrow chest and wrecked clothes. Perhaps best of all was that Merlin, powerful mysterious rebellious Merlin, looked entirely unraveled at the end of Arthur's hands. Even his blue and gold gaze was clouded and hooded as he waited for Arthur to lean back in and continue his exploring.

"There's something about you, Merlin." Arthur felt Merlin jump under his palm, as if he hadn't expected Arthur to say his name. "I think I'm going to like you."

And then Merlin's eyes went soft again, that unreadable expression seeping onto his face. It was Merlin who leaned forward, fingertip under Arthur's chin, to place a kiss, softgentlesweetsweetsweet, against Arthur's lips. When he pulled away it was too soon, with a sigh of disappointment.

"You still taste like wine," he'd said. Then he waved his hand, closed his eyes, and Arthur was falling into black and warm and cushion without the barest warning.

He woke the next morning and wondered if the entire ordeal had been only a dream.

That's certainly how his father had acted. There was no mention of the curse at breakfast, or of Merlin. The servants were skittish around Arthur. Morgana kept giving him wide eyed looks, as if she was trying to impart some vital information to him through urgent expressions alone. Otherwise, no one would have guessed that his engagement party had been crashed by a mad Sorcerer. It was enough to grate on the most saintly person's nerves.

Princes weren't exactly renowned for their great virtues of patience.

"So, urm… Father. About this curse and whatnot. We didn't really get into the specifics last night." Arthur watched Uther go still while he took a long drink. "What exactly does this curse entail?"

"The specifics are not important, Arthur. We don't bow down to threats from criminals."

Arthur raised his brow as Morgana's eyes got impossibly wider and she waved her hand franticly. "Not exactly a threat is it? If you asked them to do something and they named a price, then you agreed to pay that price, it sounds a lot more like… Well, like you gave your word. As a King." Uther put down his fork and stared at a banner above Arthur's head. "Or something like that."

"When you were a child I pleaded with those who would harm you to cease-fire until you could defend yourself. In return they demanded that I should allow them their time in the court to plead on the return of magic, should it still be banned." Uther snapped his attention to Arthur, face pinched and fists clenched. "In order to prevent attack on my infant son I agreed. However, I would hardly call your childhood safe from magic."

Which was technically true, Arthur guessed. He had seen plenty of magic and magic users in his life time. Sorcerers burned at the stake or heads rolling from the powerful swing of the executioner's axe. Droughts and plagues and wars supposedly caused by curses from vengeful wizards. However, anything directly related to magic that had ever affected Arthur always just sort of worked itself out.

It had never occurred to him to question that before. Now, everything was sliding into place.

"You mean, you asked them to prevent magic from harming me and in return all they wanted was a chance to not be punished by death for existing? Why are we killing sorcerers now?" He remembered every moment that he should have certainly died and yet, miraculously, he'd survived. How many miracles were just hidden sorcerers? Had he ever succeeded on his own?

"Arthur, your life has been constantly under threat from magic. There was the questing beast—"

"Which was killed in battle by Lancelot, despite Gaius claiming it could be killed only by magic." Arthur frowned. Morgana was coughing loudly, watching Arthur as if he was doing something considerably stupid.

"We had a stroke of luck there. Unless you are accusing Lancelot of sorcery?" Uther raised an eyebrow, pointedly ignoring that Morgana was signaling at Arthur in increasingly noticeable ways. "And then there was Valiant."

"Who conveniently lost control over his shield after successfully using it against three other opponents." Arthur's stomach churned. He pushed his half empty plate away from him. Three others had died, but he'd been spared because of some horrible agreement years ago. Had they even tried to save the others?

"The point is that magic has been used against you after the agreement. It is no longer a question of my honor."

"Valiant wasn't even a sorcerer!" Arthur knew his voice was too loud and he'd gripped his drink too tightly but there wasn't any reason for this anymore. "You're being unreasonable. Everything about this is unreasonable! You have killed sorcerers for existing, yet you would ask them to protect me!"

"Arthur, control yourself." Uther's voice was cold. "You're dismissed. Attend to your sister before she makes a fool of herself."

Arthur looked to Morgana again, to catch her red faced and glaring.

"Attend to me? I don't need attending to." She protested even as she followed Arthur from the room.

They'd only crossed into the hallway when he heard his name called, an ease of command he wondered if he'd ever be able to ignore. He sighed and faced his father, not surprised to find himself face to face with Uther proud and tall and crowned. His father always donned the Kingly persona when his next orders were Not to Be Questioned, usually on threat of Punishment in the Dungeons. Arthur was the only Prince he'd ever known who spent more time in the dungeons than out of them.

"I will hear no more discussion of this Merlin character." Uther adjusted his crown and straightened his shirt. "If he is found within the walls of Camelot, he will be detained for trial, understood?"

Arthur ignored the bristling of his anger and nodded. "Of course, Father."

And then the conversation was over. An argument that had barely been begun was ended without any compromise. It was frustrating mostly because it was not in any way unusual.

Morgana was quiet and fuming all the way down the hallway and into the courtyard. Arthur knew her well enough to know that an explosion of opinion was brewing and building, waiting to lunge at him when he least expected. All of her impatience from their breakfast simmered into quickened steps and fists swinging at her sides.

He'd just taken half a step onto the courtyard stairs when she burst.

"He's a fool. His stubbornness will be the ruin of all of us," she snapped. She crossed her arms and stood at the top step.

It wasn't until he took a second to really look at her that he realized her eyes were wet and her hands were shaking. Her lips, which before had been in their natural snarl, had begun to tremble. "Um, Morgana?" And then she was crying and pulling him into a hug and it was hands down the most awkward experience he'd ever had with his sister.

She never cried. And whenever one of them needed comforting, it was almost always Arthur. Comfort usually was slap to the back of the head and an insult given with a sigh and a soft smile. All of this hugging and sobbing nonsense was foreign.

When she finally pulled away (only after half the knights had stopped and openly stared like the improper brutes they were), she was hiccupping and splotchy faced. "When you go, you have to promise you'll take me with you."

That's when he knew without a doubt that Morgana had finally lost her mind. "I haven't planned to actually go anywhere, Morgana. It would be rather rude to leave during my own engagement celebration."

And there was that amused smile, the one that twitched at the edges and threatened to spill back into a real and true emotion. She placed a hand against his cheek and she shook her head and she chuckled a moment.

"When he comes back, Arthur, you have to promise not to forget me. When you leave, you have to promise to take me with you. Gwen and I will be ready. You have to promise."

Before he could even consider it he was nodding. It wasn't the first time Morgana had said something cryptic and terrifying that made his heart shake his ribs. More than once he'd rubbed at a knot of fear in his chest when he thought of that light to Morgana that almost looked, almost felt, like magic.

"Good. Now, you better get to practicing with your knights. Lord knows they'll get bored without you. And then where will we be?"

Arthur got more than one wary look when he marched onto the field. He could feel the anger and confusion of this morning burning in his arms and in his steps but he couldn't bring himself to care when he glared at them. The whole group flinched under his scrutiny.

He may have been too brutal. The clang of swords on shields drowned out the questions in his head. The heat of muscle moving and metal swinging and bruises blooming was enough to dull the pounding of embarrassment in his head. If he pretended that the most intimidating of his knights was his father then no one had to know. He's sure that knight had done something to deserve the bludgeoning. Most knights did.

He refought Valiant in the large build of a country born knight, pushing and blocking and maneuvering until Sir Percival was panting on the ground hand up in quick signal of mercy.

He watched Lancelot closer, harder, waiting for gold to light his eyes or for the shift of magic in the air like a storm until Gwaine elbowed him in the ribs and whispered a half-joking warning of indecency. Gwaine of all people knew about the danger of staring.

He dismissed the eager young knights early, seeing in their crushed faces the reminder of necessary sacrifices. He watched them walk away, confused and hurt, and tried not to imagine the number of men who had died in his place, unprotected from magic and magic users.

Still, by the time practice was over he was a knot of sore muscle and tight nerves. The field was muddy and messy and marred with the cut of a dozen pairs of boots. And despite the distraction, Arthur found his mood hadn't improved nearly as much as it should have.

Cursed kept running through his mind and prickling his skin like a bad fever. He marched to his room, slammed his door, and shucked off his chainmail and armor into a heap on the floor. He didn't bother moving from the bed until his stomach growled and a servant came knocking at his door with a meek warning about the coming festivities.

Certainly, all Arthur wanted to do upon finding out that Camelot was cursed and it was all his fault (somehow) was to go down and drink until he fell over. He wasn't sure that's what the woman meant by festivities, however. So he didn't bother to move at all until he heard Morgana pounding at his door, voice cutting through his gloom with declarations of duty and appearances.

He didn't really decide to actually move until she accused him of moping and being a big baby.

He rolled off his bed with a groan and a curse, catching himself moments before he crashed onto his face. His arms and legs were screaming foul at having to move so soon after his abuse, and he wondered if it was too late to send down a servant claiming he'd fallen ill.

He imagined his Father scowling at the news and telling the nearest nobleman that his bratty son was throwing a tantrum. The image was enough to push him to his feet and over to the basin.

He wouldn't be the most put together person at the feast but then, who was going to point it out to him? Probably no one. One of the many perks of being a prince.

"I'm coming. Shut up." He yanked on a blue shirt, blushing when he found the rags of his red tunic. He went for his softest pants, his worn boots. He almost grinned when he pictured his father seeing him, scandalized that he dared be comfortable in a room full of peers.

Morgana hadn't stopped banging on his door and yelling at him by the time he was ready to step out. They were a contradiction, her hair in twists and his barely combed, her dress elegant and beaded, his shirt possibly not even clean. She only tilted her head and shrugged, looping her arm through his. She escorted him more than he escorted her but by the time they reach the dining hall she'd managed to pull a smile from him.

He could tell they were late. Uther was tapping his fingers on the table and glaring around the room as if Arthur being late was the personal fault of every other soul in the room. The jesters and jugglers were shifting awkwardly on their feet. The food was quickly cooling on the table. Everyone quieted until he sat at the table, the mouths of Sirs and Ladies furrowing as they took in his less than princely attire.

And then, once he'd greeted the room and sat down, no one cared. They went on talking, the jesters began their smiling and their dancing. The jugglers balanced knives on their tongues. Everyone drank too much and Arthur drank more than that.

One of the team of entertainers had dark hair and soft lips and pale skin. Every time Arthur saw him his breath hitched before he realized that the boy wasn't made of enough angles and the blue of his eyes were too light. The third time he was caught staring at the boy, wishing the cheekbones were sharper and the pink of his lips was softer, the boy lowered his lashes and blushed. And that was the last Arthur allowed himself to stare at the not-Merlin.

It would help if there didn't seem to be the feel of Merlin in every corner of the room. There was dancing and laughter and spinning nobles and none of it distracted him. Whenever he would turn, some dainty hand in his, he was sure that he would find dark eyes and a smirk watching him from the other side of the room.

Magic whispered against his skin, a reminder of a past touch, whenever his hand lingered on the waist of a woman. A thin laugh crackled across the room whenever he would catch the eye of an unsubtle kitchen boy. A hint of gold smoke around a corner, a subtle shift in the air, the smell of burning air. No man or woman was inviting enough to distract him from the pump of Merlin in his blood.

He was just starting to wonder idly if he was going mad when he caught the gleam of a gold eye in the shadow of a hallway. Whatever excuse he gave stammered past his lips before he'd bothered to think of it. The conversation stuttered to a halt for only a moment before they continued on without him.

"You know, you're supposed to be spoken for. Making moony eyes at every available tussle seems hardly appropriate." Merlin's fingers were already wrapping around his wrist, tugging him further into the darkened hallway.

"Gwen really doesn't mind." He grinned, leaning forward. "You sound jealous."

"Jealous of a prat like you? You've been being royal all over the place." Merlin flicked his gaze up to Arthur's, grinning like a cat as he stepped out of Arthur's arms. "You look like you just rolled out of bed and decided to crash the party."

"Who are you to talk about crashing parties?" He crossed his arms and laughed. "I can dress however I want at my own celebration."

"Speaking of, where is the Lady for the festivities?" Large ears and dark hair tilted comically as Merlin leaned against the wall opposite Arthur. "Is she similarly allowed to dress however she pleases?"

"Morgana would like you." Arthur shook his head. "She's convinced women would be more comfortable in men's clothing."

"I don't doubt her. Sorceresses are allowed much more than your women. She'd be at home there." And there was a layered meaning there, a push towards a truth Arthur wasn't ready to face.

"Anyway, Gwen tends to stay only as long as necessary before she cries off and Morgana chases after her." He shrugged and tried to ignore the pang of loneliness as he thought of the two of them in Morgana's chambers, trading kisses and sighs. "Gwen's terrified of my father and he tends to follow her around like a bad smell."

"I see you're still angry at him then."

Arthur frowned. "Wouldn't you be?"

Merlin put up his hands. "By all means, be angry. I wasn't arguing on his behalf."
"It's not just him. My entire life is a lie. Magic, non-magic, everyone I've ever known is suspect now. And—" But then Merlin was gone without a warning. Arthur wondered if this would be the norm.

"Sire?" George was trembling in the entrance, the sound of dying conversation wafting in behind him. "His Highness is asking for you."

Arthur had the overwhelming urge to tell his father to fuck off and to run to his room. He'd had enough for the day. Of everything. He almost walked on to his room.

He didn't.

Instead, he pivoted on his heel and marched purposefully to his where his father stood talking to King Thomas Le Grance, Gwen's father. The two cackled like gossiping grannies, their faces flushed with drink. When Uther laid eyes on Arthur, his smile immediately faded.

"There is word that you disappeared with one of the entertainment." It was Gwen's father who spoke up, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed. "I will not have my daughter disgraced, boy."

Uther patted the man's arm, but did not speak in Arthur's defense. The pair glowered at him as if they had seen him personally. His face heated in anger and embarrassment, but he forced himself to grin.

"I assure you, Sire, there has been nothing of the sort. I would not dare to risk dishonor to Guinevere."

King Thomas looked over him with narrowed eyes, frown deepening at Arthur's loose clothing and worn boots, but he did not say anything further about it. It was Uther who waved over the dark haired not-Merlin, as unreadable as ever.

"It is with this boy it is said you disappeared. Tell us, boy, what do you call yourself?" Uther took another drink from his goblet, avoiding Arthur's gaping protests with the rim of his cup.

He had not expected his father would call into question his word and honor in front of his soon-to-be father-in-law. It was a layered insult, a punishment no doubt for his disagreement earlier.

"Mordred, Sire."

Arthur didn't realize what Uther was doing until the boy spoke, all trembling, whimpering worry. The way his father's shoulders went lax, his smile stretching wide and fake, told Arthur everything. There was no power in this boy's voice. There was no storm or spell at the tip of this boy's tongue.

Mordred looked enough like Merlin that Arthur could almost see his point. That didn't stop him from stomping away before his father could ask the poor boy if he'd been alone all the night.

He was only slightly disappointed to find that Merlin wasn't waiting for him in his room. He tossed off his clothes and crawled into his covers and waited until his tired, spinning thoughts slowed enough to sleep.

He didn't dream of fevered kisses or the electric buzz of magic. He didn't dream of questing beasts or snake-wielding shields or a curse wound like a noose around his neck. Instead he dreamed of murmurs from dark corners and quiet places. He felt cool water over his toes and sweet comfort at his back and he wished, not for the first time, that he could sleep for a long, long while.

He woke to a hand stroking the hair away from his forehead, fingers soothing away the pounding in his head.

"You really shouldn't drink so much, clotpole. You've slept through half the day and Morgana's been banging on your door all morning." A feather-light touch against his shoulder stirred him, the stroke on his forehead gone. "Besides, there's plenty of time for sleeping later."

When he finally pried his eyes open, there was no one in his room, but Morgana was pounding on his door. Twice in two days was getting to be a bit much.

"What on earth do you want, Morgana?" His voice rasped out from his throat and he was struck with how horribly dry his mouth was.

"I've been trying to wake you for hours, Arthur. They've found him." She was too loud, too wild. He couldn't think why she would be telling him this, why she would care.

It didn't stop him from leaping from the bed and shoving on the clothes still lying on the floor. "What do you mean they've found him? He can't have been stupid enough to stick around." Not after threatening Camelot, Arthur thought, but didn't say. It didn't fit. Merlin hadn't exactly threatened Camelot. Just everything Uther had taught him was Camelot.

"It doesn't matter what I mean, they've found him. Uther's had him tossed in the dungeon." She jumped back when the door swung open but she matched his stride when he pushed through. "He's had Gaius put some kind of chains on him. He can't magic out of it."

They were flying down steps two at a time, rounding corners recklessly. They startled more than one servant on their tear through the castle. Arthur missed most of Morgana's worried chatter, catching words like magic outside the walls and a group waiting and safe tonight. Arthur knew Uther wouldn't wait.

Merlin was the prize. He was the example that would put an end to the coming uprising. Uther wouldn't dare let him have a chance to escape. A fair trial for sorcery did not exist in Camelot.

So Arthur was practically sprinting when Morgana grabbed his arm, forcing him to stand still.

"I don't know what it is about you two, Arthur, but everyone saw it. If you go down there, Uther will know before they open the prison doors." She looked around them, eying the empty hallway with suspicion. "He's planning something, Arthur. And if you go down there right now, it will just play into whatever he's trying to do."

"How do you always know, Morgana?" He was still panting from his run, his hands bunched into his trousers as he tried to gulp in breath. "How do you always know?"

She didn't answer him. Her grip tightened on his arm as her lips thinned in concentration. "Of course. Listen, I'll go down and yell at the guards and such. Uther will be expecting that. While I'm doing that, you get the keys. You can go visit him afterwards."

He opened his mouth to protest, but found her hand shoved in front of his face.
"Don't argue, Arthur. Trust me, this is what's best."

She sounded so tired and so sure that he went quiet. He didn't know why it mattered anyway. A few conversations and a single kiss should definitely not have made him defy Uther. But it did matter and it appeared he was going to defy Uther and what the hell was the matter with him?

Merlin was more than a pretty face, though. Merlin had answers. Merlin had closure. He was a bundle of truth wrapped up in showy powers and a snarky attitude. Arthur needed to know, in a horrible desperate way, why they'd agreed to protect him at the loss of so many. Who and how and why of everything magic. Arthur had enough questions to fill a book and he knew that his best hope sat in the dungeons.

Getting the keys was difficult. He couldn't be obvious about it. Even with Morgana screaming and the guards embarrassed and shifting on their feet there wasn't much time for him to slip behind and pluck the keys off the table. It was even harder to fight the key from the ring, quieter than the dramatic yells in the echoing space, and to sneak it back. Morgana never looked at him, keeping the guards' eyes locked on hers.

She seemed to know when he'd finished regardless. By the time he'd made it back into the hallway, key heavy in his pocket, she had marched up the steps as regal and righteous as always.

"I can get you an hour or so after dinner, Arthur, but you have to promise not to do anything stupid." She didn't pause as she walked past him, straight towards Uther's quarters. "I can't guarantee any kind of safety."

"What are you going to do, exactly?" He called after her, but she ignored him.

He was sure it would involve Gwen somehow. All of Morgana's hairbrained schemes seemed to involve Gwen.

He spent the rest of the day with half of his head in the clouds, forming questions and then pushing them away. If he was especially brutal to the knights yesterday then he was nearly absent today. He was never so glad to be engaged. Everyone kept grinning cheekily at him and mentioning wedding nights and impatient fingers.

Occasionally he would hear a voice, as if far away, call out to him in a mocking tone.

Watch for that swing, dollophead. He almost got you across the ears.

Don't let him bloody up that pretty nose of yours.

Uther would have a fit at your footwork, prat. Stop brooding.

He dismissed practice early, picked at his dinner and then cried off to his room for the night. Music and dancing were too much. Uther's gaze bore into his back the entire exhaustive walk from the dining hall.

He was never more relieved to be rid of menial conversation than when the voice, quiet and tired itself, whispered through to him.

Are you alright, Pendragon? You feel barely there.

And of course he couldn't answer, but it was a nice question to hear before he fell asleep. This time he didn't dream as he waited on dinner to end and Morgana to summon him.

The knock at his door was quiet enough that it almost failed to wake him.

The note slipped into his room merely said 'Now' in Gwen's familiar writing.

By the time he reached the dungeons, only a white dust gave any evidence to what had put the guards to sleep. They'd wake with no memory of the event. Arthur was glad for that. Plausible deniability- they'd not be accused of helping him.

"I didn't know if that was supposed to be meant for me or not. Good to see you." Merlin was stretched against the wall, his wrists bright red under his chains. "These things are horrid. You wouldn't happen to have a key for them too?"

"Stop talking before you get us caught. They're asleep, not dead." He didn't bother trying to break the manacles. "You're taking me to your little magic uprising. I've got questions and I need answers."

"I thought you might. You could have asked at any time, you know." Merlin only shrugged and twisted his hands in his restraints again. "I can't guarantee the others—"

Whatever he'd been about to say was cut off as heavy footsteps sounded off in the hallway. Arthur shoved his hand over Merlin's mouth, pushing back against the stone walls of the prison cell. He cursed the torches that cast too much light for him to blend into the shadow. No weapons in reach, and Merlin would be useless in a fight without his magic.

So Arthur waited, watching. A loud clatter and a high pitched voice made his shoulders relax.

"Arthur? Don't be an idiot, get moving." Gwen poked her head out, her smile soft and a dull sword held securely in hand. "Morgana's been trying to signal to Merlin for an hour now. She's got the horses by the stables."

"I've not exactly been able to respond, now." Merlin waved his arms irritably. Arthur shot him a confused look, but received no response. For the first time, Arthur wondered if he'd actually imagined that voice in his head.

That they managed to get out of the castle at all was a miracle. It involved a lot of arguing and pushing Merlin behind things, and Gwen telling them both to behave and shut up. By the time they made it to the stables, the alarm bell was sounding.

Morgana's smile was wide from atop her horse. Arthur had never seen her look so sure of anything. He tried not to think of why she'd be so happy to leave Camelot. Why she'd practically begged him to take her, before he'd even known he'd be going.

They raced out of Camelot to the sound of guards calling from the castle and the bell still ringing out over the courtyard. Arthur didn't look back.