Prequel of sorts to "Please Help My People," set earlier in the same day as the first chapter of that story. It is not necessary to have read that one first.

Cover art by the terrific Phoebe594; as always, she has been tremendous to work with.

Arthur's sigh was apparently loud enough that Merlin—several feet away, facing a different direction with his head buried in amongst Arthur's clothes as he searched for something—untangled himself and sent Arthur an inquisitive glance around the doors of the armoire. Arthur's distress, however, was apparently not enough to be worthy of his continued attention: he disappeared again scant seconds later. Arthur sighed again louder, but got no visible or audible response of any kind. He decided sighing was not enough, stomped over to his bed, scooped up the first pillow he reached, and threw it at Merlin as hard as he could; he got no more than a grunt.

"Merlin," he complained, "isn't it enough that I have to suffer through an entire day at court? Is it necessary that I also suffer waiting an eternity for you to ready me?"

Merlin finally emerged with a triumphant cry, ruffled but grinning. "Nearly done, sire," he said, carelessly kicking the fallen pillow toward Arthur's bed and polishing his find on his sleeve as he crossed to meet Arthur beside his desk.

While he attached the newly-retrieved pin to its proper place, Arthur shuffled through the papers on his desk once more to refresh his memory, reaching up with one hand to tug absentmindedly at his collar. Merlin batted his hand away and straightened it again. "It's too tight," Arthur complained. He regretted it instantly at the expression that passed over Merlin's face. "I am not fat."

"Of course not, sire," Merlin grinned. "I'm sure it's just your head that's too big. For the shirt."

"Or there's a fault with the shirt, Merlin." He reached for the collar again; Merlin knocked his hand away again. "You'll have to fix it."

He reached for the collar for a third time and this time Merlin snatched his wrist away with a glare and a firm "Stop that." He released Arthur's wrist carefully and went after the collar with both hands. "I can fix it for now if you'll just leave it alone, and then I'll fix it more permanently later. Stop whining about it."

"You can't talk to your king like that, you idiot." Merlin smirked and continued working.

When he finally released Arthur and stepped back to view his handiwork from a distance, the collar was still too constricting for Arthur's preference, but it was at least tolerable enough that he should be able to stand it for a few hours sitting still in court. "I still don't like it," he pronounced.

Merlin rolled his eyes, still eyeing Arthur's collar. "You're just going to have to deal with it, prat. It's courtly fashion and you're the king."

"How would you like to spend your time in the stocks while I'm in court?" Arthur threatened as Merlin turned to retrieve his crown.

Merlin didn't acknowledge the threat, simply settling Arthur's crown in place and stepping away once more. "Finished, sire."

"About time," Arthur sniped. "Come along, then, Merlin," he called back as he swept past. "We've a court session to get to."

Court was deathly dull, as usual. Guinevere was lucky enough to have other duties that required her elsewhere; while Arthur's knights were in a training session, they unfortunately didn't actually require him, so he had no convenient excuses. His collar remained uncomfortable, his throne became more and more uncomfortable as time passed, and the lack of activity was so uncomfortable, it became entirely unremarkable. Every time his attention wandered, Merlin would bring him a glass of water and sometimes a few comments under his breath to liven up the discourse or summarize what he'd missed.

Arthur seriously debated ending the day early when Lord Marston spoke for an hour by himself, rarely drawing breath and using three words where one could do to explain why he shouldn't be required to pay his yearly taxes this year, or possibly any other. It was not uncommon for a lord to plead such a case before the king, as various areas of the kingdom experienced difficulties year to year, but like many since Arthur's reign had begun, Lord Marston did not have an actual need and was instead hoping to take advantage of his age and the freshness of his reign. The reputation he was already garnering as a more forgiving and open-minded king than his father only served to further their expectations of his naïveté. Finally, Arthur was able to politely tell him that while he sympathized with the state of his roads, the crown did still have need of his taxes to support their armies and the red-faced lord was shuffled from the room by two of those employed by his gracious donations.

There was nothing uncommon about the type of audience that came next, either. Fiefdoms, villages, and lesser kingdoms were constantly trying to garner favor, often by bringing gifts. Like the other, these audiences had increased since he'd been crowned, both because people felt the need to re-establish favor with the crown now that there was a new monarch and because they wanted to get an understanding of what kind of king he would be. The man that was being shown in next would likely return to a village eagerly awaiting every scrap of information he had garnered on this trip. Unlike the previous, Arthur understood and respected these visitors and was determined to show them every courtesy.

The man who stepped forward was a peasant. Not a farmer, but a craftsman of some kind, if Arthur had to guess. Thin as a rail, with a narrow face, prominent, uneven teeth, and a sharp nose. His eyes were wide with wonder, but still somehow small in spite of it, and darted around the room, never quite looking at Arthur and never even looking in his general direction for more than a heartbeat at a time. His steps, too, were quick and jerky, gawky, and his tongue appeared at random intervals to pass rapidly over thin lips. His entire body seemed to quiver with excitement. When he reached the open space before the throne, he flung himself prostrate on the ground and a high, quavering voice rose reverently.

"Oh, most gracious majesty! Thank you for granting me the most honored and undeserved privilege of an audience with your most beloved and honorable self! I shall never be able to express my most sincere thanks and delirious happiness, even should my very soul burst forth into song! May the light of heaven shine upon you with the most abundant of blessings!"

Arthur blinked and nodded solemnly. "Thank you. Friend. Please, rise; there is no need for you to . . . kneel." He could sense Merlin's amusement from where he hovered behind him, not at the peasant lying on the floor, but at Arthur for his inability to deal with it.

"Oh! Thank you, most mighty highness! Most glorious king in all the realms! Thank you! From the depths of my being, I thank you for your consideration! I am most grateful!"

"Yes. Well. You are welcome. What can we do for you today?" Heaven help him, Merlin was going in the stocks for the rest of the week if he so much as mentioned this again or looked as if he were thinking about laughing. And he could fix this blasted collar while he was there.

"Oh, most noble lord, I bring you a gift! It is humble, indeed, but the best I have to offer, and it is my dearest hope that it will be of some help to you, however small, in your most noble of reigns."

When he did not seem about to go on, Arthur spoke up. "Thank you," he said again. "And what is this gift?"

"A stone, most wise king that you are to ask it! But this is no ordinary stone! It is a most powerful stone, oh magnificent and benevolent monarch! One that may aid in protecting you from the evils of sorcery, if the stories are true!"

That finally got not only Arthur's attention, but that of the crowd as well. Chatter broke out all across the hall. Behind him, he heard Merlin shifting. Arthur himself leaned forward, elbows on the arms of his throne. "How?"

"I am a tinker by trade, most revered majesty, and I travel often in foreign lands. It was on one such journey in a far off kingdom that I came across these stones. Local stories claim they are powerful objects, though they make no claims as to origin and are unclear as to how many exist and are not often used.

"It is said to absorb a sorcerer's power just by being in his proximity, most fierce and noble king; the nearer the sorcerer and the greater his power, the greater the effect. All the stories agree that it causes them to weaken, most honored majesty, that it seems to draw their power into itself. Some stories claim this act causes them pain, further weakening even their mortal bodies until they are helpless before you. You need not even know a sorcerer is near for it to work on them.

"I have not personally seen it in action, most wise and just graciousness, but the man that traded it to me swore it was effective. It is with faith and hope in my heart that I bring this gift to you and present it you, oh most valiant and good ruler!" With this final ringing pronouncement, the little man produced a small box, about the length and width of Arthur's hand and just an inch or so high.

Normally, Arthur would have sent Merlin to fetch any present offered, but this man was so reverent and sincere and the stone he described so intriguing and Arthur himself so tired of sitting on his throne that he decided to do so himself. The murmuring crowd fell silent and the man himself seemed about to faint as Arthur rose and stepped forward to take the box from him.

The box itself had very little to distinguish it. It was heavier than expected for its size, wrought from iron, and hinged in the middle with a latch to keep it closed. The closure between top and bottom seemed solid, the box straight and true on each side; not pretty, but very well made. The latch gave him a little resistance when he reached to open it, but it opened soundlessly and smoothly once he'd clicked it loose. The lid moved just as smoothly, just as silently. The hall was deathly still.

The stone inside was round and smooth, plain grey for an instant only before it began to glow. As Arthur stared in bewilderment, the glow only grew brighter and brighter.

After a moment, his attention was drawn away from the steadily glowing stone by the sound of harsh breathing behind him, loud and echoing in the silence of the hall. He turned just in time to see Merlin—who had been bent at the waist and gasping for breath, but still mostly standing—fall painfully to his knees. The younger man's face was screwed up in pain, mouth opened and searching for air, eyes closed, chin tucked. The water pitcher was clutched tightly to his chest, white fingers splayed against the grey metal and writhing and twitching in agony.

Arthur froze. The only thing he saw was Merlin, the only thing he heard Merlin's desperate gasps, the only thing he felt was the pit in his stomach. He thought the crowd probably reacted. He was dimly aware that Gaius had, rushing to Merlin's side.

Merlin hunched further over his knees, dropping the pitcher to clutch at his head and chest as if he were trying to simultaneously hold them together and tear them apart.

The frozen world shattered into motion, overwhelming him in a tangle of thoughts and senses as his mind tried to make sense of what was happening.

Not Merlin.

Merlin panting. Gaius murmuring. The crowd whispering, panicked.

Not him, of all people. It couldn't be. Merlin would never betray him.

The weight of the box in his hand. The pressure in his head. The hole in his heart.

Why Merlin?

Merlin now writhing on the floor, still silent, but for his struggles for air and the faint splashes of his body in the growing puddle of water beneath him.

I should have sent him to the stocks.

Gaius looking up at Arthur desperately. No, at the box in his hand. He was right, then.

He looked down at the box again—the stone inside now glowing brightly enough to shed light on the shirt Merlin had selected for him that morning and glint off the pin Merlin had dug out, polished, and affixed just a few hours ago—and closed it with a decisive snap. The world seemed somehow darker than it should have been in the bright sunlight of the early afternoon.

This wasn't a trick or a coincidence. The stone worked. Merlin had magic.

Why, Merlin?

He looked at the sorcerer who had been his servant. The man had stilled from his writhing and lay crumpled and boneless on the floor, still except for harsh, panting breaths that grated audibly in his lungs, so loud in the deafening silence that surrounded Arthur. As if he could sense Arthur's eyes on him, he opened his own. Glowing gold eyes met Arthur's, so foreign in Merlin's face and yet so familiar that he could still read the emotions that clouded them: fear and pain and apology and pleading.

He hoped his betrayal showed through in his own eyes.

"Guards," Arthur called without breaking eye contact. Golden eyes closed.

This collar is too tight; I can't breathe.

This is a one-shot only; continued in its companion piece, Please Help My People, which picks up not long after this one ends.

Have an excellent day!

M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng