"GUARDS!"

Uther cried, as the man stood, unmovingly, before the throne. The guards, however, didn't act immediately, and Uther let his nervousness be known.

"GUARDS! HE IS A SORCERER! KILL HIM WHERE HE STANDS!"

The man smiled. It was an open smile, nothing Arthur would have expected from an abomination, a blight upon the land. His blue eyes twinkled, and Arthur couldn't help to think that maybe there was something more to magic than what he had been thought, just before his conditioned response kicked in and squashed those thoughts.

"GUARDS!" Uther cried, one last time, and tried to stand up himself. He failed, struggling in his seat as he tried to force the (what was no doubt an) enchantment that tied him to his chair.

"Is this how you treat all of your subjects, Uther?" The man, really just a boy, said with a smile on his face. Arthur knew what was coming now. He doubted that any of them would leave these halls alive. Such was the curse of magic, to corrupt and destroy all good in its practitioners. They couldn't be forgiven for practicing magic, for they were not the same as when they started it. When a man started practicing magic, he threw away his ability to do good, so his father had taught him.

Uther glared at the man, no doubt because of the thinly veiled gloating the sorcerer had thrown at him.

"Sorcerer." Uther spat out, eventually. His father knew that sometimes, patience was a virtue.

"King." The sorcerer shot back. "I didn't know we addressed each other by aliases here. Mind if I still call you Uther? You're technically not my king yet, you know?" The man took a chair from the long table present, and sat down, one leg put over the other.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You mean you're not here to kill him?"

"Well, Arthur, goo—" The sorcerer started.

"—Do not listen to him, son! He is a sorcerer, do not fall for his tricks!" Uther grounded out, humiliated by his position, but still unwilling to dismiss this potential not-threat.

"Yes, thank you too, Uther. Your opinion is appreciated, but the thing I was going to say was a tiny bit more important:"

The crowd waited in bated breath while the magic-practitioner let a small silence fall.

"May I have an apple? The harvest was good this year, I heard, and I've been dying to find out just how good."

Arthur groaned, while Uther growled. If he wasn't a sorcerer, he knew he would have cuffed the boyish man over the head. But this could be a trick.

"Well?" The man said. "Can I?"

The vein that appeared on Uther's head worried Arthur, so he decided to take the matter in his own hands.

"State your business, sorcerer. And let it be clear that if you disrespect the King one more time, we will have your head, enchantment or no!"

"Fine, fine." The man said. He grumbled something under his breath, which offended Arthur for some reason, until he continued:

"I was here to tell you all I am going to live here. Right under your noses, in fact. And you cannot do a thing about it." The man smiled cheekily, eyes twinkling once again.

Arthur spluttered. "What makes you so sure of that? We have the best knights in all of Albion!"

The sorcerer just gave him a deadpan look, and gestured towards the frozen people. "Is your head full of cotton, sire?"

"ENOUGH!" Uther suddenly shouted, grabbing the sorcerer's attention. "I don't know what you want from us, hellspawn, but magic is punishable by death! Submit yourself!"

"Or else?" The man said, one eyebrow cocked curiously.

"We will make you." Uther almost hissed the last part.

The corner of the man's mouth shot up in an almighty smirk. "Make me, then."

The man turned around, and strolled leisurely towards the door. He opened them with some elaborate hand waving, which made Uther's vein more apparent, and then turned around and bowed. "When you're in the city, don't hesitate to visit me. Just ask for Emrys' residence. Goodbye!"