A/N: So... I never expected a second chapter, but then Crystia left a review and I couldn't help but imagine it. And now we have this. Enjoy!

"We have a volunteer!" the street magician suddenly cries.

The blond in the audience, Arthur, pauses. "Wait, no-" he tries to say, but the gangly man before him is already pulling at his sleeves.

The magician turns with a flourish, and Arthur spots a death machine behind him – how the heck did he miss that earlier on? It's twice the magician's size, with a gleaming, round table sawblade hanging over a rectangular box.

"The finale of my show," the man says grandiosely. "If you'll go in," he urges.

Arthur has half the mind to refuse the death trap, but the other half stops him in place. There's something about this magician that calls to him, that he can't walk away from.

And then, the next thing he knows, he's trapped in the box, head and feet showing from either end, and a blade dropping rapidly above him. It's whirling and shaking and sparking like it's a rickety contraption, unable to work correctly.

Arthur shoots desperate gazes at the street magician, but blast those reflective shades, he can't see his eyes. What's the gimmick? He'd raked his eyes over the box when he sat down in it, but it was just that – a box. And the magician just won't give him a signal, or heck reassurance, though death is quickly approaching.

He's sweating, his heart is pumping. The magician just grins at his misfortune.

There's something about that look he can't place a finger on. It's just so- so… "Mer… Merlin!" Arthur snaps.

The street magician, goddamn Merlin, gives him an awkward laugh. "Ah ha ha, that was quick, Arthur," he says sheepishly, but the Arthur can hear mischievousness mixed in the tone.

Then the blade descends completely.

Arthur feels nothing – no, that's not true. He feels something warm and familiar and magical tingling in the pit of his stomach. Then the box is pulled apart and turned completely around, and Arthur can see his own two feet wiggling despite its disconnection from his upper body.

The crowd claps and cheers and Merlin takes a deep bow. "Thank you, thank you! I'll be back next week – maybe," he adds, shooting his King a contemplative glance.

He shoos everyone off, though some still linger around.

Arthur waits. Nothing happens.

"It's been fun," Arthur finally snaps in a voice that says otherwise, when Merlin makes no attempt to fix the skewed boxes, "Now put me back together."

"Hmm," Merlin goes cheekily, and then turns his head, appearing ready to wander off with his dispersing crowd.

"MERlin!"

The Warlock's grin only grows.