EPILOGUE

Uther's good weather held through the third and final day of feasting. The following morning the sky was grey tinged with rose as visiting nobles and other guests made their farewells to the king, his son, and his ward in the great courtyard. A half hour later the crown prince and his manservant stood on the battlements, looking on as the parade of visitors and their entourages file slowly through the barbican beneath the teeth of the giant portcullis.

Merlin leaned over the stone parapet to watch them go. Earlier that morning–at dawn to be precise–he had said goodbye to his mother, enveloping her in a bearlike hug before presenting her with a travel pack filled with delicacies from the king's high table, a gift from Gwen. As they left Gaius' rooms they had found Gwen herself, waiting on the paving stones to wish Hunith well on her journey. Merlin thanked her for the food.

"Oh, that's all right," she had whispered back, squeezing his arm. "It's the least I could do for her. And there was plenty left over from the feasts."

"Uther wouldn't be pleased," Merlin replied, smiling. "Stealing food for the rabble."

"Well, he won't be pleased with you, Merlin, if he sees you. All servants are supposed to be in official livery this morning."

"What's he going to do, put me in the stocks again?"

"He'll put you in the stocks wearing the hat."

They had still been trying not to laugh out loud when, to their surprise, Morgana and Arthur descended the steps from the main portal to bid Hunith godspeed. Flushed with pleasure, Hunith had glanced from Arthur's handsome visage to her son's before bowing her head in courteous deference. As she walked toward the far end of the courtyard, where she would meet her traveling companions, she had looked back once and smiled at the two young men standing side by side.

"He likes you," Merlin remembered her having said to him, during the prince's brief sojourn in Ealdor, and he recalled his reply, "That's because he doesn't know me." Well, Arthur knew about him now. And loved him in spite of his officially unacceptable talent. If Hunith somehow had become aware of this (and how would she have?) she had not said so, but Merlin had the feeling that perhaps that was the case.

The bright green cape of the king of Rheged (such an unfortunate color really, it made him look even more frighteningly rotund than he actually was) and the matching caparison of the horse upon which he was precariously balanced caught Merlin's eye and he leaned even farther over the parapet, like a child watching a passing parade of mummers and minstrels. He felt Arthur's hand gently grasp his belt, tugging until he took a step backward. Below, in the courtyard, he could see Gwen chatting with Gaius; as if his stare had called to them they turned to look up at the battlements and waved. Merlin waved back. His final step back had brought him shoulder to shoulder with Arthur–they were much of a height–and because of the chest-high parapet no one below could see that their hands were now loosely linked.

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly, "Stop fidgeting. Are you seriously trying to go headfirst onto the cobblestones?"

Merlin turned the full force of his infectious grin in his direction and Arthur blinked, slightly overwhelmed by the emotion that shone at him from those blue eyes. Under the circumstances (as much as he yearned for him, he had no desire to become putty in Merlin's hands) he felt obligated to reassert his superior status, if only a little.

"I realize," he muttered caustically, "That a fall from here wouldn't damage you; that you could break your fall at the last minute, with a snap of your fingers or whatever. But that really wouldn't do, and you know it. So stop."

Merlin gave an involuntary snort of laughter, but he quickly composed his features, stopped smiling, and lowered his gaze to examine the courtyard once more. At the same time, however, his fingers curled more tightly around Arthur's and his thumb stroked the inside of Arthur's wrist before he released his hold and drew his hand away.

I must be losing my grip, Arthur grumbled to himself. I'm getting soft. I'm letting Merlin take advantage...But he knew that Merlin would never take advantage of him in any way, just as Merlin would never be completely subservient to him. Don't hire a bootlicker, he had once told the crown prince, and even in the early stages of their passion he had never fawned over Arthur or abased himself as people in love often do. When they were alone, even when he was panting and responsive in Arthur's arms, it was only his body that was yielding and compliant, never his mind. Merlin may have given his heart, but there was a strength of character, independence, and a kind of bashful confidence beneath the veneer of obedient servitude, that the warrior in Arthur–even during his most arrogant moments–recognized and mentally saluted.

"Father's riding to Rheged next week," he said in a noncommital tone as his eyes followed the procession of guests still wending its way beneath the portcullis. "He's become very keen on cementing relations with the neighboring kings. Thank God, though, he's given up any notion of marrying me to that fellow's daughter."

"Next week," echoed Merlin in a voice that was equally noncommital. "If my lord of Rheged doesn't fall off his horse first."

Arthur shot Merlin a questioning glance.

"I mean just look at him," Merlin said conversationally. "He'll never make it as far as the border. He'll roll off his horse."

"In the event that he doesn't," Arthur murmured, "I think we can safely say that there will be no need for you to worry about your sleeping arrangements while Father's away."

Merlin was now staring down at the courtyard with a diligence, and he did not turn his head. But Arthur could see the pale skin above those cheekbones crinkle as his lips curved upward in another smile.

"Well," Merlin finally said in the most casual of voices. "It'll be a nice change from the stone floor of Morgana's storeroom."