[Summary] Arthur and Merlin have a little free time on their hands, so they choose to retreat to a secret place and relax. However, they are never safe from the meddling hand of magic, and the many forms it may take.

Merlin/ Arthur (Set around about the end of Series 1)

~White Whispers~

Sunlight flooded through the streets and pastures of Camelot, on one of the laziest days the kingdom had seen for a good many years. The lethargy and relaxation of a thousand lost, empty Sunday afternoons filled the mind of every idle citizen, as each of them fully embraced the bright cloudless day.

Far, far out from the reach and noises of the city, on the very fringes of the central kingdom, where the walls and turrets of the great castle were scarcely visible, sat Merlin and Arthur. Surrounded by the debris of emptied plates, untouched and half-eaten fruits, and scattered red-velvet cushions, both lounged in the midday sun. This was quite a secret place, or at least it felt that way. This wide, open glade was forever deserted; for as far back as Arthur could cast his memory, this place had always been this way. Even as a child, he had come here to be alone - that was, when he was permitted to be alone - when the ever crashing tide of his duties and expectations fell back in a moment of mercy, to allow him to be at peace, and soothe his soul in the silence. It was only in such moments as these that he was able to recuperate himself, and relax.

Arthur's handsome chiselled features creased, like a peach stone, as a particularly strong ray of sun shone through the oak tree leaves above him, causing their shadows to shift fluidly across his and Merlin's clear skin. The two of them had decided to rest in the deceptively cool shadow of the great golden oak, but had found little, if not no, relief from the heat. Sighing, Arthur retrieved an apple from the mound at his side, and began tossing it in the air, clapping it against his palm with every catch. The air was so quiet, so thin of sound. Only a few complaisantly pleasant birdsongs could be heard stirring the still silence.

Swiftly, Arthur turned to face Merlin; his expression was slightly heavy, as if he had a question weighing on his brow and bottom lip. However, he didn't ask it.

Merlin was asleep. Typical.

Arthur clicked his tongue as his gaze fell upon his servant's sleeping form. His head was propped up against the textured trunk of the tree, as his dark hair flicked into his face, and his lips glistened with apple juice. One of his long, pale-fingered hands rested upon his chest over a small tattered pocket book, which lay above his heart, as if shielding it. He certainly was a wisp of a man; he was so, so skinny - his cheekbones looked as if they were sharp enough to cut even the most work hardened of skin. Arthur felt the sudden urge to shake the boy awake, or slap him out of slumber, but he saw no reason to. Besides, it would be cruel. Arthur may be considered dense or inconsiderate, even selfish, but not cruel. He hadn't been needlessly cruel in a long time. Not since Merlin had arrived.

The boy constantly looked unhealthily pallid. His complexion was the whitest in Camelot; certainly, paler than any waning moon Arthur had ever seen - almost transparent. It surprised him that Merlin had not once taken a sick day, nor fallen grievously ill through malnutrition. He always looked so ill, so weak, like a flower on the brink of autumn. However, this made no sense. He must be stronger than he appeared, and certainly more clever; otherwise, how would he have survived so long at his side? How else would he have lived through the incessant bandit attacks and perilous quests a prince must endure? Arthur struggled to manage them himself. It was as if Merlin were being protected by the Gods, or some far off guardian. As if he had someone else - stronger - walking in step with him, guiding him through obstacles and protecting him from danger - but then again, Arthur felt like that most days too.

There had been so many miraculous instances where struggles had simply swayed in Arthur's favour; always at the last moment and without a solid explanation. Always, they were left to guess at what had happened to cause the scales of fate to tip in his favour. Sometimes, Arthur wondered if the good luck that perused Merlin followed him too, like a devoted and loyal hound. However, to Arthur this derideable notion was simply unacceptable. It couldn't simply be luck that saved him time and time again. It had to be something else… Perhaps his matchless perseverance or astounding skill? Yes, that was certainly plausible.

Still, this could not explain Merlin's contentment; the proud but restrained smile that tugged at his lips, nor the knowing flickers in his eyes, quick as shooting stars, that Arthur could only name as wisdom. As if his words were not his own, but that of a wise and learned man. Yet, his fleeting notion that Merlin was a creature of some minor intelligence was often dashed and disproved by his daily behaviour of dense idiocy. If he was any sort of extraordinary, he was doing a fine job of hiding it.

Arthur's back stiffened, his posture alert, his eyes narrowed as they set upon something small and black moving over Merlin's chin. Leaning in, Arthur saw upon closer inspection that it was, in fact, an ant. Most likely drawn in by the sweetness of the apple residue on his lips. The ant's body - black and glistening, like fresh droplets of ink - moved quickly over the boy's skin. Arthur watched it carefully, as a cat would watch a curious shadow. Just as the insect came close to Merlin's lips, he intercepted its path and coaxed it onto his finger, his skin brushing lightly across Merlin's as he did so.

Next to the insect, his fingernails seemed so large, and so creviced. The tiny ant moved quickly across Arthur's hand, as if it were distressed. Its legs were so delicate, and so miniscule that he could barely see them, let alone feel them passing over the cracks of his skin. After a moment of observing its panic, Arthur lay his hand down on the grass, and watched the ant disappear between and beneath the criss-crossing blades of green.

Involuntarily, Arthur felt his gaze drift back to Merlin, like a fallen leaf lost and caught on a stream's calm currant. He stared shamelessly as his thoughts rolled on, and wondered to the far corners of his mind. How soundly asleep was Merlin? His body was still and his milky eyelids were heavily closed. He hadn't felt the ant tickling his lips, nor Arthur's hand brushing against them. They had been so much softer than Arthur had expected them to be - so soft that he could not bring their likeness to a comparison. How deeply was he sleeping? Suppose…?

Deep enough not to feel a kiss?

Quickly, Arthur doubled back on himself. What kind of question was that? From where had it surfaced? This summer heat had to be doing strange things to his mind. Perhaps he was drunk on the fresh air. Why else would he think of such ridiculous things? Arthur shook his head as if trying to throw the query from his mind. Yet - try as he might - Arthur could not stop his eyes from being drawn back to his manservant's full, pink lips.

What harm would it do - really? One kiss. Merlin wasn't even conscious, and there were no spectators; that was, unless birds and trees could talk and share secrets. Moreover, say Merlin did awake - which he wouldn't - what could he do? Really? Some servants were beaten black and blue, groped and humiliated; so he could barely protest at a kiss. So what if he did? Arthur was his master; the king's son, for god's sake! He could do whatever he liked. It wasn't like it was going to hurt. And if he did feel guilty or shameful - after all, kissing without consent was not the most honourable of practises - it wouldn't last for long. It wasn't like his heart would tear in two. It was only Merlin.

Slowly, Arthur leant over his sleeping servant, like a cautious but curious animal. Merlin did not stir. He lay beneath him, still as a glass of water, not even twitching an eyelash. Arthur lent in, close enough to feel his slow sleeping breath warming his cheeks, and pressed his lips outwards.

Sudden as a sprung bear trap, Arthur felt Merlin's hand grip his wrist. His grey eyes flew open, wide with shock.

"What're you doing?" asked Merlin, half worried and half amused to awake to the prince's pursed lips.

"Me?" Arthur flared up, tugging his hand free and hitting Merlin round the head, knocking him off balance. "What're you doing, sleeping in the middle of the day? You're not a child Merlin!"

"So, you weren't just…?" he posed sheepishly.

"What?" demanded Arthur, his tone sharper than any shining blade. Merlin paused for a moment. He must have been mistaken. What a strange thing for him to imagine.

"…Never mind." he shrugged, reopening his pocket book and making himself comfortable.

"You can't just fall asleep like that." Arthur scolded him, although Merlin could tell that he wasn't angry.

"Why not?" he replied chattily, in a tone of false exasperation.

"You're my servant," he continued, on a tangent. "You're here to serve me, not take a little nap in the sun."

"But it's so hot…" he complained.

"Then you should be fanning me-"

"Fanning you?" Merlin parroted incredulously.

"Yes Merlin," Arthur answered in a patronising tone, but with a warmer smile. "As you said, it's hot. We can't have the future king languish and perspire, can we?"

And with that, the prince laid back, hands behind his head, with an expression of satisfaction. Merlin did nothing.

"Go on then." Arthur prompted after a long moment.

"What am I supposed to fan you with?" Merlin asked, annoyed. He had been asleep all of a minute ago, and he woke up to this. Why couldn't he lounge in the sun, and wait for some poor smouldering servant to fan him?

Arthur glanced up at him. "That book will do."

"No it won't, it's too small." he shrugged casually.

"No it isn't." replied the prince, his eyes closed in the face of the sun.

"Yes it is." insisted Merlin, wafting the green swayed covered book in Arthur's face. He swatted his servant's hand away, like a fly, and turned on his stomach.

"What is it anyway?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow. "It looks…old."

"It's just a poetry book." replied Merlin simply, almost too plainly.

This was a lie. Petite, and clasped in Merlin's hand was a spell book. With age, the swayed cover had begun to disintegrate - much to Merlin's irritation - and each page had become dog-eared by the careless fingering of its readers. In the way of enchantments, there was nothing too strong between its pages, but still it was a risk for him to read it in the presence of Arthur. A risk Gaius would not condone. However, Merlin had become so bored, so fed up, of squirreling all his magical possessions in his bedroom like a church mouse. Only being allowed to read them at night, constantly on the edge and flinching at the slightest sound; as if studying magic was some dirty little secret. As if his gifts were shameful.

"Poetry?" a look of sullying disinterest fell over Arthur's face. "You never cease to amaze me Merlin - never have I known a man to be such a girl." He tutted as he turned away.

"You sound disappointed." said Merlin quizzingly.

"Who isn't disappointed with poetry?"

"Romantics, intellectuals-?" he suggested.

"Merlin." Arthur warned him in a low voice.

"Girls…" he continued.

"Merlin," Arthur interjected irritably "Shut up."

Merlin was silenced, momentarily.

"What did you think it would be?" he asked, peering down at Arthur's face, scrutinising it for the slightest change, the lightest indication of a lie.

Arthur sighed dismissively, still not looking at Merlin: "Judging by the dark, earthy cover, and the glance I caught of the script, I would say it looked magical."

Merlin's heart froze, as if it had awakened from a nightmare in a cold sweat. He had been foolish, - reckless. Of course, Arthur would know magic when he saw it, he had known this, but he had not anticipated that Arthur would look to see. He had underestimated him greatly - or maybe, he himself had simply been slack. He would have to be more careful, for next time he may not be so lucky.

"But it's ridiculous, to even entertain the possibility that you're a witch-" continued Arthur, as if the very notion was entirely laughable.

"Warlock-" Merlin corrected him, but he wasn't heard.

"You barely have it in you to lift a sward, let alone command the powers of magic-"

"And you're sure of that?" Merlin asked, louder this time, almost provocatively.

"'Course," he replied arrogantly. "You've been working as my manservant for how long now? A year? I think I'd have noticed by now."

Merlin was silent, silent for the longest of moments. Behind his closed teeth, he held a question. He held it there for so long he could feel it growing hot on his tongue. He could almost taste it, as it pressed against his closed mouth.

"What would you do…" he began cautiously, his voice softer that the coo of a dove at the light of dusk "…if you were wrong?"

"Hm?" Arthur grunted in half interested reply.

"What would you do if I was a sorcerer?" he asked clearer, and bolder than he would have liked. His gaze fell, as he licked his lips nervously, cleaning them of the apple glazing. Arthur felt his heart twang like a mistake on a harp's strings, as if from regret. As if he regretted not kissing the sweetness from Merlin's lips himself. Quickly, he shooed the idea from his mind. What was he thinking?

"I have absolutely no idea Merlin." he said after a while. "I'd probably see you strung up."

"Really?" he replied weakly.

However, before he could reply, something strange happened. A fat, squawking red-breasted robin swooped down from the tree and attacked Arthur. As he attempted to hit it away it hovered above his head, beating him with its wings and scratching his scalp with its clawed twiggy feet, like rose thorns. The robin seemed to be showing an almost human determination and bravery; birds were usually so cautious of humans. Arthur moved quickly, but the bird moved with him, as his expression grew more and more furious. Its screeching made such a racket, the noise felt as if it were scraping against their skulls. Merlin wasn't sure whether to help or laugh. Arthur had just said that he would see him hanged.

"Merlin-!" the prince shouted angrily, but before he could finish his order he exclaimed in pain: "Ow!"

Then, Merlin did laugh - quietly and muffled; he wasn't completely without courtesy. As he moved forward to help, the robin flew away, singing triumphantly.

"What is wrong with you Merlin?" he snapped, rubbing the back of his head.

"What?" he blinked in reply.

"Why didn't you get that thing?" he scolded him. "How could you let it get away?"

"Me?" he replied airily, chuckling. "It was a robin; I thought you could handle it yourself-"

"Of course I could." he replied sharply.

"Of course." grinned Merlin in sarcastic agreement. Arthur's gaze fixed on Merlin as his expression grew more intense.

"You think this is funny?" he said steadily, threateningly.

"Just a bit-" he replied, his mirthful tone unhindered.

"It ripped out a lock of my hair!" he said angrily.

"It did…?" Merlin paused, silent. A light - an idea, a possibility - had flashed in his head. Why would the bird so purposefully attack Arthur and not him? Why would it have so little fear of him, as if he was weak and it was powerful? As if it were strong. As if it had magic… as if it were a sorcerer. Of course! It had to be an enchantress in disguise. Why else would it have ripped out some of his hair? A sorcerer or enchanter could conduct almost any spell, or enchant on any human with a lock of their hair. They could do anything from inflicting a grave illness, to casting a love spell. Merlin cursed himself. How could a creature of magic appear right in front of him, and he not see it?

Merlin pocketed his book and stood up, surveying the aria. Which way had it gone?

"What're doing?" grunted Arthur, still annoyed.

"The robin?" he asked quickly. "Which way did it go?"

"What…? That way." he gestured towards the forest that stood between them and the walls of Camelot. "What're you doing Merlin?" he asked, as if his behaviour had become tiresome.

"I'll be back in a minute." he replied absentmindedly before running towards the trees.

Arthur stared at him for a moment, silent. Never had he had such a disobedient manservant:

"Merlin!" he yelled after him, knowing he wouldn't listen to him "Where are you going?"

Merlin dashed through the trees after the robin, not taking his eyes off its tail feathers for a second. His feet moved quickly, but clumsily over the uneven and root carpeted forest floor, as he tried his best not to stumble or trip. As he weaved through the trees, his feet hit the ground so hard they were beginning to grow sore. He huffed. He couldn't tell how long he had been running now, and he could feel his chest growing warm as his lungs grew small with the air that escaped his body. Ahead of him, the robin laughed, a joyous, feminine - most definitely human - laugh. There was no mistaking it; this bird was a sorceress in disguise.

The trees eased up, and grew further apart, as both the robin and Merlin grew tired. Noticing the bird's weakness, determination sparked anew in Merlin's eyes. As the bird bobbed lower in midair, he removed his jacket and increased his speed.

Wham!

Merlin leapt forward with his last dregs of energy and came down on the bird, entrapping it beneath his jacket. Now merely a lump beneath the brownish material, the bird squirmed, panting with a human voice. Merlin struggled to catch his breath, leaning heavily on the trapped robin, (making sure it couldn't escape) as his muscles burned in protest to the sudden burst of energy.

However, the hidden robin quickly began to grow, like a loaf of bread rising in the oven. Merlin's eyes widened before he stepped back, bewildered. The shape swelled and grew taller and taller, until Merlin's jacket could no longer cover it. Stumbling, the sorceress threw the garment from her head. She was not tall, and her face was youthful and wide-jawed; her skin scarcely more tanned than Merlin's own. Her body was curvy, and her clothes were ripped and immodest, as her pale skin shone through the many holes dotted about the autumn leaf coloured dress. Her red hair was cut short and extremely disorderly, like wild dancing flames. Merlin stared up at her, and she at him.

Her eyes were large, as were her lips, which were pained such a dark red they looked a burnt brown. A smile flickered at her mouth, for the silence of Merlin and the way he gaped up at her from the floor was quite amusing.

"My, my Emrys," she smiled mischievously "Your gentle reputation does not proceed you."

Merlin scrabbled to his feet at the mention of the name the druids had bestowed upon him, his hollow cheeks coloured with embarrassment.

"How rough of you to restyle a lady to the ground like that." she chuckled. Her eyes were fixed unsettlingly on him, her pupils rapidly dilating.

"Why are you here?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady and authoritative; restraining himself from retorting, "You weren't a lady, you were a robin."

"I wonder if anything I've heard about you is true." she commented, her eyes misting over with intrigue; Merlin could almost see the unrestrained thoughts running through her mind. He paused for a moment.

"It's very dangerous for sorcerers in Camelot," he said, his tone was civil. It was not often he met anther of his kind, even if they were plotting against Arthur. "Why would you risk your life to hex the prince?"

"You were far enough from Camelot," she shrugged and smiled knowingly "Is it true you have sworn to protect the prince? The very same prince who would watch others, like you, perish at the hands of his father?" She asked, her voice as soft and melodic as birdsong, but this did not blunt her words.

"Yes." he answered plainly. The sorcerer's expression did not change. "Is it true you have a lock of his hair?"

"Yes." she replied, mimicking his tone mockingly.

"Then you understand why I need it back." he reached out his hand to receive it. The witch giggled, putting her hands behind her back and pushing her chest forward.

"Why should I give it back to you?" she asked coyly.

Merlin's serious expression faltered; this was like bargaining with a child! "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then don't." she said, "Why must you protect this prince? Do you believe he's any different to his farther? Do you thick he's going to save you from the flames you dance between?" she asked, pouting playfully, even though her tone grew more serious with each syllable "How long do you think you can play the fool before your mask slips away?"

"He will be a better king than Uther." replied Merlin confidently. "I can wait until then."

"I believe that too." she smiled as she drew her hands from behind her back, and tickled her lips with the lock of Arthur's hair, which was a colour brighter than the summer sunlight. "But that won't stop me having my fun."

"Why would you want to hex the only person who will bring magic back to the kingdom?" Merlin asked with soft, weary incredulousness. He couldn't understand it. Why was it that every sorcerer he met had to be so hard to talk to?

"Hex?" she laughed, "I'm no going to hex him. Unlike some sorcerers, I don't believe a sick and dying prince to be the most entertaining thing in the world."

"Then why are you here?" although Merlin resented being toyed with, he had to admit it was nice to meet a sorcerer who did not wish to curse or hex Camelot.

"Tell you what." posed the witch, with such sudden enthusiasm that Merlin flinched. "If I can keep this, I'll tell you what Prince Arthur was about to do to you before you woke up."

Curiosity swept over Merlin and sank deep into his mind, like dye into cloth. So he hadn't imagined what he saw the moment he awoke, whatever it had been... An intrigued smile moulded his lips:

"What did you see?" he asked restrainedly.

"Are you willing to pay the price for this information?" She asked, her expression growing more mischievous.

"…No." he answered, his gaze drifting.

The sorceress paused before flaring at him disappointedly: "Why are you bargaining with me? The great Merlin! You could take what you need and the information you desire with a simple flex of your fingers, but you don't. Your restraint is not befitting of you, or your powers; it puts you to shame. You are nothing like your stories. They speak of a strong warlock, with hair black as a raven's shadow, eyes of mystical silver and skin so pale that you must blink twice to be sure you have seen him. Emrys, of the stories, he holds and commands the balance of life and death in his palm. He commanded the very forces of nature to strike down Nimueh, a priestess of the Old Religion, of great dominion. But you-" she spat, like a vicious cornered rat. "You hesitate to cut me down, like the weed I am before your unmatched power. I've teased you and you've taken it; why?"

Merlin swallowed. Her sudden outburst had both shocked and empowered him at the same time.

"This is the way it has to be," he began slowly, as if he was reciting a poem. "The time will come when we are recognised, I swear it. But until then, I have to protect Arthur until he is ready to be king -"

"And what if he does not accept magic when he becomes king?" she asked harshly "What if, for all your efforts, he is as pigheaded as his farther? What then?"

"He won't be." replied Merlin, hope strong in his eyes, so strong that a bud of affection bloomed within the witch's chest. She struggled to keep her tone sharp:

"Why?" she sneered, "Because you have changed him? Because you have protected him?"

"Yes," he relied simply, his patience wearing thinner - not that the sorceress could tell from looking.

"Wrong. He has changed you. You came to Camelot with the potential to be a strong, hunting wolf of a warlock, but he has softened you, and your heart to be a trained pup, forever at his beck and call; he has made you fumbling and cautious."

"You've got this so wrong." he breathed

"No. You have denied yourself your power and dignity, and you deny your prince the truth of your very identity. What sacrifice you have made... And he can't even see it." her pace slowed, and her conker-brown eyes emptied of all emotion. "Do you not hate lying to him day after day? Don't you want to tell him the truth . . . ?"

"What I want doesn't matter." Merlin answered her flatly "Please, just give it back. Trust me… and Arthur."

Merlin reached out his hand, his eyes grasping the sorceresses' tight as stitches. A coy smile eased on to her face, before she laid the small snippet of hair in his pale palm.

"I trust you." she said in a voice low as a cat's purr. So low that it caused goose bumps to swoop down Merlin's back. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Emrys."

As the sorceress bowed her head, her body shrunk as swiftly as a table cloth being pulled from beneath silverware in a magician's trick, and her short pale form became brown and feathered once more. As the round little robin flew above the treetops, Merlin watched her - with confusion more than anything else - before she called back in a human voice:

"Your prince has followed you warlock!" she laughed breathlessly. "You'd better find him, before he strays from the path and meets with the wolfs!"

Merlin did not bid her farewell as he watched her go. Glancing about, he could see no one, and nothing else that wished to interrupt his day; so he turned back the way he had come, and began to think up an excuse - a lie - to tell Arthur.

Arthur roamed through the forest's pathways, frustration deepening his features every moment that Merlin remained elusive. A prince should not run so readily after his manservant; a good and proper prince would wait patiently for his servant to return, as he readies a fitting punishment. However, as of yet, Arthur had not hardened his character to that of a good and proper prince, and thought in this moment of irritation that he soon should.

As soon as he found Merlin, he would make him rue the day he to came to Camelot. He had grown far too comfortable around him - no other commoner would dare snigger at the prince. It was as if Merlin thought he and Arthur were the same. And, in a moment of revelation, Arthur realised that it was this fatal flaw in his character that endeared Merlin to him, time and time again. Titles - prince and manservant - seemed to crumble to nothing when they were alone. They could talk and trust one another. He and Merlin could speak about anything without constraint, or fear, or an unwritten code to follow. They felt at ease, as if they truly knew nearly every crease of the others' soul. Arthur wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not; he knew that it should make him feel vulnerable to have someone so close to him. But, he didn't - deep down within his centre he knew that his relationship with Merlin was one of his most cherished. Embarrassment flushed through his mind. What was he thinking? This damnable empty afternoon was leading his thoughts astray.

A new annoyance shaping his idyllic features, Arthur saw a figure move through the trees not to far in the distance. Thankful of the distraction, Arthur moved quickly and silently through the trees, with the stealth of a skulking hunting fox. As he drew closer to the figure, he saw it was a young, fiery haired woman, dressed and painted in a style befitting a sorceress. Caution stiffened his movements. Then, sudden as a candle flame extinguishing in the blowing wind, the woman's eyes set upon him. Her gaze, fixed as a viper's, held him in place with more than majesty or frightful authority. She held him with magic, hypnotised, as she uttered old, mystical words that he did not understand.

Arthur felt his muscles relax and loosen, as his mind misted over with something that felt like weariness. He stumbled forward. His hand wrested on the handle of his dagger at his belt, but he was too deeply immersed within the enchantment to withdraw it. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, causing his vision to flicker like the view on a stormy, lightning plagued night. The sorceress' lips smiled, but within her eyes was a strong concentration, and a dark intent.

Arthur's eyelids fell shut, as he too fell to his knees. Still gripping onto consciousness by a fingernail, he felt the sorceress place her hands steadily flat over his closed eyelids. When she spoke, her voice was otherworldly; whole of power but hollow of emotion, as if she were speaking from the heavens:

"Arthur Pendragon, our boy Prince;

Your eyes have been misted and clouded,

From birth and everyday since.

Let lies -

The words of lies

And layers of lies -

Fall to nothing when beheld by your eyes.

'Till this night's moon retires,

Let your mind not fall prey to the white whispers of liars

When the new day's sun arrises,

Let your memories be washed and wrinced

And return again, to being our strong, gullible Prince."

Arthur's limp body fell backwards, unconscious, onto the forest floor. The Sorceress' hands pressed against her mouth as she stiffled a giggle. How easy it had been to enchant the prince! The stories she had heard of him must be true: A prince blessed with so much beauty, the fairy folk had not seen fit to bless him with brains to put behind his lapis-blue eyes. What a weak mind he must have; and how hard Emrys must have to work to keep it from harm.

The enchantment she had placed upon Arthur would make their next conversation very interesting indeed, - seeing as now the prince could not be lied to. He would see with eyes unclouded by mortal perception, until the sun rose the next day, when the spell would be lifted. Only the strongest minds could withhold memories after being ensnared by such an enchantment - minds much stronger than this boy's. Stronger minds had tried, but perhaps not stronger hearts.

"Pity," thought the sorceress "I would like the Prince to remember this night; then he would not think Emrys to be such a fool."

Sighing, the enchantress set about dragging the prince from the quiet woods, as its lightly trod paths were flooded with the amber light of an encroaching sunset.

On the fringes of the forest, Arthur awoke dazed and dishevelled, with dust from the forest floor in his hair, over his clothes and at the corners of his eyes. For a moment, it seemed as if the ground were shifting beneath him, as his brain buzzed, feeling tighter than a clenched fist within his skull. He felt unpleasantly drunk. His features creased as he buried his face in his hands.

However, slowly, relief came to him. Within minutes, the unpleasantness had gone, as if it had been washed away from his body. He looked across the wide open glade bathed in sunset, as he tried his hardest to recall what had transpired that day. Soon his memories slowly trickled back to him: he remembered sitting in the sun with a sleeping Merlin, and the wretched bird and… running after Merlin in the woods, and… nothing after that. Anything could have happened. Realising what a state he was in, Arthur brushed himself down. If Merlin had, in any way, caused him to lose his memories of that afternoon, he would not hear the end of it - that at least was certain.

Looking around, Arthur's secret glade looked somewhat different. It looked fresh, and felt so much more alive than before. It was as if he could feel the life radiating from everything - every blade of grass, and every tree, every ant. He could feel the power of the earth rumbling beneath his feet, and the force holding him there, pulling him toward the ground, beneath the limitless openness of the sloping sky. It was truly overwhelming and wearying. Arthur wanted nothing more than to lay lifeless on the ground, and let the murmurs of the earth around him lull him into sleep. But he couldn't. The sun would not light the sky for long, and he and Merlin would have to return to the walls of Camelot before nightfall.

Feeling the air thick around him, Arthur made his way toward the oak, seeing that his pillows and fruits were still scattered at its feet. As he drew closer, Arthur saw that Merlin sat at the tree's base. His legs were drawn up to his stomach and his long harp player's hands to his mouth, as his gaze was riddled with nervous thoughts. After searching the forest scrupulously for a full afternoon - looking desperately behind every tree, and above every rock - to no avail, he had become anxious. Then he had assumed, or tricked himself into assuming, that the robin witch had been lying. He had half convinced himself into thinking that Arthur would be waiting for him; but when he returned to find an empty and lonely tree side, his stomach had dropped and churned with worry.

Arthur stood next to him, silent, with Merlin still unaware of his presence. In this light - because, it had to be the light that was tricking his eyes - Merlin looked different. The way he beheld him now, he certainly did not look handsome, nor cute, but he looked…

Beautiful.

There was no other word stirring within his lungs to describe it. So much so, that Arthur could feel the air catch in his throat, and his pulse halt at the sight of him. Surely, he had never looked like this before. He seemed to glow with all the power and wonder of the moon; a power that seemed to flow through his body, right to his fingertips, and shine through his eyes, brighter than any star or self important sun. He looked magical, like one of the fairy folk. How could he have not noticed this before . . . ?

Soon Merlin's eyes caught him, and his posture immediately relaxed from the tight little ball he had made of himself:

"Arthur," he breathed, his smile grew wider than the horizon with relief "Where were you? I was worried-"

"So worried you decided to sit here on your arse doing nothing?" interrupted the prince curtly, before smiling the warmest smile Merlin had ever seen. The prince sat down heavily at his side, as if he were exhausted.

Concern furrowed Merlin's brow: "Where have you been?" he asked.

"I've no idea." the prince sighed matter-of-factly, his gaze resting on the orange skyline.

"What happened?" Merlin asked, now feeling uncomfortably unsettled. Had the witch in fact tricked him? Had she managed to enchant him?

"I don't know…," confessed Arthur as Merlin studied his face. He was telling the truth. "All I remember is waking up at the edge of the forest."

"You must have been in there then -" he suggested pleasantly, before being cut off again.

"Which means you couldn't have been looking too hard for me, then." Arthur interjected, sharper than he would have liked.

Merlin's expression hardened slightly: "You did say you'd see me strung up."

"Did I?" he replied lightly, apathetically.

"Yes." Merlin answered him bluntly, as his eyes grew colder and colder the longer he looked at Arthur. He could never say something like that, to a friend, and forget it. However, he and Arthur were not the same, and he sometimes forgot that. Merlin doubled back on himself - he always forgot that. There was a bond between them, he knew it. It ran deeper than a servant's loyalty to his master, and perhaps, deeper than the bond of their destiny. Sometimes - most of the time - it made him feel truly happy. Yet, other times, it could almost break his heart beyond repair. No matter how hard he worked, how much he sacrificed, or how much pain was caused to him, he could never tell Arthur. Everything he did, - his sole reason for breathing, according to most oracles - was to protect Arthur; a man who thought him an idiot and a coward; a man who would speak airily of seeing him executed. It crushed him. Merlin had never known a hurt like it.

Arthur looked over to see that his servant's expression had fallen.

"Oh, come on," he smiled arrogantly. "You're not sulking are you Merlin? It's not like that's ever going to happen."

"What if it did?" he asked, his words were heavy with suppressed emotion. He refused to look at Arthur, his eyes fixed on his own hands.

Feeling Merlin's forced hostility, a thought sprouted in Arthur's mind. A ridicules, unthinkable thought. He tried, and tried, but he could not ignore it. For the first time in his life, he felt a fear clench in his chest for Merlin.

"It would never happen." he said steadily, his apprehension - nearly - breaking through in his voice. "Because you're not a sorcerer, are you Merlin…?"

Merlin said nothing; he didn't even look at him. He couldn't bring himself to look at him, as he felt his eyes grow warm and his bones begin to quake.

"Are you?" Arthur said again, his voice tremoring ever so slightly. It couldn't be…

"So what if I was?" he replied quickly with the emptiest of harsh tones, so false that it only emphasised his fear. His eyes were still weighted to the ground.

"Merlin, look at me." Arthur ordered, but - to his supreme irritation - his authority was lost in his voice somewhere; he sounded more as if he were begging. With great difficulty, Merlin lifted his gaze to meet Arthur's; as he did so, his heart whimpered in dread of the question that would follow:

"Are you a sorcerer?" Arthur asked again, his calm authoritative voice failing him, as his words shook, as if he found it physically difficult to utter them.

A silence fell, so heavy that the two of them felt as if it would smother them both, until they could not breathe. How Merlin longed to tell him the truth. The very thought of the release it would bring him sparked up a happiness within - however, the fear of Arthur's reaction was simply too much for him to bear. He swallowed as his throat cramped with tears.

"Merlin!" Arthur prompted him, impatience and anxiety competing for prominence in his voice.

"No!" he burst out, his voice fighting through a thick wall of unshed tears. "I'm not."

Arthur said nothing. He couldn't believe his eyes. This had to be a trick. From Merlin's mouth, it was as if he could see the words leaking from his lips, like smoke. Thin swirling, violet smoke. He could see his words in the air, and the lie that ran through them, like a currant of ink flowing in clear water. Terror swept through him. How was it that he could see people's lies all of a sudden?

How he had seen it was immaterial. He had seen it: Merlin had lied to him. Arthur wished to feel hollowed, and for his mind to be silent and still, but it kept running and chattering on, loud as a river after a rainstorm. Merlin was a warlock… it didn't seem real. It couldn't be real. But it was. Betrayal and pride bellowed in the walls of his mind, overlapping one another:

"He's lied to me, all this time!" "He's made me look a fool!" "I almost… I trusted him, and he made me out to be a complete fool."

Arthur's gaze, like Merlin's had fallen upon his own hands. They were shaking, so slightly that only his quick battle trained eyes could see it. They were not shaking from anger, or fear - no, he couldn't be afraid of Merlin, could he? Impossible. The power he had seen in him, and the lie he had told couldn't have changed anything. He was still only Merlin, pallid, weedy and kind. The magic that coursed through his body could not change that.

Arthur looked up, ready to declare that Merlin was lying, and ready to extract the truth from him. He would not have to explain how he had seen the lie, for he was Merlin's master. It was him at fault here, not Arthur; why should he have to explain himself?

However, when his eyes set upon Merlin his heart panged with pity, and something else unexplainable he had never felt before. When their gazes met, he could see that his silver eyes had filled with tears, and trepidation. In the silence, guilt swiftly filled Arthur's veins, cold and uncomfortable. "Why should I feel guilty?" he thought to himself, almost desperately. He wasn't the one who had been lying. He wasn't the one who had deceived his friends, and broken the sacred laws of the kingdom to save his own skin. These thoughts were desperate, and he knew them to be untrue. Arthur knew Merlin. He knew he would not trick people, or lie to them needlessly. Even if he had not known this before, anyone could read it written across his face now. Deception was not Merlin's forté, as honesty seemed so blatant in him, bright as a flamed torch. He was not needlessly cruel. Arthur trusted him, and felt no more a fool for doing so. Even as his father's words rang in his ears, as awesome as church bells: "How can you trust a man who's lied to you?"

He could have decided to interrogate him all night, if he wanted to: How long had he been keeping things from him? What was the extent of his powers? Had he always had them? How was he using them? Had he bewitched him…? However, Arthur had no desire to spend his evening in this way, or upset Merlin.

He turned to Merlin, but it was he who spoke first, as if he knew, he knew:

"Arthur, I never…" he began, but his shaking hindered him. His words failed him. Never had he felt so ashamed of himself, and of his powers. He was a liar. A monstrous liar. Why couldn't he simply be a normal servant; a nobody, someone without a crippling secret? Why must he be born into this life, where he had no choice in his destiny? No choice but to lie?

Tears swelled at the corners of his eyes, webbing the gaps between his eyelashes before falling over his cheeks, streaking them wet with salt.

Powerless, compassion warmed Arthur's chest until it ached, as confliction threatened to tear his heart in two. As he moved toward his crying servant - his friend - Merlin flinched, like a frightened animal. Quite involuntarily, but still, he flinched. "What was I supposed to have done?" Arthur thought to himself, "What else should I have said?" He approached him again, and at the sight of the nervousness in Merlin's silver birch eyes, his heart gave the familiar twang of regret it had done this morning - except now it was harder, and deeper within him. It felt more like repentance.

Merlin's tears, round and glistening like morning dew, sparkled in the diminishing light of the setting sun, like diamonds. Impulse swept through Arthur, slow and easy as the morning tide. Without checking for onlookers, Arthur gently slid a strong, lightly callused hand beneath Merlin's jaw, and lifted his face level with his own. He heard the warlock's breathing cease, as the hand he had moved to wipe his own tears froze, still in midair. Weak hesitation whispered in Arthur's ear, unheard, before he knelt in closer and softly kissed the tears from Merlin's closed eyelids; his nose drifting lightly over the boy's brow as he went from one eye to the other. Apologising without words.

Stunned and bemused, Merlin couldn't help but grin, ever so slightly - like the idiot he was - as he felt Arthur's nose slide down the side of his own. Their lips hovered so close they were barely apart, for the longest of moments, like courting moths. Nerves squirmed sickeningly in Arthur's stomach, as he felt Merlin's breath tickling his own lips, like the lightest loving touch. Remembering the events of that mourning - and how Merlin had woken up, just in time to make him feel embarrassed - Arthur was tempted to kiss him roughly, even bite him as payback. However, that wouldn't be very princely, nor gracious. Instead, he closed the gap between them as gently and tentatively as he would have kissed any lady - not that he had ever kissed any lady. Arthur smiled internally as Merlin kissed him back with the tentative gentleness of any female; and with lips softer than any girl's.

The two of them shared a smile, their foreheads together and noses almost touching. As he drowned in Arthur's lapis lazuli blue eyes, Merlin felt this to be the most real moment of his life. It was so vivid, so warm and fresh, it felt as if this moment were crisp from the hands of some godlike creator. It felt as if this moment would linger complaisantly for as long as he wanted it to.

Merlin had never experienced this side of Arthur before. He had seen it, his elegant compassion, as light and undiscriminating as wondering rays of sun; and he had seen his beautiful gentleness, but he had never felt that it was meant for him. It didn't matter if he was enchanted or not, these were his true and honest actions.

Arthur moved back, coughing quietly and awkwardly, but smiling all the same. He felt relieved, as if he had lifted a great guilty weight from his shoulders. Suddenly - irksomely - feeling shy, he let his gaze fall from Merlin's and back to the sky, as he felt the heat between them depleting as they drew apart. He could not remember the sky ever looking as colourful as it did now. As the night encroached on it, ready to take over, it seemed as if the sky were doing its utmost to look as impressive as possible; as if it were determined to make the two of them miss the day lit sky in the coldness of night, like a needy jealous lover.

"What would you do…," began Merlin, seeing all the deep thoughts disappearing from Arthur's face at the sound of his voice, "…If I was a sorcerer?"

Arthur glanced back at him and shook his head slightly, before answering: "I honestly don't know Merlin."

"Really?" he replied chattily with false disappointment. "You must have some idea."

Arthur thought for a moment, not really thinking too intensely. He was too content to trouble himself with such queries right now.

"I suppose, I'd have to lie for you and protect you." he replied casually, leaning back against the tree. "Gwen and Morgana would never forgive me if I let any harm come to you."

"Hm…" murmured Merlin in staged agreement, as he suppressed a grin.

"It's true." Arthur continued jokingly "You've become quite dear to them; like at pet or something." His eyes magnetically met with Merlin's again as he added: "I can't understand it myself."

And then, unwilling to contain his idiotic joy and adoration any longer Merlin did smile. A smile so warm that Arthur felt his heart melt, much like the image of the last curving slither of sun disappearing into the horizon.

A/N Sorry that was long ^^; I really hope you enjoyed reading this. It would make me so happy if you could review~~!