December 2011: 22 Alerts, 14 Faves

*Hoo* I'm tired. Are you tired? I'm tired. And I'm sure our friends in shining armour are tired, too.

Quite the adventure, don't you think? I believe it's time to sleep now. I'll see you next year ;)

~17~ There and Back Again

Camelot was a sorry sight. Though the fires had been extinguished and many buildings were well onto full reparation, it hurt Arthur's chest to see the city in such a way.

It was not a silent procession to the castle. The civilians of the Lower Town followed the party the whole way, screaming and cheering with delight and gratitude. The prince was pulling flower pedals from his hair as he trotted his new horse across the courtyard of the citadel, where he was met by composed stable hands ready to wait on him.

"Ah, it's good to see these old walls again," said Gwaine loftily, stretching saddle-aches from his legs. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a good long nap."

The rest of the search parties had already returned, and with them, other Knights of the Round Table.

"Flame powder," Leon said in disgruntlement by means of greeting. "Kids with stolen Oriental fire crackers. There was no magic to the south. Just kids fooling around!"

"For both cities?" asked Arthur, eyebrows raised.

Leon almost blushed. "Oh. No, actually, a civilian of Soltier claimed to have heard a banshee in the woods."

"...And? What was it?"

Leon shifted. "There was a woman living in a forest home. She...she was giving birth."

Arthur nearly told Leon, Percival, and Elyan his own adventurous tale – being immeasurably more exciting and perilous than theirs – but he held his tongue.

† † †

It was a servant he had never before seen in his life who waited on him that night. The man was stiff, precise, efficient – and really really boring. The castle already knew of the loss of Arthur's servant, who was like the prince's shadow, a tailing puppy, and this new man tried his best to cheer Arthur up with a few jokes ("Only if you see me fit to tell them, sire," he said monotonously.) The Pendragon smiled politely, yet tightly, when necessary and then ushered the man out as soon as possible, leaving all the candles lit and used dishes on the table but his head free of horrible punchlines.

He snuffed each candle slowly, methodically, thoughts in turmoil. He couldn't remember the last time he didn't hear Merlin's signature, excessively-jovial, "G'night, sire!" The prince would, every time, grunt indifferently into his pillow, already half asleep.

Always the same, every night. The cheerful well-wishing, then the cold, aloof reply. It made him with that he had once, just once, said 'good night' in return.

He would sleep all day tomorrow, he knew. It had been weeks since he'd slept in his own four-poster bed with its familiar royal red curtains and feather mattress. As the thought of a blissful, dreamless journey into the void of sleep teased his mind, he barely made it from the door, which he locked, to his destination under the covers. He managed, just, and sighed gratefully in the preheated blankets, granted by the ember-filled warming pan. He closed his eyes—

"Rise and shine, sire!"

—And then snapped them open.

Sunlight abruptly flooded the room as curtains were wrenched ajar, and he groaned as the brightness blinded him. He rolled onto his front, pulling the sheets over his head, but then frowned at the familiar voice.

"Come on, come on, you great oaf! Your father wants to speak with you, and you've got an angry Council to calm. There are also many people waiting to thank you in person, sire...many, many people."

Arthur sat up, rubbed his eyes, and then focused on the young man pulling open a second set of curtains as he continued speaking.

"You've been asleep for two days; there is a lot to catch up on. I took it upon myself to prepare you an extra large breakfast."

The prince swung his legs off the bed and strode across the room, fists clenched, thunder-faced. The man's back was still to him, but he turned as Arthur approached.

"There are other less-than-pressing matters which—"

Wham!

Merlin was sent reeling, hand clutching his face. He tripped backwards over a chair and landed with a crash. Arthur, disregarding his throbbing fist, stomped over to him, grabbed him by the front collar and hauled him to his feet, before slamming him against the wardrobe.

"Where—have—you—been?" he roared, shaking the hapless servant vigorously with each word.

Merlin squirmed, trying vainly to break free. Arthur yelled something else at him that neither of them could make out, then abruptly shoved him away. Merlin smashed into the wardrobe. Grunting, he rubbed the new bump on the back of his head. Already he could feel swelling beneath his left eye from Arthur's first attack.

The prince stormed towards the table, ignoring the food and everything else in the room. Merlin watched curiously, saying nothing, but blinked when the prince suddenly and inexplicably dumped the water pitcher over his head.

"...Awake now?" the warlock asked, faintly worried. The Pendragon spun around, dripping.

"You're still here!"

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Alright, I'll go then." He stepped towards the door.

"No!" Arthur had thrown a hand towel over his head to soak up the water, but then tried to stand between the servant and the exit. He walked into the table, winced, and lifted his hands. "Stay, please."

Merlin held his ground as the prince scrubbed the towel over his head. When he removed it, his hair stuck up everywhere in a mess. His expression was still incredulous. The prince strode purposefully towards him again.

The warlock cringed, expecting more pain – and then grunted when Arthur pulled him into a crushing embrace. The air whooshed from his lungs as the prince's arms constricted around his chest, making it impossible to breathe.

"Gee," he gasped, "I love you, too, Arthur."

The Pendragon hastily released him, but stood at arm's length. He shook his head, trying not to smile, overwhelmed by disbelief.

"I don't understand. How is this...How are you...Are you a...?" His features grew dark. "You have a lot of explaining to do, Merlin."

The servant half-grimaced, half-smiled sheepishly.

† † †

"So, that all happened because you were the first to touch the Feather?"

They stood at the battlements overlooking the city. The sounds of reconstruction carried up to them on the wind.

"That's my...theory."

Arthur frowned. "And you really didn't do any of that? Heal my wound, banish the Archons, collapse the tower?"

"The tower was old. It did that, um, on its own," Merlin said lamely, and rolled his eyes at himself. Arthur seemed to buy it, though.

The prince shook his head and harrumphed. "And I actually thought that you were a sorcerer."

Merlin chuckled nervously. "Yeah, that would be crazy." He clicked his tongue. "Really something."

A funny look passed across Arthur's face, but he let it by. "Did you, you know, try to use it again? The Feather?"

"...Maybe."

"And?"

The warlock shrugged. "Nothing." He didn't meet Arthur's gaze.

"Merlin, you still haven't told me how you escaped the tower. And your own wound! Don't tell me that Morgana missed."

"I think the Feather protected me. The wound healed itself, and then...I just managed to escape back inside the tower and down the trapdoor into the dungeon. I was lucky. As for returning here, you weren't too difficult to follow." Or you wouldn't have been, if I'd tried to, he thought, remembering his stay with Kilgharrah to kill time until the search party returned to the city.

The pair stood in silence, leaning against the battlements, content with listening to Camelot repair itself. Merlin pulled in a deep breath, and memories flashed unbidden through his mind. The joy and confusion that his old friends expressed upon his unexpected appearance was priceless. Gwen had started to weep in happiness and squeezed him in half with a hug. Gaius the physician couldn't help but get teary-eyed as well. Gwaine pretended to be indifferent. Lancelot, despite Gaius's protests, forced himself to stand, and shook Merlin's hand vigorously with a pat on the shoulder. The warlock begged them all not to tell Arthur anything, and they knowingly obliged.

"I'm sorry I left you," the prince said suddenly, startling the warlock out of his reverie. His tone was grave, and he shook his head. "In the tower. If I had—"

"Arthur," Merlin interrupted, "there was nothing you could have done. Besides, I would have left you—" He grinned mischievously as the prince hit his shoulder.

The corner of Arthur's mouth lifted. "You're braver than you look, I must admit. You're also – almost – as smart as you look. And that isn't very."

"Oh, gee, that's fresh," said Merlin flatly, then grunted indignantly as the prince grappled him in a headlock and drove his knuckles into his skull.

"Lighten up, 'dollop-head!'"

"Ow! Okay okay, I will! Leggo!" The warlock lost his balance as Arthur released him, but just managed to catch himself before he fell over.

"You're such a prat," Merlin grumbled, rubbing his head.

"Well, at least I'm not an idiot."

The servant mumbled something else, but Arthur didn't catch the words. Again they fell silent for a spell.

"Where's the Feather now?" asked the Pendragon casually.

"Gone."

"...Care to tell where?"

"Nope."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Alll-righty then."

As the sun reached its zenith, the duo turned to leave the battlements.

"Come," said Arthur. "I want you to do something with me."

They strolled along the walkway. When they reached the tower door where they would part ways, the prince said, "Meet me in the stables within the hour."

"Okay. Why?"

"Just do it." He suddenly remembered something. "Oh, and I meant to give this back." He pulled that something from his pocket. Merlin took it, and grimaced.

"Awch, it stinks!" he grunted, holding his lost, stained neckerchief at arm's length. "There's still Olitiau spit on it. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

"I don't know, it's yours. You deal with it."

† † †

"Come on, Merlin! Keep up!"

The prince's words rang like déjà vu in the warlock's ears. He had to curb his new, jittery, over-excited horse as she danced in a circle, chomping the bit, before he let her bolt down the road after Arthur's roan, Noble. The cream perlino flattened her ears and flew on her hooves with an encouraging kick from the rider.

Trees flashed past in green blurs as they charged along the path. Merlin bent low over the beast's neck and concentrated solely on speed, even forgetting to breathe as they raced with ridiculous haste. Arthur whooped with adrenaline as Noble hurtled a log. A few strides later, Merlin's perlino did the same, whinnying joyously.

It was then that Merlin realized how wonderful he felt. He was alive, unhurt. But for a faithful horse, no friends were lost. Lancelot was making a swift recovery already, and was working hard to regain his former strength. Morgana was gone and her plot thwarted, and it could never be taken up again. The Phoenix Feather, too, was gone, but if the witch ever tried to pull off what she did the year before again with the unnatural winter, Merlin knew where to find it.

He could see it in his mind's eye: hidden deep within the forest in a tiny glade only he knew of, guarded by an undetectable shielding spell that used its own energy to sustain itself. Beside it is the boulder which is host to a legendary-sword-to-be called Excalibur—

"Heads up!"

There was a heartbeat's time to duck before the tree branch whooshed overhead, skimming above Merlin's shoulders.

"You're gonna die in one of these races, Merlin!" Arthur laughed, witnessing the warlock's close call.

"Well then at least my enemies won't get the satisfaction of killing me!" Merlin bellowed back, and smacked his horse's haunches. With an enthusiastic squeal, the beast put on a fresh burst of speed, and, to Arthur's amazement, bypassed Noble entirely.

"That's the last time I ever give you one of my horses, Merlin!" Arthur roared as the warlock laughed hilariously and left the prince in the dust.

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