A Broken Coin 1: Two Halves

by ProcrastinationIsMyCrime

"Look, mate. There are places out there where sorcerers are happy. I've seen my share and this isn't one of them. Just…just think about it." Gwaine's loyalty had always been to him, not Arthur, and that same loyalty will steer the future in ways beyond imagination. But simply leaving Camelot won't free his kin. He must do much more. But how much can or will he do? Post S4. Reveal.

1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.

"Blah" Normal speech

'Blah' Quote

"Blah" Telepathy/flashback or dream dialogue

Blah Thoughts or emphasised words.

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A Broken Coin 1:

Chapter 1

The warlock was in no immediate danger but tensely rode in his saddle nonetheless, eyes would routinely dart to the silent king beside him. Merlin and four mounted men behind him who didn't speak a word, as their leader and king, Arthur, silently rode under the overcast sky of late spring. Merlin knew something had been bothering his good friend all day, but his king had said nothing since their wake this morning.

Setting up of camp by the patrol party was swift and quiet, for Merlin wasn't the only one casting wary eyes as he unpacked for the night. Merlin prepared dinner without making much sound, letting it simmer in the pot while his eyes followed Arthur to the beach. Even Gwaine refrained from his jovial self as he watched Merlin cook, an oddity considering the care-free knight's hate for silence.

As the fire crackled in the otherwise empty night, the manservant and warlock went over to his master and king. Remaining silent for a short while, he watched his friend stare out towards the ocean as they stood on the sandy beach.

Had he seen me last night?

"Arthur…?"

"It's six months to the day, Merlin."

He didn't need Arthur to elaborate on what he meant. Six months ago was the last attempt by Morgana to conquer Camelot with the help of Agravaine, Helios and the warlord's men. At first, the warlock didn't understand why Arthur was bothered but considering they'd had six months of relative peace, Merlin presumed it was to do with seeing neither hide nor hair of Morgana.

"But it is men like you and the knights, Merlin, I know I can trust," Arthur continued in gratitude after his pause. A tiny sigh escaped Merlin's lips. "You've never faltered in the fight against the evils of magic which twisted Morgana into a corrupt woman."

Instead of feeling proud that Arthur held him with such confidence, he looked down at the sand for a moment with one hand clenched behind his back. Shame for the lies he told every day to keep his head on his shoulders, ashamed for never mustering the courage to tell Arthur about his magic. At the same time, Merlin acknowledged a very real reason for keeping the secret. Arthur had developed a hate for magic over the years as Merlin continued to dig himself a deeper hole each time he messed up in trying to show the truth of magic. With this in mind and no intention to die or lose Arthur's friendship, Merlin looked back up and strode over to Arthur's side, before proceeding to try and lighten the mood.

"Go and eat your stew before it goes cold, you prat."

Arthur didn't say anything and wandered over to camp, looking back for a moment because Merlin hadn't followed, but left him there and continued. Merlin continued to remain on the beach as he opted to watch the cloudy night sky but almost jumped when the sound of approaching boots on sand reached his ears. Glancing over at the source Merlin calmed before looking back out to the ocean.

"You've got to tell the man soon, Merlin. If he doesn't like you for who you are, then he's not a real friend," Gwaine murmured from his flank, soon coming into view. "You are mine, though, and where you go, I go."

Sighing in...something, Merlin shook his head slightly before looking to Gwaine entirely. "I can't tell him yet, Gwaine. Not until he warms up to magic a little."

Gwaine had known about his magic for a few years now. Since the quest to the Perilous Lands, the secret noble had been encouraging him to tell their king if he trusted Arthur, but out of fear the warlock still had yet to do so.

"I won't make you do it if you don't want to, but you deserve better than this, Merlin. I've seen places where you'd be happy."

The warlock looked to Gwaine with a raised eyebrow, who knew the truth and had seen Merlin use magic over the years. Without looking back and his hands clasped together behind his back, Merlin remained where he was. "What are you talking about, Gwaine?" he asked for a moment before shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. I have to protect Arthur and make sure he becomes the king he is meant to be."

The soldier released a light scoff. "Tell me you don't honestly believe in that thing, do you?"

Merlin maintained his gaze.

Gwaine sighed in one of defeat. "Just because that lizard said something is true, it doesn't mean it is. Life is what you make of it, not what others tell you…" the knight reasoned before dropping the topic of prophecy and nudging his shoulder, which made him look. "Look, mate. There are places out there where sorcerers are happy. I've seen my share, and this isn't one of them. Just…just think about it."

Turning his gaze to the night sky, Merlin felt Gwaine clasp his shoulder for a moment before wandering off, his boots becoming quiet on the sand until Merlin was alone once more.

The warlock remained on the shore for a moment longer before returning to camp, being quiet for the rest of the night while his mind was loud with clashing thoughts. He heard only the occasional murmurs between the knights until it was time for all to get some shuteye, and Gwaine due to stand as the first watch.

However, Merlin repeated stirred within his bedroll despite his need for sleep and with a nod to Gwaine he left the campsite alone, making for the trees half a league away. In the quiet night and under cover of the woods the lone warlock fiddled with broken twigs.

What is Aithusa like now? Last I saw her I hatched her from her egg.

Having no real reason to want the dragon other than a desire for the company of his kin, Merlin spoke the words of summoning in the dragon tongue. "O drakon, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes!"

Unaware of what Aithusa was doing or her current location, the dragonlord chose to be patient and rest against a sturdy trunk to give her time to arrive, however, thirty minutes dragged onto forty-five and Merlin was growing concerned. Incanting the summoning again, Merlin got to his feet and began to pace when Arthur's words came to the forefront of his mind.

'But it is men like you and the knights, Merlin; I know I can trust.'

I just want him to know who I am.

But would I be able to do it?

Turning in the direction of camp and Arthur, Merlin felt his shoulders sag in defeat. His friend and sovereign had been living with misconceptions towards magic for too long and if he was to come forward and say he had magic he knew what the outcome would be: an ugly one.

His arms behind his back as he paced and dwelled on the helplessness of his position in the grand scheme of things, Merlin's thoughts drifted to what Gwaine had said. However, they vanished as fast as they'd come. In front of him at that moment was Aithusa looking healthy but a little worn, folding her wings and coming to rest on the ground.

"Who are you?"

Upon being reminded that they hadn't met since he'd hatched her, Merlin felt a little foolish.

"I'm Merlin, Aithusa-"

"How do you know my name?" the young dragon cut in, reminding him of someone forever gone in his eyes.

Morgana…

Taking a good look at her, Merlin could see some other familiar traits in her mannerisms but got on with answering the question. "I hatched you, Aithusa. I named you."

There was a brief moment of recognition and a nod from the dragon. It was then that Merlin noticed the moonlight touch some scratched scales, and vegetation doesn't scratch dragon scales.

"Aithusa? What happened to you? I thought you were with Kilgharrah; he would never forgive himself if you got harmed in his care," Merlin asked, coming closer and running his hands over the indents. A feeling of concern was dominant as various scenarios went through his mind. There was one particular idea that kept coming back to him the more he thought about it because it would explain the scratches, her wariness and the display of attitude.

It seemed Aithusa wasn't in the mood to speak. However, that was solved when she looked into his eyes and images came crashing into his mind.

Flying over a forest, Aithusa spotted an injured woman lying on the floor of leaves, branches and dirt, who appeared to be unconscious. Slowly circling down to the ground Aithusa took attentive steps towards the brunette and gently sniffed the air, becoming alarmed at the smell of blood wafting from the body.

Merlin stiffened slightly at the sight of Morgana near Aithusa but remained quiet and continued to watch.

The young dragon breathed onto the woman wishing her to heal and get better, after a day of watching over her, she eventually came around and at first was panicked but when she established this magical creature meant no harm, she relaxed.

He was alarmed about Morgana's healing. However, the fact she hadn't done anything to Camelot for months since it was last reclaimed left Merlin a little worried. In the past, if she'd remained quiet for any extended period the next move she made against Arthur was worse than the usual 'kill Arthur' schemes or division between people of the court.

For several weeks the witch and Aithusa spent time together, venturing to whatever place Morgana had in mind, however when the memories reached the current night there was an ambush by far too many bandits, and Aithusa was forced to flee upon the undeniable power of a dragonlord's summoning. Morgana's screams of betrayal pierced Aithusa's heart and saddened her when the angry woman was knocked unconscious and chained with manacle bearing the markings of the Old Religion, the white dragon regrettably flying away from the scene below.

Merlin could barely take his eyes off Aithusa. Never had he ever thought Aithusa would become acquaintances with the vengeful Pendragon, and felt unnerved at what could have become of Aithusa had she spent any more time with Morgana. All young beings were impressionable, and he could only hope the witch hadn't gotten her figurative claws too deeply into Aithusa's mind to manipulate one of Camelot's - no Albion's greatest hopes.

Looking the young dragon over, Merlin learnt that scratched scales were his only concern. He couldn't do much about the scales, to be frank, because the majority of spells he knew were for fighting, not healing, as well as the fact dragons naturally grew new ones under the damaged scales, which would fall off later like a human scab. Seated next to Aithusa, the warlock absently petting her snout and became lost in thought about everything.

He remembered his mother speaking inside their cottage many years ago. 'When the time is right, the truth will be known. Until then, you must keep your talents hidden. It's better for everyone.'

Looking to Aithusa for a moment it brought on thoughts about her situation; lonely in the world and only an old mentor for guidance, Kilgharrah. Shaking his head at the similarity to his situation and getting up, Merlin began quiet pacing while his mind was loud and clear with snippets of conversations from the past.

Speaking to his mother softly in the night by a fire. 'If it comes to a choice between saving people's lives and revealing who I really am… there is no choice.'

An angered Prince Arthur shouting within his lavish chambers. 'You know, Merlin, you couldn't keep a secret if your life depended on it!'

Gaius, scolding him. 'If Uther ever found out things would never be the same again. It must remain a secret.'

Outside the throne room with Merlin, Lancelot muttered as he looked to Merlin. '"Bregdan anweald" Don't worry you're secret is safe with me.'

Speaking to Mother during their journey to save Ealdor. 'And if he doesn't accept me for who I am, then, he wasn't the friend I thought he was.'

In private Merlin spoke to Gilli inside the Rising Sun Tavern. 'It's lonely. To…., be more powerful than any man you know and have to live like a shadow. To be special and have to pretend you're a fool. I know how it feels... I…understand.'

Inside the Council Chambers was a devastated King Arthur. 'What I know for sure is I've lost both my parents to magic... It is pure evil.'

An optimistic Morgana years ago in her chambers, before she'd lost hope. 'Maybe one day people will come to see magic as a force for good.'

It was a hard blow when the memory of Morgana's optimism and hope came to the front of his mind. He'd believed at the time that everything would be alright. However, the current situation was anything but alright. A once compassionate and kind woman was now cold and full of hate thanks to the moment he betrayed her with poison.

'Magic is our only hope... It is your destiny, Merlin. The true purpose of your magic.' Gaius muttered as they tried to solve the griffin attack.

Merlin spoke to Gaius in despair after the death of Uther. 'Magic will still be outlawed. I've turned Arthur against it forever.'

A furious Prince Arthur shouted at 'Dragoon' in the King's Chambers. 'You've killed him!'

'If I can't use magic, I might as well die.' Merlin confided to Gaius long ago.

'You are the one Arthur should knight... You are the bravest of us all, and he doesn't even know it.' Lancelot whispered in the night inside an abandoned castle as the others slept.

Worry was etched into his mother's face as they sat by a campfire. 'Promise me you will be careful... No one can find out about you.'

Merlin replied to Lancelot inside the abandoned castle. 'He can't... Not yet.'

He could feel the weight of his destiny crushing him, choking him as he knew deep down that he'd failed.

Camelot would never see a time of real freedom.

Pacing the leafy floor and troubled by those snippets of memory, Merlin noticed Aithusa watching intently with sharp light blue eyes that followed him, having a look of satisfaction before going to sleep.

What was all that about?

"Merlin?" called out the concerned voice of Gwaine. Naturally, he recalled the end of their conversation earlier this evening.

Gwaine and himself talking on a sandy beach. 'There are places out there where sorcerers are happy. I've seen my share, and this isn't one of them. Just…just think about it.'

Never before had Gwaine suggested something such as leaving Camelot. The knight's loyalty was more towards Merlin than Arthur, and over the last six months, Gwaine had urged Merlin, to be honest about his magic. When asked why Gwaine answered that he just wanted his best mate to be free; magic and all.

In a moment of weakness Merlin could feel temptation as he contemplated the suggestion for just a second, his lingering hope of destiny spiralling down into a dark abyss of his mind. Inside himself, Merlin knew his goal had shifted to protecting Arthur, and the desire for magical freedom forsaken as his circumstances only worsened over the years. The warlock, on the other hand, felt it was too late for Arthur ever to accept magic or take Merlin seriously. He was well aware Camelot's court saw him as an idiotic manservant and never believed his warnings of danger; except for Gaius and Gwaine.

Ever attempting to convince Arthur at this point that magic wasn't inherently evil would be alike to shouting at a brick wall. The prince-turned-king he'd served and accompanied by all kinds of danger for six years should trust Merlin and take him seriously, but that was nothing more than an impossible dream. He'd become more and more of a jester in the eyes of the people over time since coming to Camelot. He was taken seriously earlier in his life at Camelot, but that had gone downhill as years passed.

"Merlin."

Looking up to the knight, Merlin nodded to the silent, unasked question. "I'm alright."

Gwaine just shook his head. "That's horse dung, and we both know it," he replied, cautiously sitting on the ground with his eyes on the dragon and patted the leafy floor beside him. "I won't take back what I said before because it's the truth. There are places out there, Merlin."

Looking up and holding his gaze, Merlin watched Gwaine's concern and confidence. "How'd you know that was on my mind?"

The knight adjusted himself to a better position, speaking quietly with his eyes on the dragon nearby. "You had that look of yours again." Merlin was unsure what he meant and furrowed his eyebrows. Gwaine just sighed as he looked to Merlin. "I see it when you think no one's watching you. I've noticed it since being knighted. Keeping quiet is no easy feat when I see it so much. I know how stubborn you can be."

Surprised that he'd unknowingly been giving himself away to Gwaine for two and a half years, Merlin could only look at the man who nodded to himself silently.

"You're miserable, Merlin. Have been for too long, mate," Gwaine pointed out raising his hand when Merlin made to object. "Hear me out first," he said, waiting until he looked sure the warlock would listen. "After this patrol, we go for a little trip. You and me will be riding out to get rare supplies for Gaius," he started with a wink. A feeling of apprehension passed through Merlin along with a sudden urge to rise to his feet.

"I don't know about this, Gwaine. The prat would be dead if it weren't for me," Merlin objected, pacing on a patch of grass with his arms crossed.

Gwaine got up and came over. "I know the Princess can't look after himself, but I'm sure he'd survive a few days with George."

That little remark caused the smallest of humoured smiles to emerge for just a moment, but Merlin became solemn. "That's not what I meant-"

"-I know," Gwaine cut him off. "It's just a few days, Merlin. I'm sure Leon and the others will keep him alive while we're gone."

Feeling uncertainty gathering within himself, Merlin turned his gaze to the ground as he clenched a handful of fallen leaves. Full of indecision, the warlock sighed and got up. "We better head back. I'll be missed by now."

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In the forest of Ascetir and standing on a vantage point that overlooked the druid camp within it, a lone young man watched the tents below and felt no sense of belonging. He wasn't oblivious to the way some of the druids looked to him, their behaviour around him, or the whispering when they thought he wasn't looking. Mordred wanted nothing more than to fit in and be accepted by his kin, but the preconceptions from a prophecy where he was predicted to kill the current king of Camelot clouded their sight from who he was.

He wasn't a murderer.

That was as much of the prophecy as he knew, for his fellow druids were resistant and wouldn't tell him what it was, which frustrated Mordred to no end. Even the clan chief, Iseldir wouldn't divulge the prophecy to Mordred.

What right do they think they have to withhold something about me from me? I just want to live in peace, but even here I see no real peace, only apprehension.

Turning away from the camp, Mordred picked up a bag resting against a trunk and began a journey that he hoped would pay off. If no one told him the full of this prophecy they seemed so concerned about, he would get the entirety himself. There was one place Mordred believed he could get the answers he sought, and if it didn't answer his questions, Mordred didn't know what he would do after that.

He was on the edge of the forest when a vaguely familiar voice called out to him. "Mordred?"

Upon seeing the person, Mordred blinked once and tilted his head. "Alvarr? Where have you been of late?" he asked, shifting his weight subconsciously and watching the fellow druid with sharp eyes. It was known Alvarr was a renegade druid, which only made Mordred suspicious considering what he'd witness the man do in the past.

Alvarr, a man in his mid-thirties, smiled charismatically and approached from the direction of the camp. "A little of everywhere, Mordred," he commented vaguely. "Now…Where's my favourite telepath off to?" he enquired, strutting closer at ease.

This is suspicious. What does he want? And Iseldir isn't too fond of Alvarr. Let's see what a little tit-for-tat will do.

"Here and there," he replied in that same mysterious manner. But in his moment of observation, he noticed something metallic glimmer a dark red in the moonlight. Darting forward with speed that surprised Alvarr, Mordred snatched an enchanted dagger out of its sheath and spotted a trace of blood near the hilt, and knowing Alvarr; it would be human. He could feel magic radiating from it as the blade held within it the blood of its most recent victim. "I want nothing to do with your business Alvarr," Mordred said firmly before returning the blade. "Whatever it is, just leave me out of it," he requested, taking a step back.

"You could make a great difference to our freedom. Our kind aches for the right to live, and you can give them that, Mordred," the renegade encouraged, looking confident as always.

He remembered the man's violence in the past and felt this could be more of the same. The cold-blooded and unnecessary killing Mordred had witnessed. With a short shake of his head, Mordred put more space between them. "The answer is no, Alvarr, and nothing will change that," Mordred repeated, keeping a sharp eye on him expecting trouble from the man.

The older druid partially made to leave, masking a brief look of disappointment but turned back for a moment, twirling his dagger. "It's quite fitting you distinguished it as human blood, Mordred," he remarked before turning away without uttering another word.

The man knows something, but to get anything from him I'd have to get involved in Alvarr's affairs. Something I'm not willing to do. What knowledge I do have of my destiny is already too much for liking. Pursing his lips in irritation Mordred turned away and finally left the edge of the forest. I won't take Alvarr's bait.

After he'd heard about part of his destiny Mordred understood the reason behind Emrys' consistent manner of distrust towards him. Who'd gone so far as to try and get the younger magic user ultimately killed, but that wasn't to say he'd forgiven Emrys for those misdeeds. He'd have to work hard to gain any of Mordred's trust and earn his full forgiveness if the man ever considered it. When someone tries to kill you or indirectly do so on at least two different occasions, it tends to stay with you.

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Having returned to the camp of the Camelot patrol, Gwaine watched as Merlin finally bedded down properly for the night before falling into a restless sleep. Back at his post for night watch, the knight couldn't help but be concerned for his best friend. Just like Gwaine knowing about Merlin's magic, the knight had secrets of his own which he'd told only the warlock long ago.

Unlike his fellow Knights of the Round Table except for Leon, he wasn't born a commoner. In fact, his father used to be a knight for King Caerleon, before an untimely death in battle. The dishonourable way the king had dismissed his mother when she'd gone to her sovereign for help afterwards drove Gwaine to despise titles, nobles and all things related to them. So, disgusted by King Caerleon and other pompous royals, Gwaine had long ago chosen to live as a commoner. No rank, no special treatment; only respect earned through his deeds and merits.

One would question why the man had become a knight and now served a king after such a history, and the answer was a little complicated. In a nutshell, it was that a friend had shown him a king who cared for the people and treated nobles no more importantly than commoners and was worth a chance.

That reason, however, was fading. The respect Gwaine had for King Arthur eroded as time went on and Gwaine's best mate lived as a shadow just to stay alive. Since meeting Merlin three years ago and giving Arthur the benefit of the doubt, Gwaine grew to realise that Arthur had no intention of extending the fair treatment to those with magic. Those with the gift still lived in fear of being burned at the stake due to the law in place here. Even Merlin, the king's best friend, hid his true self from the world because of the king.

Turning his gaze to Merlin again, Gwaine drew comfort in that knowledge that he would show Merlin a better life.

A life without an axe hanging over his head, and magic not feared by those without it.

Taking a breath and releasing it into the chilly night, Gwaine continued his watch.

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In a slumbering city decorated with the red and gold flags of Camelot, Gwen still dressed in her blood red gown stood on her favourite tower of the citadel that overlooked the city. Gazing at Lower Town, Gwen felt nervous about the many duties she was learning to manage since becoming queen. She'd married to Arthur six months after the foil of Morgana's second attempt to conquer Camelot but had been in love with the man for years. In the six months since being crowned Arthur's queen, the compassionate woman underwent studies so she could do all required of her.

Gwen still had much to learn and overall found her duties a little daunting, but despite this, she did her best while Arthur was away. At the moment Arthur was giving her responsibility for managing the city in his stead while gone on patrols. Like any other student, Gwen made a mistake now and again or stumbled with her words when unsure how to speak with servants she'd worked alongside for many years. For the most part, she was doing well with the tasks thrust upon her.

Leaving the tower and making for the royal chambers, the Queen nodded to the few people she saw up at this time of night before entering the room shared with Arthur and closing the door. It was a well-furnished room with a theme of Camelot's colours, made warm by the flames in the fireplace but was missing one thing.

Arthur.

Going over to the dressing screen to change into her night shift the queen looked into the mirror and didn't recognise herself. Long gone was the daughter of a blacksmith living a simple life, replaced by a queen learning how to manage a kingdom. Thoughts of her life as a servant made Gwen think about Merlin.

The man had been serving in Camelot with devotion for six and a half years, diving into adventures of danger with Arthur without a second thought. He was more a friend to Arthur than a proper manservant and seemed to be married to the job of serving Arthur. Feeling a little disturbed that she'd failed to notice Merlin didn't have much of a personal life, Gwen told herself she would help rectify that. If there was one thing, she disliked more than anything else it was mistreating her friends and to her shame, she'd neglected Merlin proper attention for years unless she'd needed him.

She'd hardly spoken to him since becoming queen and riddled with guilt that a loyal person and friend had gone more or less ignored by her. With all of this in mind, Gwen told herself she'd make an effort to be a proper friend to him and ensure he got some time off. He'd never had a day to himself, and she'd make sure that he finally did. Merlin more than deserved it.

With that little vow to herself, the queen closed her eyes and went to sleep with a clear conscience.

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Peacefully seated on a log by a campfire in the countryside with her eyes wandering over the village, the woman reflected on her day here with the people of her father's kingdom. There was not a shred of royalty in her appearance, blending in so the princess could hear the people's true opinions.

The day had gone well in her eyes, as had the visits to other villages they'd visited. She'd spoken to a fair number of villagers here and most seemed content with their lives. The answer she sought was one that she couldn't outright ask them for but had to find it in their body language, and for the most part, the people were content.

Dressed in a plain outfit of brown trousers, cloak, a white shirt, and nothing is done to her hair, Mithian was playing the role of a daughter to one of two merchants travelling the countryside to sell their wares. In truth, the two men were her most trusted knights accompanying her on this little expedition. The men, however, didn't need to be as watchful as they'd been over the last week, for the small party was no longer near the borders of neighbouring kings who weren't fully trusted. Namely King Odin and King Alined the rulers of Meredor and Deorham respectively.

Mithian and her knights were due to travel north to a few other outlying villages until they reached the border shared with Camelot, a kingdom allied with Nemeth. However, Nemeth's ruling household, while officially having the same stance towards magic as Camelot, more often than not turned a blind eye. When used for immoral means such as theft, the criminal was treated just the same as any other thief. When magic's use was for good Mithian and her father pretended not to see it.

Looking into the fire, Mithian compared it to Nemeth's position. The stones contained the fire, but should one stone move and the fire begins; there would be trouble. The fire was Nemeth's secret, the stones were Nemeth's efforts to contain the secret, and the trouble would be Nemeth's neighbours learning about the magic tolerance.

Their turning of blind eyes was not to say the kingdom of Nemeth was all sunshine and daisies about magic. There was a need for discretion just in case a neighbouring king decided to send someone here to report on the happenings of her father's kingdom. It could be happening right now, and they wouldn't know. There'd never been any evidence of such a person, but you could never be too careful.

There was an unspoken rule amongst the people to protect all. Never mention or recklessly use magic inside Nemeth's borders.

Frivolous behaviour was frowned upon, for using magic without caution could endanger the kingdom and people should a neighbouring king learn the truth. Sorcerers were never punished for proper use of magic unless an individual used it carelessly in a repetitive manner. At the beginning when discretion with magic was new, those who disagreed left for Essetir out of a desire for full freedom. And her father had helped them go.

When King Rodor explained to his daughter the reason behind his decision to assist the departure of displeased sorcerers, Mithian had felt torn in the matter. Without the people, there was no kingdom, and helping citizens leave was highly contradictory to that saying. However, she understood that active or unhappy citizens could rise and cause problems in the future. It was with the reluctant acceptance that Mithian came to acknowledge her father had done the best anyone could do in their situation.

Releasing a breath and gazing at the starry sky, Mithian enjoyed the sounds of night-life, crackling fire, and the gentle spring breeze making leaves lightly rustle.

"Thea."

Mithian, in response to her incognito name, turned to see Sir Richard sit beside her. "Yes, Uncle?" she replied, using the false title for her second most trusted but favourite knight.

"It's late, Thea. Leofric is on watch, and it will be time for my shift before long," Sir Richard commented, glancing in Sir Leofric's direction for a moment. The knight in question had turned their way for a moment before returning focus to the night. "I can't have my princess having bags under her beautiful eyes," he muttered with a cheeky smile and a glint in his eyes, he was the only one that got away with calling her 'princess'. She hated it when referred to by title outside the Nemeth Council Chambers, where it was utterly necessary. Mithian saw people for who they were, not their rank, and treated them by their merits.

Upon learning her dislike for titles long ago, Sir Richard had taken to calling her 'princess' just to rile her up. Over time she'd come to see it as a term of endearment from him, and the knight only used it when he was concerned for her or was serious about anything he said.

"Thank you, Uncle. I didn't realise time had passed so quickly," she replied smoothly, watching him raise his eyebrows in knowing.

The mischievous knight rolled his eyes. "What is it with you and your love for the night? Something is wrong with you, woman," Richard remarked, making her chuckle for they both knew about her leisurely strolls into the woods around the city that was their home.

"Good night, Uncle," she said in a friendly tone.

Richard just shook his head as he got up and left, muttering about crazy princesses just loud enough for her to hear him. Rising from the log herself, Mithian went over to the carriage that held the alleged goods the three of them were pretending to sell during their travel around the kingdom. Amongst those wares were their supplies for the entire journey. It was a very basic carriage easily described as a wheeled, wooden box with a single door at the back and a bench attached to the front of it.

Getting out her bedroll, she unfurled it and made herself comfortable on the ground instead of in the carriage as she was supposed to. Mithian enjoyed nature and would choose it when duty and propriety were not required. From the matter she carried herself and behaved around other high-ranking officials in Nemeth and kingdoms she'd visited for possible suitors, they would never have guessed this side of her.

An ordinary princess wouldn't find pleasure in what Mithian enjoyed, and Nemeth's future successor often went out to the woods on horseback so she could think in silence and had come to appreciate the peace that always welcomed her. Over the course of her visits to the forest, she developed a sense of inner peace or belonging or something. She didn't know the answer. She just knew that it felt right.

As she rested on the ground, the princess could see her prized necklace had slipped out from under the ugly shirt. It was a light blue topaz; a stone said to represent serenity, friendship, fidelity, integrity, intellect, and gentleness. She loved this necklace, and there was never a day she hadn't worn it since receiving it a few months ago. At the banquet on her birthday, her father presented it to her as a gift, naming it the "Jewel of Nemeth" and saying its qualities reminded him of her - the jewel of his life.

Smiling as she carefully tucked it back inside her shirt, Mithian thought about the man who'd raised her after her mother hadn't survived the birth. She couldn't imagine life without him, and her heart swelled with pride at the thought that he'd given this to her sometime after making her princess regent of Nemeth.

Putting her thoughts aside Mithian sighed and closed her eyes, letting sleep claim her in the outdoor setting of the countryside.

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