Arthur closed the door to the balcony quietly and rested his head against the glass for a minute. It was throbbing from the hours of furious arguing in Parliament. It made him long for the days when this had been and his alone to deal with.

"All right there, Arthur?"

The cool voice was tinged with just a hint of concern. Arthur turned slowly to face the speaker, already knowing what he would see.

A long black trench coat, tattered near the bottom, that would have looked melodramatic on anyone else. Skin pale enough to give the vampire conspiracy theorists some credibility. Eyes that held secrets and power Arthur was quite sure he was happier not knowing about. Oh, and a half eaten chocolate bar tucked into one of the coats many pockets, it's sweet scent out of place near a being that reeked of magic and blood. The childishness of his secret sweet tooth fit with the hint of mischief that graced him sometimes, though.

"Emrys."

He didn't ask how the man - if he could call him that - had gotten past the layers of the mansion's security. For all he knew, Emrys might have blown in on the storm.

Blue eyes raked him for injury. Finding none, he leaned back on the marble railing of the wide balcony. "Were you not pleased with the shield?"

"Oh, no. No, no. The shield was perfect. Is perfect," Arthur said hastily. "The city was protected perfectly." Nothing else they had tried had been half so effective against the creatures' air attacks in this thrice cursed war. The last thing he wanted was for the gift to be revoked because of seeming ingratitude.

Emrys raised an eyebrow. "But . . . "

Arthur walked to join him in leaning against the railing, though he kept a respectful distance. "Your former efforts on our behalf have not gone unnoticed," he began cautiously. Emrys's efforts were the only reason they hadn't already been wiped out. "But this one struck the parliament differently for some reason. It forced them to think, and in thinking they found they had some questions."

"Ah. Questions. Questions they expected you to have answers to, I take it." His voice had started to take a slightly dangerous tone. "I expect they weren't happy when you couldn't answer."

"Some of them I couldn't," Arthur said. "They wanted to know what you were - "

"Beg pardon?"

Arthur eyes him carefully, wary of giving offense. "Well, you're obviously not human. So they've been theorizing."

"Obviously," the man said flatly.

Arthur backpedaled. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

"Oh, no, I'm curious. What exactly do they think I am?"

"It'd be easier to tell you what they hadn't suggested. I think they must have trawled every book of mythology and folklore in existence. Someone suggested the sidhe - "

Emrys laughed. The grey clouds seemed to lighten a bit at the sound. "They do realize they're fighting the sidhe, don't they?"

"I think they thought you might be a defector. Someone else suggested a genie until The director of our spy network pointed out if that was the case we'd only have gotten three wishes out of you instead of . . . . whatever number we're on. He pulled one out. It was large. Shut the others up for a bit, actually." He rubbed his temples.

"I take it this gratifying state of affairs did not continue."

"There was a faction that thought I'd pulled a Faust. Victory for ten years for my soul at the end of it. Forgetting everything else that was wrong with the that idea, I pointed out we're not exactly winning so much as surviving, and then suddenly they were changing the subject, wanting to know more about how we met, how we interact."

Emrys frowned. "What for? Looking for clues?"

Arthur swallowed. "You know Agravaine's been aggravating - "

"Yes, he has been."

Arthur's lips twitched, but he plowed on. " - aggravating for me to be - Look, the long and short of it is, they want to know if you're willing to work with a replacement."

There was a long silence.

"A replacement," Emrys said carefully. "Why, exactly, would you need replacing?"

"They're concerned," Arthur said carefully, defending men he'd have happily strangled an hour before. "With my background, it's understandable."

Emrys jerked his hand in a dismissive gesture. Arthur took a half step back. The last time Emrys had done that, they'd had to peel an assassin's remains off the opposing wall, but there was no force behind it this time. "Just because you were born on the Isle - "

"There's also the not insignificant matter of Morgana," Arthur pointed out. "And the fact that I wouldn't have even been born if not for magic."

"What do they think this is?" he demanded, throwing a hand out towards the grey sky where flickers of light betrayed the presence of his shield.

"Evidence that I have connections I shouldn't, I think. They still won't believe you just showed up on my balcony out of the blue. I can still barely believe it." He gave a small shrug and smiled tightly. "It's not like they're throwing me into the Pits. They just . . . need someone else. I just wish they would believe me when I tell them I don't know what - " He broke off. No good could come from bringing that up.

Emrys didn't seem to notice. He'd spun to look at Arthur head on, the kind of fury radiating from him that had always meant death for somebody. The air was crackling with suppressed power, and the clouds were gathering in darkness and intensity.

He'd never used his powers on Arthur malevolently before, but Arthur's instincts were still screaming at him to run. It didn't matter that he'd saved Arthur's life too many times to count, that he'd saved Guinevere, that without him the country Arthur would give his life's blood for without a second thought would be only so much smoking rubble. It didn't matter because Arthur had done his research, and he knew all too well that it all added up to an enormous debt that he would be expected to pay someday, and though cost was never something they'd discussed, something Arthur had been too afraid to mention, he knew it would be heavy and heartbreaking. It would be everything, and he was in far too deep to back out.

"Who?" Emrys demanded. "You mentioned Agravaine. Who else?"

"Why do you want to know?" Arthur managed.

"I'd like to . . . talk . . . with them."

"No," Arthur said immediately, ignoring the panicking instincts that wanted to say, yes, anything, yes. "This isn't anything personal."

"Hah," he snarled.

"At least meet the man they had in mind. You might prefer him anyways." The thought bothered him more than he wanted to admit, so he shoved it aside and held his hands up placatingly.

"Never." He had never seen the other man's eyes so intense. "Tell them if they try to 'replace' you, they can wave goodbye to their precious spy toys, not to mention the shield, and as for those healing charms - " His hand clenched around the railing, pulverizing a good three inches into dust. "And if they don't believe you, I'll be happy to deliver the message in person."

Images of bloodstained walls and empty seats assaulted him. One way or another, he'd be keeping his job.

He swallowed down the rising bile. No, there was no getting out of this now. He'd live to pay his debts. Emrys would make sure of that.

"All right." The words came out a little strangely despite his best efforts. He closed his eyes.

He should be stronger than this. He'd known what he was signing up for. What was one man against the weight of a country? It was worth it. He wouldn't have wanted another to have to fill his shoes in any case.

Light golden magic brushed against him, questing for the hurt. It was soft, warm, and comforting, addicting in the safety it offered, but there was a possessive edge of mine, mine, mine that always reminded him that despite what it felt like, this was not safe. It was anything but.

"I upset you." He sounded truly remorseful.

"You reacted more strongly than I'd expected. That's all." He opened his eyes and looked away.

Emrys narrowed his eyes. "No, that's not all. There's something else. Is there new intelligence on the sidhe? Do you need some more magic? You only have to ask, you know. There's no need to get worked up about it."

He could never ask for more without imagining what price he would someday pay for it. He could never phrase the question without worrying that this time he would push too far, ask too much, and their savior would leave them to their fate. "No. There's nothing new."

"Did the Mercians not follow through on their promises? The Amatans?"

He had to know. He couldn't take anymore of this without knowing. "The Mercians," he began carefully, "supply us soldiers and goods because they want us to be a buffer between them and the sidhe. The Amatans help us because they want our gold."

"So?"

"So, no one lends a hand in war unless they want something," Arthur said bluntly. "Everyone demands a price. And I've been wondering when you're going to be showing up with a bill and what you're going to be expecting as payment."

For the first time in their acquaintance, Emrys looks hurt. It makes him seem younger, somehow. "When you said they'd been theorizing about what I was," he said slowly, "you were including yourself in that number, weren't you?"

Arthur blinked. "What?"

"You really don't get it, do you? I thought - I thought you knew." He sounded lost. "I thought you knew what I was."

"Well, what are you then?"

Emrys gave him a pained, tired smile. "I'm your friend, you prat. And that's always been enough for me. Even if you don't feel the same."

Arthur's mouth was hanging open. He couldn't quite manage to close it.

"I don't want a replacement," Emrys repeated. "I just you want you to be happy. Well, happy and safe. Isn't that enough?"

Ashamed of his weakness, Emrys looked away before vaulting over the edge of the balcony.

Arthur rushed to peer over it.

He was gone.

A confused mixture of guilt and shame settled into his stomach, and he backed away into the house before breaking into a run and tearing down the street in search of the one thing he could think of that could possibly start the process of setting things to rights.

. . . . . .

Three chocolate bars waited on the edge of the balcony railing. Emrys, always watchful, noticed them at once and was drawn to them like a child to an oven where fresh baked cookies await. To be fair, concern summoned his as quickly as the sweets. It was the first time Arthur had tried to call him.

"Did you need me?" he asked, desperate to be of use.

Arthur's mouth quirked up in a smile. "Now who's the one thinking every gift has to have a price?"

He sees it for the offering it is, and laughs with more joy than has in a long time, and the earth ripples with delight at the sound.