King Arthur sat on his throne next to his queen. It had been nearly twenty years since his father had died and he had taken the crown and married his lover, Guinevere. At that time, it was exciting and new, yet frightening, for he didn't know if he had what it takes to be king. It was, to say the least, interesting.

Now, however, he longed for the time that he was only prince, the time when he was, more or less, free to do what he wanted. Sure, Camelot was undoubtedly much better off with Arthur as its king, but he could not help but wistfully think back to the time when he could have fun.

Suddenly, a young servant boy ran through a side corridor into the throne room. He ran up to Arthur and bowed. "My king!" he said.

Arthur frowned. "Timothy? What are you doing here? Report isn't 'till two o'clock."

The boy straightened. "Two of the guard are just outside. They request to speak to you about a thief they caught in the market!"

"Send them in." Timothy scurried to the door, and, with great effort, began to pull at the handle. Before he had opened it two feet, a large, brawny man dressed in the attire of the palace guard threw the door open, nearly knocking Timothy off of his feet.

"King Arthur!" he bellowed, respectfully falling to one knee for a second or two. "We discovered this thief swiping bread from the baker's shop. We believe she is the one responsible for the recent missing items in the area." He beckoned behind him and another man in an identical uniform came in holding a small, wriggling figure. "She won't tell us a thing about herself- no parents, no home, not even a name."

"Come, now, let her go," Gwen said. "I doubt she'll cause any trouble here."

The girl yanked herself free from the second man's grasp. Now, they could get a good look at her. She looked to be about twelve. She had messy, shoulder-length raven hair. Her pants were obviously too small, as they came to her ankles. She wore a dirty off-white shirt and a brown vest over it. Around her neck she wore a strangely familiar red bolt of cloth. Brushing herself off, she said, "Well, that's better, thank you. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be going."

"Not so fast," Arthur called. "You have a crime to account for."

"Please," Gwen asked, "would you tell us your name so that we may know what to call you?"

"Freya. After my mother." She glared at the guard who had been speaking roughly to her. "See? Is it really that difficult to say please?"

"Why were you stealing from the baker, Freya?" Arthur interrupted. "That bread wasn't yours. You seem old enough to know that."

"Of course, I know that," Freya replied. "I didn't have the money to pay for it and it didn't seem like anyone was going to miss a roll or two."

"Then work for them! I'm sure the baker would be willing to feed you if you became his assistant."

"Well, I can't do that. I don't plan on staying in this city for much longer. I'm looking for someone, you see, and he's not here."

"Who are you looking for? We may be able to find this person."

Freya stood, staring at her boots, looking uncomfortable. "It's… it's my father. He disappeared one morning, and never came back." After a few seconds, she looked up at Arthur with bright eyes. "He's not dead, mind you! I'm going to find him!" She crossed her arms. "And it'll go quicker if you'll let me go on my way."

Gwen sat up straighter. "Your…father?" She sighed. "I know what it's like to lose a father. Arthur does, too. Tell us the man's name. We may have heard of him."

"I highly doubt it. Well, actually, you may have. He used to work here a long time ago. Before I was born. Do you recall meeting a man named Merlin?"