Two Cryptic Options…

"Sire, I thought this was a serious quest?" Asks Sir Leon from his perch on his horses back, watching the Crown Prince of Camelot chase his manservant around the small market place erected in the middle of the town.

"It is, Leon" Shouts back Arthur, diving under one particular stall and grabbing the back of Merlin's jacket, pulling the stumbling manservant down to the floor and promptly straddling the prone form. "Do you relent?"

"Nope" and Merlin pops the 'p', struggling against his Prince's weight.

"Never, ever lead the way to anywhere, Merlin" orders Arthur, his breath sounding a little raspy even to his own ears. But what's a man to do when the object of his desire is wriggling his hips against him? "Just stay on your horse and look pretty"

"You think I look pretty?" Whispers Merlin as his wriggling stops abruptly. Did his Prince really just say that? But it's as Arthur starts to look like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole that Merlin feels something hard pressing against his hip. Oh. Dear. God. He's not sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed. He's torn between running away again as quickly as possible or drawing a hand across his Prat's stomach and finally getting to touch. But before he gets to choose, Arthur's picking himself up off of the floor, pulling Merlin up with him and getting ready for what will most definitely be the most uncomfortable ride ever.

"What was that?" Asks Lancelot quietly, watching the Prince and Merlin walking towards their huddle of horses. They're both flushed and breathing heavily, walking so close that their arms and shoulders rub together. A constant need for contact.

"Foreplay" replies Gwaine with a wicked smile.

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By the time Arthur has wrestled his reluctant manservant ('Yes, Merlin, you still have to ride even with a mead induced headache!') onto the back of his horse, thrown his leg over his own and set a brisk pace, the rest of the Knights have stopped speculating about the private life of their Prince, gritted their teeth against their own delicate heads and slipped into seriousness. The quest taking centre stage in their minds. Even Gwaine reduces the amounts of sly glances he throws at Merlin as they finally enter the Darkling Woods.

"You do actually know where we're going, right?" Asks Merlin, cradling his throbbing head in his hands while letting his horse roam freely. The implication that the Prince is any less than certain in his tracking abilities hangs heavy in the air, and Merlin can hear Lancelot suck in a breath next to him and hold it.

Too far sunk in the melancholia of a pounding headache, Merlin doesn't even bother to reconsider his words and hastily rearrange them into a semblance of something sounding less derogatory. It's not like there are any stocks out in the woods for him to be immediately slung into and he figures the chances of him returning to Camelot are probably slim anyway. Arthur will stay alive if it's the last thing that Merlin does, but he's not deluded himself into thinking that he'll be able to bring them both back safe and sound and the Knights as well.

"Of course I know where I'm going Merlin" mutters Arthur, turning to glare at his manservant. "And will you ride properly, for heaven's sake!"

"I don't really need to ride her, Arthur" answers Merlin wearily, looking down at his horse and patting its neck affectionately, "do I Camisado*?"

"Oh, and why is that?" Sneers Arthur, slowing down slightly to ride alongside Merlin, forcing Lancelot to fall back to ride by Percival.

"Because she'll follow Llamrei* anywhere even without my orders" states Merlin with such certainty that Arthur can't think of anything to say back. Instead, he just watched the trees they pass by in hopes of finding a deer or something else to eat tonight when they set up camp.

Normally Merlin switches horses quite regularly, sometimes riding the same one repeatedly, and other times being forced to ride a different one when there is a large patrol or hunting party. Arthur on the other hand, only ever rides Llamrei. Well unless he has no other choice, and then he goes straight for Passelande*. That's one thing that Merlin has respected about Arthur from the moment it became his job to muck out the stables. The Prince's love for his horses, and although Arthur never stoops so low as to clean the stables himself, he does occasionally attend to them whilst away from the castle and the prying eyes of his father and his disapproval at his doing peasant work.

"Do you think we'll make it back by the two week deadline?" Wonders Lancelot aloud.

"We'll probably be back before then" says Arthur confidently, and Merlin wants to believe him. He so wants to believe him. But something about this quest is making him feel queasy - wrong in some way that has absolutely nothing to do with the vast quantities of mead he drank last night. The journey itself may be going quite well at the moment, but from past experience Merlin knows that pretty soon everything is going to crumble around them, and that constant mixture of fear, anxiety and anticipation is enough to drive a man to distraction. And that's just the journey! The locket is of such importance, such power, that acquiring it is going to be by no means an easy feat. Merlin just really hopes he's not starting to display accurate seer abilities.

"So do you know what we're to face?" Asks Leon from the back, raising his voice to reach Arthur. He knows he shouldn't be so petty as to get jealous of the fact that Merlin gets to ride up the front with the Prince when Leon, the second in command, is forced to ride at the back, but just because he doesn't voice the jealousy doesn't mean he can't feel it stabbing at his stomach.

"Geoffrey couldn't give me any specific details, other than to head west for one week's journey. Apparently the path should be easy to find to he who is destined to discover the locket"

"Destined? And you think it's your destiny to rediscover it?" Asks Merlin, trying exceptionally hard not to throw a childish fit over stupid, stupid destiny and how, for once, it would be nice to escape its clutches. Being destined to help Arthur build his visions for Albion is an honour. He may not have been able to see it when Kilgharrah first told him, but now; he wouldn't have it any other way. It would just be nice to possibly have a day off every once in a bloody while.

"It's got to be somebody's. Why not mine?"

"So what you mean to tell us is that we could actually just spend the next two weeks riding round and round in circles because this path doesn't suddenly appear in front of us?"

"Yep"

"Great" replies Merlin with an eye-roll, the sarcasm thick in his voice.

"And besides, I never said that there would not be many other possible choices to follow along the way. We could ride for a week following a path that seems obvious, but is not actually the path."

"I'm just going to refer back to my previous comment" grumbles Merlin.

"Either way, whether we find the path or just any other route, there are bound to be obstacles in the way"

"So we won't know whether we're heading in the right direction and completing the steps of the quest or just riding aimlessly and running into natural problems until a week is up and we're either holding the locket or not?" Questions Leon.

"Possibly. I don't know. Maybe once we have set ourselves on the right path, the quest will become more like something that we are familiar with."

"I'm referring back to Merlin's previous comment too" growls Gwaine.

"I feel blind"

"I'm hardly surprised, Lancelot. Looking at Gwaine for any length of time can do that to a person" laughs Percival in an attempt to lift morale.

"Because I'm so stunning it hurts?"

"If you say so"

"I, and many fair ladies, do" replies Gwaine with a flip of his hair and a good humoured obscene gesture directed at Percival.

"But seriously, we're not used to having such little direction" says Lancelot, "it's like riding blind, deaf and dumb – unable to track our path"

"It is not the best of situations I will admit" starts Arthur, "but we are Knights of Camelot and we are capable of completing much harder quests." Then he swivels to his left to eye Merlin and a small smile graces his lips, "well, most of us are. Merlin just comes along for the ride, don't you Merlin?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world" replies Merlin with a grin. And if the others notice the force behind the words, the ring of utter sincerity, then they don't mention it. Merlin wouldn't leave Arthur on something like this. Ever. They're aware of this now. Even if they don't fully know the reasons behind his loyalty.

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What seems to Merlin like a lifetime and endless identical trees later, they finally come across a part of the landscape that looks different. Looks like it doesn't belong. But then again, maybe it's completely natural and it's only Arthur's desire for it to be out of place that makes it appear that way to the rest of the group. God, Merlin's head hurts!

"What do you think it means?" Asks Percival, jumping off of his horse with the rest of them and approaching the monolith guardedly.

The rock is big. Taller than Merlin and wider than ever Percival's broad shoulders. It's nestled into a tangle of plants, seemingly sprouting from the wildlife. Merlin can't help it; he needs to place his hand on its surface. He can feel a small tug of magic, smell a faint wisp of foreign power and it's drawing him to the stone. Without even thinking about it, his fingers reach out. They scrape hesitantly against its surface, against the rough dips and rises. And it's hot. So much hotter than any stone has a right to be under the dark canopy of leaves swaying in the light breeze above it. The sun is bright but not blazing enough to cause such a heat.

"Merlin, what are you doing?" Demands Arthur, bringing him back to himself. His palm if pressed flat against the structure, the magic in his body tickling across his skin to slide against the remnants left behind inside the monolith. Merlin can feel the ancient power pressing against his flesh, the knowledge that this rock was placed here many, many years ago by someone with extraordinary amounts of power dancing through his mind as easily as his own thoughts. But they aren't his thoughts. They are an imprint of the previous magic user.

"Oh, s—sorry. I just wanted to see whether it felt as rough as it looked" explains Merlin lamely. Arthur gives him an odd look but returns to his own inspections, thankfully leaving Merlin free to trailing his fingers around to the other side. "What's this?"

"Have you found something?" Inquires Arthur, pressing up against Merlin's side to get a good look at whatever it is he's found. The heat radiating from his manservant nearly makes him gasp in surprise. The desire to wrap his arms around the skinnier man's waist and hold him against his chest is almost too strong to ignore. Arthur feels something odd settle in the pit of his stomach. Something light and joyous. So different from the dark, burning need of his arousal the previous night. It's jittery and swirling, like a living entity.

He watches Merlin's fingers trace over something carved into the rock. The pale, delicate hands trailing so gently over the surface that Arthur finds it hard to shake the image of those hands running freely over his own body, touching lightly at first, then getting rougher, surer, needier. He shakes his head imperceptibly and tries to focus. It's hard to do.

"It feels like words" muses Merlin, crouching down slightly to getting a better look. The sunlight is barely peeking through the trees above anymore and the light is abysmal but he does his best with the little bits he can see and his sense of touch. Automatically, he knows it's the language of the Old Religion. He says as much to the group before he thinks it through properly, and then kicks himself as Lancelot's worried face.

"How do you know that?" Asks Leon.

"We've all heard the language at least once" reasons Lancelot, covering quickly for his friend. "It stands to reason that if it is unfamiliar then it will probably be of a magical origin."

"Yes" says Merlin, jumping on Lancelot's cover quickly, "I mean, we are on a magical quest. We're looking for an item of magic."

"I guess" concedes Leon, but Merlin can feel Arthur's eyes on his face.

"If you can recognise it, do you think you could read it?" Quizzes Arthur. He heard the quiver in his manservants' voice, saw the quick way the Lancelot jumped into the conversation, and the relieved, thankful look he relieved for doing so. Merlin is keeping something from him. Something important by the looks of it too.

"Um…" hedges Merlin trying to think through his options. If he says yes, then he'll have to explain how he can read the language of sorcerers. If he says no then they either abandon the quest completely (which is highly unlikely knowing Arthur) or guess and risk getting it wrong coming into even some kind of danger.

"Merlin?"

What to do, what to do? They need to head forwards. It's the safest option at the moment. But Merlin can't even think of a possible explanation as to how he is able to read it.

"Sire, I doubt Merlin could read such a thing." Says Lancelot, staring intently at Merlin. "But I can." Arthur's eyes whirl quickly to his Knight, instantly suspicious. And it breaks Merlin's heart all over again.

"How?"

"When I left Camelot, I didn't really have any direction. I just travelled through different towns, different Kingdoms and made money by my sword. I once met a fellow traveller, at a tavern, and he told me that he had won a book in a wager. He said it was a magic book. He showed me it, explained some words to me."

"You practised sorcery!?" Hisses Arthur, and Merlin's heart plummets even more when he sees his Princes hand move to the hilt of his sword. Lancelot sees it too. He sees Merlin's mouth open, whether to confess or spin a different lie he isn't sure, but he shakes his head slightly at his best friend. No.

"Of course not!" Replies Lancelot indignantly. It hurts him; showing such revulsion at being accused of something of which his friend cannot help. But he doesn't wish to die either. And hopefully Lancelot's plan will keep both himself and Merlin alive. "I was so drunk I couldn't have told him my own name, but he showed me the book, and it captured my attention. It was like it was enchanted. And the words, they just imprinted themselves in my mind. I had no intention of learning them. And I have no idea how to string the words into spells. I only know of the words. Not the magic. In the same way that a child knows the words 'sword' but has no idea of how to wield one."

"And you think you could tell us what it written here?" Asks Arthur sceptically. His hand is relaxed now, no longer resting on his sword. Lancelot spoke logically. He is loyal. The most loyal of all his Knights. Besides, it's not like Arthur himself hadn't been touched by magic before. He has been the unwilling recipient of spells and enchantments for many, many years. Lancelot was merely put under an enchantment. Just like he said.

"Easily" smiles Lancelot, walking over to crouch down next to Merlin. Lancelot catches his friends' eye and runs and hand through his own hair, lightly tapping at his temple as covertly as possible. He sees Merlin's eyes widen as he realises Lancelot's plan and a smile nearly rips his face in two.

Running his eyes over the words as quickly as possible without looking like he's concentrating too hard on them, Merlin opens his body to his magic, feels it flow through him. He pushes it out slightly, searching the waves of consciousness bubbling around him, skirting the edges of Gwaine's mind, catching glimpses of a strong urge to turn back and find a tavern. His magic twirls quickly away from Leon's mind, so focused and determined. He pushes further, searching quickly for Lancelot, but catches Arthur instead. Fragments of thought tickle his head; snippets of raven hair, flashes of blue eyes.

Merlin can feel Arthurs mind, pulled in two directions. He can feel the sharp, eager leader; fascinated by Lancelot and the chance of continuing the quest. But he can also feel a separate part of his consciousness. A section dedicated to keeping a constant eye on Merlin himself. Trying to watch every action, sometimes just to marvel, or sometimes just to ensure his safety. Merlin pulls away as quickly as he can, swallowing down a gasp. What does Arthur really feel for him? Trying not to ponder on this at such an important time, he reaches out again, and snags and Lancelot's consciousness.

Lancelot doesn't even so much as flinch as he feels Merlin enter his mind. It's a calming presence, so much like the physical Merlin that there isn't even a chance of there being any danger. Lancelot repeats the words out loud as Merlin translates them and whispers them into Lancelot's mind silently.

"At the pass you must choose; north or south, take your clues: North is destined, North is true but lovers perish without this too. South is simple, obvious and worshipped; the treasures hidden there are highly coveted" says Lancelot, his voice ringing clear in the silence of the woods.

"Well that's just great. What the hell does that mean?" sulks Gwaine, glaring at the rock as if it'll suddenly come alive and apologise for being so cryptic.

"Oh, come on! It's obvious" cheers Leon happily, "we carry on straight for a bit more, and then when we come to the pass, we turn south"

"Why not north?" asks Percival.

"Because 'the treasures hidden here are highly coveted' obviously means the locket"

"It does seem that way" agrees Lancelot.

The words are out of Merlin's mouth before he can even think of holding his tongue, "we should got north"

"Why?" Questions Arthur, meeting and trapping Merlin's gaze in fiery blue warmth.

Merlin isn't sure quite how much he should explain what he's thinking. Anything he says will have to be explained by other pieces of information that is likely to get him dragged back to Camelot and beheaded. Arthur's reaction to Lancelot earlier is proof enough of that. But Merlin knows that they have to head north. The words themselves lit up when he'd read them, glowing golden slightly at the front of his mind. They scorched his eyes and heated his blood. 'Destiny' and 'truth' couldn't be a more obviously directed at Merlin himself. But none of this can be explained. So instead, he holds his Princes questioning stare and says;

"'But lovers perish without this too' has to refer to desire." The word feels strange in his mouth whilst he's so wrapped up in his Princes eyes, and his throat has suddenly gone dry. "Lovers can be destined to be together, can be truthful and loyal. Faithful and comfortable. But without desire the eye will wonder, the excitement fades and that relationship fails. You said it yourself Arthur," and Merlin really hopes that nobody else hears the way his voice trembles over his Princes name, "the locket is enchanted to increase a person's desires. And besides, south just seems too obvious. Too easy."

"We're to go north" orders Arthur, taking a shaky breath and finally, finally, pulling his gaze away from his manservant. The small, hot ball of desire has turned into a churning mass of need and Arthur doesn't think he's going to be able to last much longer without losing himself in that body, that mind, that soul.

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A/N – Sorry for the late upload, I was called into work on short notice. Sucks. I haven't had a chance to reread this so there may be a few mistakes. Let me know what you think :)

*1- Technically means a surprise attack in the middle of the night. It's also one of my favourite Panic! Songs and I thought it'd be good as Merlin's horse's name.

*2- Is actually the name of King Arthur's favourite horse in the legends.

*3- Another one of his horses from the original legend.