"To His Gracious Majesty, Arthur, King of Camelot,

I, Rodor, King of Nemeth and its surrounding Isles, send you our warmest greetings . . . "

Arthur rubbed his eyes and shoved the letter away, wincing as he knocked it and a reed pen to the floor. He pushed to his feet and walked around the desk to retrieve them, carelessly tossing them back into place. Outside, the city had fallen silent and dark. The hour was later than he'd thought- long past midnight. He glanced over at the bed. The thought of pulling the covers over his head and ignoring his problems was a tempting one, but said problems would just follow him into his dreams. He poured a cup of wine instead and wandered out of his chambers. A walk would do him good. The guards snapped to attention and he waved them off, heading in whatever direction suited his passing fancy. Surely he was safe enough in his own castle? If his endless stream of worries didn't kill him, that is.

Lancelot had brought him unwelcome news to add to those worries, that Pynell had threatened Merlin's life and the sorcerer hadn't bothered to mention it. 'He didn't want to trouble anyone with it,' the knight had said. Typical. Merlin was so used to hiding in the shadows and keeping his problems to himself that he barely knew how to ask for help. "I would say 'Thank You' for not wanting to add to my cares, Merlin, but I need to know about risks to the security of the court."

Then there was the letter from Nemeth, the marriage proposal to the Princess Mithian. That a King should marry a woman he had never met was nothing new. Royal marriages were political arrangements not love matches, though his councilors assured him that love often grew out of them, as it had with his parents. But Uther hadn't had his own Guinevere to think of, nor had he been faithful to his lawfully wedded wife. 'And that ended up so splendidly.' He sighed. A better example of fidelity came from Merlin's parents who, though unmarried and separated from each other for more than twenty years, had been faithful to each other. His councilors would scoff at the comparison, but lessons of grace and love came from strange places these days. Low places, some would say. Merlin would say that it didn't matter where the lesson came from, so long as it was well-learned.

"Speak of the devil." Arthur smirked as he spied a thin, gray figure at the end of the corridor. Merlin leaned against a windowsill, elbows on the ledge, his head tilted as he listened to the rain pattering against the window. He could tell the sorcerer had been standing there for a long time, since Cabal had curled up at his feet and dozed off. Arthur quieted his steps as he closed the distance, not wanting to disturb Merlin's peace. God knew he'd had little enough of it in the past months. He stopped half a dozen paces away to lean against the wall and sip his wine. And maybe to listen to the rain, too.

Merlin smiled. "Are you going to stand there all night, Arthur?"

"People think you're strange when you do that, you know."

"People always thought I was strange. Now they know why," Merlin chuckled. There was flash of gold, and he turned to look at the King with that strange gaze that both looked at you and through you. Arthur suppressed the chill that ran down his spine. "What is it?"

"I talked to Lancelot today. He told me about Pynell." Merlin sighed. "Why didn't you tell anyone about it?" Arthur closed the gap between them, stopping an arm's length away.

Merlin's glassy gaze turned toward the window and the rain beyond, his fingers tapping idly against the stone sill. "I've been threatened before. It's nothing new. I've always handled it just fine on my own. You have enough to worry about without my adding to it."

"Let me count my own worries. If you're ever threatened again, tell me. I can't prepare for a threat I don't know about. All right?" Merlin didn't reply. "Are you listening to me?" Arthur moved to lay a hand on the sorcerer's shoulder, then stopped. Merlin couldn't look him in the eye anymore, not really, and unexpected touch often set him on edge, stirring up memories best left alone and plunging him into a melancholy mood that lingered for hours. "Merlin, things aren't the way they were a year ago. You don't have to keep everything to yourself. Just . . . Promise me that if someone levels a threat against you, you'll tell me, or Leon, or whoever. Do you hear me?"

Merlin finally nodded. "I promise," he said softly, "I'm . . . not used to asking for help. Or hearing this kind of sentiment out of you," he smirked, then the smile softened and he turned back to Arthur. "There's something else bothering you, isn't there? You don't wander the halls at night unless there's something on your mind."

"Changing the subject then, are we?" Arthur downed the last of his wine and set the cup on the windowsill. "Let's walk, then. I don't feel like standing about. Not that I expect you to know anything about the subject, with you being . . . You."

"Whatever that's supposed to mean." Merlin snapped his fingers at Cabal. The hound stirred, jaws opening in a wide yawn as he stretched and lurched to his feet. "This way, then? The gallery's where I usually end up," he gestured back down the hall toward a mess of criss-crossing staircases overlooking a gallery lined with high vaulting and stained glass windows. Merlin couldn't appreciate the beauty of the colored light filtering over the stonework anymore, but he could hear the echoing rainfall.

"Where you usually end up?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking sidewards at Merlin.

He shrugged, "I don't . . . I don't always sleep well. And Gaius snores. So I go out walking. But that's not the point. What's bothering you?"

'Where to begin?' Arthur licked his lips, as he sorted out his thoughts. "You know that, over the past few months, we've been trying to strengthen our ties to Nemeth."

"How could I forget? We've spent so much time on it, I think I've memorized all the trade agreements Camelot's made with them for the past fifteen years," Merlin said. His fingertips made a faint scraping sound as he dragged them along the wall. Yet another method for him to find his way.

"Yes, well," Arthur hesitated, "I received another proposal today, and, uh, it had nothing to do with trade. It. . . it was a proposal of marriage. To Rodor's daughter, Princess Mithian. The terms are generous, it would mean that our children would inherit two kingdoms combined into one, and . . . it makes perfect sense from a political standpoint, but I- I don't know." Arthur shook his head and raked a hand through his hair. "It's like that business with Elena all over again. Neither of us wanted it, but our fathers did, and. . . I don't know why I'm telling you this, Merlin, it's not like you've ever had experience with love . . . " He walked on a few paces before he noticed that Merlin wasn't at his side anymore.

The sorcerer had stopped, his eyes closed, an expression of old regret and loss written upon his face. "I'm not made of stone," he said, hardly loud enough to hear.

"What do you mean? What, you? And a girl? Oh. Well. Well done, then. I never thought, well, you just never seemed to show an interest. In anyone. When was this?"

"A long time ago."

Arthur grinned, "Merlin, you're hardly old enough to have 'a long time ago' in your life. Tell me. What sort of girl is interested in you, of all people?"

There was a bitter edge to Merlin's smile. It made Arthur want to mutter an apology to his friend, but the sorcerer spoke before he could. "Her name was Freya, and she . . . was beautiful," the edge left Merlin's smile, leaving only traces of sweetness and sorrow behind. "She was a Druid, and she was like me- afraid of what she was, what she could do. I'd never met anyone like her before. How could I not fall head over heels? And somehow, she loved me, too. Who would have thought it? A freak like me," His smile fell away. Arthur wanted to stop him there, tell the sorcerer he wasn't a freak, but Merlin went on. "We were going to run away together, go somewhere we could be free. To the mountains." Merlin turned away, but not before Arthur saw tears gather in his eyes.

He thought he'd heard all Merlin's secrets. Now he wondered just how many untold stories weighed down those thin shoulders. "But you never left, and I never heard of her. Merlin, what . . . ?"

The sorcerer let out a shaky breath and swiped at his eyes. "Freya was a Druid who did not come to Camelot of her own free will," Merlin said, each word spoken with careful deliberation.

"What happened to her?"

"Arthur," Merlin breathed, suddenly very still, as though he were pulling everything about himself inward to shelter it from some great storm. "Please. . . don't ask me that."

"Did he watch her burn?" Arthur wondered. He nodded, opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind. "All right. But why have you never even mentioned her in all this time?"

Merlin smiled sadly, "Because there are some things that are best left to the past, some ghosts . . . are best left behind." He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. "You were talking about the Princess Mithian?"

Arthur studied his friend for a long moment, waiting. Then it was clear that the floodgates were closed and he would hear nothing more about Freya tonight. Or, perhaps, ever again. "Yes. Princess Mithian. I've never met her before. I've never even seen her. I don't think she's ever left Nemeth. They say she's beautiful and intelligent, but I have nothing but the envoy's word to go on. Mind the stairs," he said, keeping to the sorcerer's slower pace as they descended. "But it's the envoy's duty to present everything about Nemeth- including its royalty- in the best light possible, so he's not the most trustworthy when it comes to describing the Princess."

"It is his duty. But that's not what's bothering you, is it?"

Arthur pursed his lips. "No, it's not. It's. . . Mithian was betrothed to Odin's son when she was a girl. They were, I think, a year or two away from the wedding day when he and I dueled, and you know what happened then. After that, she was promised to Cenred, and then he died. It's like the poor girl's cursed or something, and I . . " he shook his head. He knew what he wanted to say, but his lips refused to shape the words.

"You feel like if you turned her down, it would seem like you didn't think she'd make a proper queen, but if you said yes to proposal, you'd be marrying her out of pity?" Merlin paused on the stairs, half-turning to face the King. Arthur nodded, eyes downcast. "Do you think it would make her love Camelot- and you- all the more if she knew you'd married her because you pitied her? Would it make either of you happy, knowing that stood between you?"

Arthur's gaze fell to his feet. "No. I can't see how it would. But what would I tell her? What reason could I give that wouldn't make it sound like I had rejected her out of hand?"

"That's simple enough," Merlin said, "Tell her the truth."

"What truth?"

Merlin smiled. "You really are a complete cabbage-head sometimes." Arthur looked sharply back at the sorcerer. "The truth you hardly want to admit to yourself- that there is no queen, princess, or noble lady in all the lands who you'd be happy with. That the woman you love is a serving girl. Admit it. You'd give away everything you had if it would make Guinevere happy."

"I wouldn't give my kingdom to just anyone," Arthur murmured, remembering a deal he'd once refused on a cold winter's day. But Merlin was right. He had told Guinevere the same thing once. He puffed out a breath, leveling a stern glare at Merlin. "If you're so full of answers, how do I tell Mithian that a serving girl trumps a princess?"

"If it's not enough to tell a princess that your heart is set another," he shrugged, "then call it freedom."

"Freedom?"

"Freedom. Speaking from experience, it's the greatest gift you can give anyone." Merlin's smile brightened. "Look at it this way. King Rodor is an old man, with an old man's infirmities. Mithian is his only living child and sole heir."

"She has cousins."

"If she has half the wit, a third the charm, and a tenth the beauty Nemeth's envoy claims she has, then she already has them wrapped around her little finger, begging to do her bidding. Someday, Princess Mithian will be a Queen in her own right. If she isn't married by then, she'll be able to wed whoever she chooses, find happiness on her own terms. That sounds like freedom to me," Merlin said.

"So. You want me to tell Princess Mithian that I won't marry her because I'm in love with a servant, and this refusal is in her own best interest because someday she might meet some bloke she can't live without, and then everything will be all sunshine and rainbows?" Arthur folded his arms in front of him, leveling a glare at the sorcerer. "I'm starting to think you really don't know what you're talking about."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Are you ever going to admit to yourself that you'll never be happy with anyone but Guinevere?" Arthur raised an eyebrow in response, though the gesture went unnoticed. "Do you imagine that Mithian is sitting in some lonely tower, waiting for a prince- or a king- to come and sweep her off her feet and carry her off to a happily ever after in a land she's never been to? She's probably as excited about this proposal as you are, Arthur, and if we've been hearing nothing but overblown flattery from Nemeth's envoy, is she hearing any differently from Camelot's? Everyone flatters royalty to win their favor. How many offer the gift of the truth?"

"Not nearly enough," Arthur said. He glanced up at the high windows where rain still fell in wavering sheets. Pale lightning flashed now and then, brightening the deep hallway with patches of flickering color. "Are you sure this will work?"

"What is it the priests of your god say? 'The truth shall set you free'?" Merlin asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Arthur's mouth dropped open and he snapped it shut again, wiping the withering glare off his face. Such expressions didn't affect the sorcerer anymore. "My other advisors don't answer questions with questions," he muttered, looking up at a recessed arch where a hint of movement caught his eye. He heard a faint click- a peculiar, familiar sound he couldn't quite place.

"'Other advisors'?" Merlin chirped, "I'm moving up in the world then, If that's the case-"

"Merlin, get down!" Arthur grabbed the sorcerer's arm and shoved him against the bannister, throwing himself to the side and landing on the stone steps with a bone-jarring thud. Something cracked against the stairs above them, sending sparks flying. Arthur reached out to catch it before it skittered away. He stared at it for a heartbeat, hardly comprehending the crossbow bolt in his hand. He looked up to the archway where he had seen the movement moments before. A flicker of lightning lit the hallway long enough for him to find their assailant clinging to the stonework. He saw him make a quick motion with his weapon and take aim again. Arthur staggered to his feet and grabbed for Merlin to pull him off the stairs and into the shadows, out of harm's way.

But Merlin wasn't defenseless. He'd seen, in his way, the direction of Arthur's gaze. His eyes shone gold, and he looked up at their assailant, now hidden in the darkness, and saw straight through it all. The gold burned brighter. "Tobrecan," Merlin hissed. Wood snapped above them. Arthur heard a muffled grunt, and a broken crossbow hit the stone floor in half a dozen pieces. There came a scrabbling from the arch, and Merlin called out again, "Astrice!" The assassin tumbled to the floor with the crack of bone. He let out a muffled cry as he rolled away, stumbling upright before finding his footing and disappearing down the hall.

"Guards!" Arthur's cry was lost in the racket Cabal's barking. The dog bounded to where the splintered crossbow lay and let out another sharp bark before looking back at Merlin. The sorcerer held a trembling hand out, summoning the hound back to him.

"Sire?" The first of the guards reached the stairs. Arthur heard more approaching.

"That way," he gestured down the hallway, "A man, perhaps a head shorter than me. Dark clothes. He may have had dark skin, too, it was hard to say. Take him alive," Arthur ordered. The guard nodded sharply, directing a few of his fellows to go with him, and a handful more to escort the King to his chambers. "Are you all right?" Arthur helped Merlin get to his feet. The sorcerer's trembling hadn't subsided.

"Fine. You?"

"Fine. Come on. You," he snapped at one of the guards, "Summon Sir Leon if he's not already on his way. And Sir Lancelot as well. And you," he said to another, "Gather up that crossbow and have it thoroughly examined, then send someone up to that arch to see if the assassin left anything behind. He may have had an accomplice, so search the castle and-" he broke off as the sound of the warning bells rang out, bright against the thunder and the shouting, "Close the gates," he finished, gesturing for the men to be about their duties and trusting that they knew what to do.

It was probably for the best that Merlin hadn't dropped his seeing spell as the guards hurried them back to Arthur's chambers. He doubted if they would have stopped for him if he'd fallen, and Arthur didn't want to stay in the open any more than they had to be. If one assassin could hide in the shadows, why couldn't another? Leon met them at the door, hastily dressed but wide awake despite the late hour. Arthur brushed aside the knight's questions as they swept into his chambers. He slammed the crossbow bolt onto the table and stalked a few steps away, letting his anger cool before opening his mouth.

"Sire? What's happened?" Leon asked, "The guards said there was attempt on your life?"

Arthur's gaze flicked over to Merlin, who had stepped back into a shadow, doing his best to pretend he wasn't there. He took a long breath, releasing it slowly until he could speak without shouting. "Yes. There was an attempt. Obviously unsuccessful. Someone's hired man. A Southron, I think, though it was dark. I could be mistaken. Merlin knocked him off his perch, and he was injured in the fall, so that should slow him down. I-" he stopped short, noticing that a handful of guards had followed them into the room. "You. All of you. Out. Stay outside the door if you must, but I'm perfectly safe in here."

"Sire," the muttered before filing out.

Lancelot sidled past them on his way in, rumpled, but as wide awake as Leon had been. His eyes flicked from Leon to Arthur before resting on Merlin. "Is everyone all right?"

"We're fine. He missed with the first shot and didn't have a chance to take another. With luck, he'll be captured soon. Will you take Merlin back to your chambers and stay with him until all this gets sorted out?" Arthur gave the knight a level look, hoping he would understand the unspoken order, 'Keep him safe until we know there won't be another attack'.

"Of course," Lancelot nodded.

Merlin's brow knit in confusion, "I'm sure my own chambers are fine. Why do I-"

"Merlin," Arthur's tone brooked no argument, "Don't argue with me. Not right now. For once, just do as you're told." The sorcerer looked ready to argue the point, then regarded him for a long moment and nodded.

"Let me know if anything changes," Lancelot murmured to Leon as he, Merlin, and Cabal headed out the door.

Leon waited until they were alone before speaking again, "Why are you sending Merlin there. Surely Gaius's chambers are safe enough?"

"Because if there is another assassin waiting, I think the most likely place for him to be waiting is along the way to Gaius's." Arthur held the bolt up to the firelight. It was a wicked looking thing, made for a light crossbow- a weapon with a shorter range, but far more accurate in its firing than its heavier counterpart, and just as deadly. "He was waiting for us there. He knew we'd be in that hallway," Arthur mused, "That speaks of. . . what? Habit? I don't make it a habit of wandering the halls by night." Arthur's jaw clenched and his fingers tightened around the bolt. "Bring Pynell to me. I don't care what state he's in. Bring him now."

"But. . . Pynell?" Leon frowned at the order, "Why Lord Pynell? What reason would he have to attack you?"

"None, I should hope," Arthur looked up at the knight, his gaze intense, "But Pynell threatened Merlin's life two weeks ago, and that assassin wasn't aiming at me. He was aiming at Merlin."